INTERVIEW

• "From Displacement to Homecoming: A Writer Dreaming of the Hometown He Left Behind": A Q&A with Lee Ho-Cheol Vol.33 Autumn 2016

  Q: Your hometown is Wonsan in Hamgyeong Province, isn’t it? What was it like where you grew up? I was born into a middle-class farming family and grew up without any hardship. From the age of four I learned the Thousand-Character Classic from my grandfather, and until the age of seventeen I lived in Myeongsasimni just to the south of Wonsan. If you looked westward from our house there was a wonderful view out over Hwanghae Province. By the pass to Hwanghae was a big mountain and from near the top a beautiful stream came down. My short story “Big Mountain” is about that very scenery, the place where I grew up.   Q: Was there any particular moment or opportunity that ignited your interest in literature? I have a sister four years older than me. My sister read to me from her school textbook and when she read Shakespeare’s “King Lear” I experienced a kind of literary shock. I could only have been about six years old at the time but even though I was young I think I was very sensitive to the emotion of literature. It was such a shock that on the night my sister had read me “King Lear” all I could do was think about how complicated this thing called life is. In middle school I was active in a literary club. The first thing I ever wrote was when I saw a star in the sky right next to the moon and tried to capture it in a poem. My schoolteacher, who was a poet, went through my work underlining bits and complimenting it. That was the first time I realized that I had a talent for literature. In the third year of high school I was the leader of the literary club. I read so many books back then. I studied literature with the thirty-seven-volume World Literature Anthology from the Japanese Shinchosha publishing company, reading writers like Goethe, Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky. I was particularly interested in French novels and 19th-century Russian literature. That time studying the World Literature Anthology was how I gained a literary inheritance.   Q: Could you tell us a little bit about your experiences in the Korean War? The war broke out in 1950 around the time when I graduated from high school. On July 7, I was drafted into the People’s Army and went all the way down to Uljin. Then when the UN and South Korean forces made a counter-attack I was captured as a prisoner of war while we were retreating. As I was being transported under the watchful eye of the Southern military police, by some miracle I met my brother-in-law, and he secured my release so that I could return home to my village. All I could think at the time was that the heavens must have intervened. But then that same year, on the ninth of December, I came down to the south again on my own. Rumors were spreading as the Chinese communist forces joined the fighting that an atomic bomb would be dropped on us, and so without a second thought I tried to get away. Everyone was rushing to the quayside in Wonsan, and I joined the scrum and managed to board an American transport ship and went down to Busan. I thought I would be able to go back home after a week or so, and now it’s already been decades.   A photograph of the writer anda boyhood friend taken in his hometown   Q: I’ve heard that you also wrote during your time as a refugee in Busan, what was that like? Well you see I had been writing fiction since I was in high school. As a refugee I would write whenever I could while working on the docks, in a factory, and as a security guard at an American military base. It was at that time that I wrote the short story “Odol’s Grandmother.” I sent it to Yom Sang-seop and he was very complimentary. That was a huge confidence boost and so I decided to search out the writer I most admired, Hwang Sun-Won and laid out all of my writings in front of him. He told me to pick out just one for him to read and so I showed him two. He took an interest in my work and helped me begin my career as a writer. It was by Hwang Sun-Won’s recommendation that my debut story “Far from Home” was published in the July issue of Literary Arts. I also kept a record of my life as a refugee in Busan in a diary; those experiences became the basis for many of my later works.   Q: How would you describe your debut story “Far from Home”? “Far from Home” was first published in 1955 when I was twenty-three years old. At first the title was “In the Darkness,” then “Moonless Night” and then after changing it again and again it became “Far from Home.” “Far from Home” is about working on the docks. I included all of my experiences from when I was a dock worker. Aside from myself the main characters were Gwangseok, Duchan, and Hawon, and they were all based on real people. The most important thing in this story is at the end when I leave Hawon behind. Making the decision to abandon Hawon is really the same as leaving one’s hometown. People have told me that the story of experiencing this need to leave one’s home, even if it meant the agony of never going back, was something that deeply moved them.   Lee Ho-cheol’s debut story “Far from Home” is based on his experiencesworking at the docks in Busan after having fled south during the war.The story depicts the process of division and having to abandon one’s home.   Q: Long after the publication of your short story “Panmunjom” in 1961, fifty-one years later you wrote a follow-up story, “Panmunjom 2.” Aside from the many years between the two stories, how do they differ from one another? When the short story “Panmunjom” was published in 1961 it was awarded the 7th Hyundae Literary Award. At that time I had gotten a reporter ID card and so I was lucky enough to be able to observe a meeting at the border, and “Panmunjom” was something I wrote based on my experience of talking with reporters from the North. Jinsu, the protagonist, travels to Panmunjom with an international group of journalists to see what it’s like and when he’s there a female reporter from the North starts speaking to him. The story is centered around the simultaneous sense of kinship and difference that Jinsu feels during the encounter. With “Panmunjom 2” I decided that I had to write it after I saw Kim Jong-il’s funeral on television. I just had to express what I was thinking. At about fifty pages “Panmunjom 2” is more like a novella and it’s structured around the thoughts of the protagonist Jinsu as he witnesses the ongoing division of Korea and the death of Kim Jong-il. You could say that compared to “Panmunjom,” which I wrote when the division of the country hadn’t even lasted a decade, “Panmunjom 2” contains my perspective as someone who has experienced this division, ongoing for over sixty years now, firsthand.   Q: You visited North Korea in 1998, and in 2000 you had a very moving reunion with your younger sister. Can you describe how you felt then? In August 1998 I went to North Korea for ten days as part of the reporting team for the Dong-A Ilbo. I was able to visit my homeland for the first time in forty-eight years. We only went to Pyongyang though. Then on August 15, 2000 I went again as an advisor to the Red Cross during the first round of reunions for separated families, and there I met my little sister again after fifty years. My sister started crying as soon as she laid eyes on me. Seeing that, the first thing I said to her was, “Let’s not cry.” Then we were able to sit together in the hotel and talk for about two hours. Before the reunions ended we were able to see each other a total of three times. When I left my hometown my grandfather and parents, my older sisters and younger sister and my younger brother were all still in Wonsan, but now my younger sister is the only one left. All of them have passed away. It was heartbreaking.   Lee Ho-cheol lived most of his life separated from his hometown andhis family due to the division of the Korean peninsula. On August 15, 2000he joined the first round of family reunions as an advisor to the Red Crossand was reunited with his younger sister after fifty years.   Q: The division of Korea continues after many decades, what are your thoughts on unification? I have constantly been pressing the issue of overcoming division, but after all these years there has been no progress at all towards a solution and so, to tell you the truth, I’m exhausted. I also think it’s a shame that young people these days aren’t interested in unification at all. Before North and South Korea were separated you could travel as you pleased all the way from Busan to Hoeryong just by buying a train ticket. My generation lived through such times, but as division drags on longer and longer nowadays people look at North Koreans as though they’re martians just fallen from the moon. To be honest I hate the word “unification.” It’s too loaded. For now we’ve got to set aside ideological or political unification. First it’s important that people from the North and South can travel backwards and forwards as much as possible. If the people traveling north and south increase and the numbers of people sharing meals and time together increases, unification will come naturally, just like water bubbling up from a spring. I like to call it “one household unification.” We need to stop thinking that we have to unify right away. It’s difficult to know what might happen in North Korea but we have to wait. Unification has to come about naturally. All we can do is wait because it is something that cannot happen grudgingly. Of course I do wish that the time we have to wait could be shortened. And in the process it would be wonderful if a reunion center or meeting room could be set up—if we could exchange letters and communicate with each other freely.   Q: What role do you think literature can play in relations between North and South Korea? Lots of people are saying that the era of literature is over but I don’t think like that. The work of literature is to take responsibility for an area of life that things like the social sciences or philosophy cannot reach. The essence of literature is that it comes out of close attention to life as it is lived; literature is a voice that emerges from real life. Literature can’t solve the relationship between North and South Korea directly but it does have the potential to appeal to people and change the way they look at the issue. And so I think that literature must take the initiative and consider what quality of life means, take a long-term view and really meditate on what the real tasks are that are facing the current era. Writing passionate works and bringing about change, that is the power of literature.   Q: The attitude of young people today towards North Korea is very different from that of the previous generation. Do you happen to have any concerns about this? I think the differences are only natural. What must young people have been feeling when they saw scenes of crowds of people crying at Kim Jong-il’s funeral? They must have thought, “How can they behave like that?” Here you can say what you want about the leadership and no one will come and take you away. A good society is one where you can speak freely and easily about the person in the highest office. It is not just the person with the most power who has influence. There is still a long way to go, but here everyone is able to demonstrate their skills and talents as they please. That’s something people in North Korea can’t even imagine. They can’t put a foot out of line. And it is oppression by those in power that has made them that way. That’s why I think the most important thing is freedom. But then here we are, showing ourselves up because we take freedom so lightly. If you practice freedom without a second thought it results in chaos. The more freedom you have the more careful, the more considerate you have to be. Knowing how to practice freedom with dignity shows the true standard of a society.   Interviews and articles on Lee Ho-cheol from around the world.Lee was known as a writer of division literature the world over, and the foreignpress would cover his books whenever their translations were published overseas.   Q: You once said, “a writer writes as much as they live,” I wonder if you could explain this for us. Whatever kind of fiction it is, novels always end up reflecting the inner world of the writer. In the end a writer deals with their own life. More than science or philosophy, literature is closely interwoven with life and in it you can find a depth of wit and wisdom. That’s why all writers can only write as much as they have lived. What more is there to a novel really? Stories of people living their lives, that’s what they are. As for my case, in my first published work “Far from Home” I wrote about leaving my hometown, then in Southerners, Northerners I was drawing nearer and nearer to returning to the place of my birth. Of course a lot of time passed between those works too. Really it’s as though I’ve written the journey from division to unification. And so if I had to sum up my literary work in one phrase it would be “the process of going from division to unification.” From displacement to homecoming. This is my life, and therefore it is my writing too.   Q: How many literary works have you written to date? And among them which ones are you most fond of? I think it must be around 250. And if I were to choose the essence of my literary work it would be something like Southerners, Northerners; Petit Bourgeoisie; South Wind, North Wind; and Seoul Is Heaving. As for short stories I would have to say “Wasting Away,” “Panmunjom,” “Big Mountain,” “Far from Home,” and “Stripped Bare.” If I had to pick just one of those works to define my writing it would be Southerners, Northerners. It’s a novel about when I was captured as a prisoner of war by the Southern army in 1950, and it contains my life and experiences from that time until I finished writing it in 1996. It took me more than ten years to write, from the mid 1980s to the 1990s. In a way my life is bound in those pages.   Q: What kind of mindset do you think writers and novelists should adhere to? I just want to say honesty. The truth is not easy, you know. Without tensing your neck or shoulders, you have to be honest in a relaxed way, frankly and humbly. That’s what is most important. The moment you read something you can tell if it has been written just to show off and put on a front. That kind of writing can never pass the test of time. You have to have no greed and then good things come out from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and fingers.   Q: Going forward are there any remaining tasks that you want to achieve with your writing, with literature? I hardly even need to say it. Unification. I want to go back to my hometown. I have written novels for almost sixty years and the basic foundation of all my works has been the relationship between the North and the South. But of course this is not only my problem. In both the South and the North more than two generations have grown up in this era of division. Just as it has been my whole life, going forward too, my literature will be about expressing North Korea in different ways. I suppose you could say that’s the task that remains for the rest of my life.    ※ This is an abridged version of an interview on NaverCast dated May 17, 2013.

FICTION

• Panmunjom Vol.33 Autumn 2016

  The foreigners were quite at ease on the bus. But their sense of assurance seemed to collapse when they arrived at Panmunjom. They appeared rather out of place, wandering around with confused looks on their faces. Then they started taking pictures of everything that came in sight. The guy who had been going on mindlessly about Okinawa pointed his camera at a North Korean MP, who gave him a fierce look and turned abruptly on his heel. An uneasy smirk came over the reporter’s face; he turned away and walked over to one of his colleagues. “That guy’s not happy,” he whispered uncomfortably, nodding in the direction of the MP. “Which one?” “The shrimpy one over there.” The two of them let out a few empty chuckles. The reporter who had been so engrossed in conversation with her husband on the bus walked over to Jinsu and asked where the Chinese were sitting. Jinsu pointed out three people inside one of the buildings and told her they were probably Chinese. She glanced quickly in that direction and loudly thanked him several times. The North Korean reporters had arrived. At first Jinsu thought they were part of the group from the South, but then it struck him that there was something different about them. A careful look revealed that they had wide-cut pants and were wearing red armbands. Smiling, they walked up to where Jinsu and the others were standing. A number of the reporters from both sides seemed on familiar terms. “I haven’t seen you for some time,” said a short, squat reporter from the North.  “Well look who’s here,” responded one of the reporters from the South in a casual, informal manner. There was a frostiness to the exchange. Both sides seemed to be sneering at each other, each trying to put on a show of superiority. “How about a smoke?” The reporter from the North held out a cigarette. “Leading the charge again, huh?” said the reporter from the South. Nevertheless, he took the cigarette. “Why are you guys always saying things like that? ‘Leading the charge, leading the charge.’ What are you talking about?” “Come on, don’t be like that. Let’s cut the nonsense and put all our cards on the table.” “Well said. Let’s tell it like it is.” This is really something. Jinsu smiled inside. The older foreign woman, who had been standing beside Jinsu watching the exchange, asked in a whisper, “What did he just say?” “That the Americans should get out.” “Oh, really? That’s scary,” she muttered with a look of surprise. She gazed intently at the reporters from the North, then walked toward her husband, shoulders slumped. She pointed toward the reporters from the North and said something to him. The expression on her husband’s face held steady as he glanced toward them. A chubby, fair-skinned reporter from the South wearing glasses with thick black rims breezed his way to the front of the group. “Big Sister, is that you? Hey, Big Sister’s here. Long time no see. How’s everything going?” he asked in a ringing voice. The woman he was addressing appeared a little over thirty. She was on the attractive side, with gentle, wholesome curves.     Jinsu had assumed she was from the South because she was dressed in traditional clothing. Looking closely, however, he could see her red armband. She scrunched her eyes up as she smiled, glad to see the reporter from the South. “Haven’t changed a bit, I see. Fatter than ever. Sucking the blood of the farmers and the urban proletariat. Shameless as ever.” Still, she held out her hand. “Easy now. Before you go on the attack, how about a proper response to a proper greeting?” protested Black Rims as he shook hands with her. “Attack? What’s gotten into you, Mr. Defensive? You certainly do seem nervous—you wouldn’t have something to hide, would you, something really awful perhaps?” Everybody laughed. Even the foreign reporters who had been watching the exchange grinned as if they had guessed from the facial expressions what was being said. “How’s Brother-in-Law?” Black Rims carried on. “And the kids, my nieces and nephews? No trouble with Father-in-Law? You must be having a tough time. I can’t sleep at night thinking about what you must be going through.” The woman covered her mouth with her hand, barely able to control her laughter. “Why are you always such a windbag? Didn’t you learn anything else in school?” interjected the short, squat reporter from the North. “Nope. You, on the other hand, you’re filled with real knowledge, the solid stuff. That’s what turned you into such a midget. This is so ridiculous. Can’t even ask after each other with my big sister.” The reporters from the South broke into peals of laughter. Even the short reporter from the North let out a sour chuckle. “No way to get through to you, I guess. Rotten to the core. Utterly pathetic,” he said. “I’m pathetic? No, I’m being humorous. Humor—have you ever heard of the word humor? No, of course not. Do you want me to explain it to you?” The meeting got under way inside the building, and everyone quieted down. Jinsu rested his arms on the windowsill and peered inside. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Is this your first time here? How do you do?” The voice was amiable and pleasant. Jinsu turned to see a soft smile playing across a woman’s lips. Her eyes were clear and lively with a yellowish cast and her face was healthy-looking, with high cheekbones and a scattering of freckles. She was really quite cute. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a red armband. Her smile had all the bashfulness of a young, unmarried woman addressing a single man. “How do you do?” responded Jinsu. What have we here? He stuck an Arirang cigarette in his mouth. “Did Seoul get a lot of rain last night too?” she asked. What a cute gold tooth. “Heavy rain, right?” she asked again. “Yes.” “Which news agency are you with?” “Gwangmyeong News.” “Oh, is that right?” Jinsu felt a quiver inside. Off to the side, Black Rims was back in action. “Okay, let me tell you about humor. You guys are never going to get it. You could die, go to heaven, come back again, and you’d still never get it. The only way you’ll ever comprehend what I’m saying is to start living a proper life. Understand? There’s no explaining it to you, you’re just too thick.” “Look, you can get worked up all you want, but at least stop spitting all over the place.” “Hey, I’m giving you a free lesson here, you ought to be paying me for this. Don’t interrupt your teacher when he’s telling you something important. You can learn from what I’m saying. Just be still and listen, it’s not going to hurt.” Jinsu barely kept from breaking into laughter. He covered his mouth and chuckled and felt a sudden sense of release. “What’s your opinion of that sort of person?” the woman asked with a tinge of a frown. When he didn’t respond immediately, she repeated, “What do you think of someone like him?” “Well, don’t you think he’s pretty funny?” Jinsu looked at her, still trying to stop himself from laughing. She smiled, as if she too were about to laugh. But then any hint that she might have been amused vanished from her face. “It’s like he’s covered under layers of filth and grime. No, he’s devoid of substance, maybe that’s a better way to put it. He’s like an acrobat, nothing but empty gestures. It’s decadent to consider him funny. Ranting about all manner of things, manipulating words to deceive his listeners. Not very straightforward, is it? What do you think?” She certainly has a thing or two to say. “I beg to differ. You mention acrobat-like gestures, decadence. But this already shows the limits imposed on your mind. Your side grasps a variety of individual tendencies only in relation to an overarching, objective standard. But we’re different. You say he’s manipulating words in order to deceive people. Can’t you see that it’s all in fun? That there’s actually a certain innocence to it? You can’t simply declare something decadent and be finished with it. You have to consider the context. Only when a given circumstance has been taken to its logical extreme can one say that signs of decadence appear. If you consider everything in absolute terms, the world becomes superficially apparent. But it’s unreasonable to insist on an approach like that. True, it can prove very useful when you’re breaking everything down into categories and types, but then you’ll never be able to grasp the truth that lies below the surface. You have to boil a persimmon to get rid of the sourness, right? But boil it too long and the skin comes off and it starts to stink. In other words, in any given situation, in any individual case, a certain amount of decadence is appropriate. Not too much, not too little. That’s what adds flavor to life, gives a person that sweet, comfortable feeling you get right before you drop off to sleep.” “That’s the kind of argument people make when they’re afraid to face up to things. There’s no need to pay so much attention to the individual case. When a persimmon’s ready for eating, you eat it. What’s the point of idle speculation about the process it goes through to get ripe? We should always keep the big picture in mind. If you want to understand the society you’re in, it’s crucial to examine its overall structure. Otherwise you’ll be lost forever. You’ll never be able to break free from that ‘sweet, comfortable feeling’ of yours. You’ll never accomplish anything if you insist on focusing on the minute details of each particular situation. What we need to do is draw our conclusions and set our goals accordingly. That’s the reality confronting us. What do you think? Don’t you agree? By the way, how’s life in Seoul?” Jinsu was about to offer a response to her mention of “reality” but was thrown off guard by the sudden change of subject. She smiled at his hesitation. “Let’s drop it for now. Everyone should come to his own conclusions about this problem, don’t you think? I do believe I’m right as far as that goes. Let’s save time and discuss things in the most efficient manner possible. So how is life in Seoul?” Jinsu said nothing. “Well?” “You first—how’s life in Pyongyang?” “Fantastic. It’s really great.” “Seoul’s fantastic too. Really great.” The woman laughed, and Jinsu followed suit. The two of them found themselves chuckling together. “Do all your family live in Seoul?” “Yes.” “I’m sorry to be so forward, but could I ask if you’re married?” She blushed ever so slightly. “No, I’m not.” Jinsu recalled entering Older Brother’s room the night before and encountering the lascivious smell coming from Sister-in-Law as she was changing her blouse. A wry expression came over his face. “What’s your opinion regarding the exchange taking place between North and South?” she asked. “Exchange? Oh, right, sorry. Well, I guess we could think of it like this. Aren’t you and I engaged in an exchange right now? That part of it’s easy enough… But of course it would be much too simplistic, too optimistic, to think that what we’re doing now could serve as an example for the sort of tone that should be adopted in the discussions. The relations between North and South are so very complex. The situation prior to the outbreak of the Korean War, I mean… To understand this horrendous ‘reality’ in and of itself—oh, I forgot, you wouldn’t know the English term reality, would you?” Jinsu asked abruptly with a smile, aware that he wasn’t making much sense. “The facts as they are—actuality—right?” “Exactly. The whole problem hinges on that. It makes appealing to such things as national customs seem meaningless. Don’t you agree that we’re faced with a reality that’s nearly impossible to overcome?” “Not necessarily. There’s nothing overly complicated about the situation. It’s rather simple, actually. Don’t you think you’re in charge of your own destiny? Don’t you? You are, right? That’s what makes it so simple. There’s no room for a defeatist attitude, for indecision. The problem is when people take a simple situation and make it complicated for no good reason. You engage in an exchange and that’s it, you’ve got yourself an exchange,” she said in a soothing tone. “But each side comes to the table with its own agenda. You can’t just assume that no calculation has gone into any of it. Your side makes use of the commonplace notion that things should be approached simply, but our side is different. And our side has its reasons for taking such a position. That’s where cold, hard reality comes into play. I’m talking about survival of the fittest, to eat or be eaten. We have to start being more frank with each other.” The woman blinked in astonishment. “So it’s all about who eats and who gets eaten? The way you frame the issue is just plain distorted. Let’s tackle the problem head-on, okay? What sort of standard do you think should be set for politics? Don’t you think that above all else we need to eliminate what you might call the sentimental attachment—or, to put it another way, the force of habit, the inertia—that allows for the privileging of a particular individual or group? The right to choose belongs to the common people, those who toil in obscurity. They must be given the opportunity and the freedom to choose,” she declared fervently, turning red with excitement. “I agree. They must be given the right to choose. No doubt about that. Does your side give it to them? What form does freedom take in your world? Have you ever considered the possibility that freedom has become just another one of the things you foist upon the people? It doesn’t matter whether you want to regard such coercive measures as necessary, justified by the predetermined historical trajectory of your so-called progressive democracy, the one projected by the chosen few. How about it? Is life bearable in the North? I’d appreciate an honest answer.” Jinsu grinned, as if he had got her where it hurt. “It’s a question of conviction. Freedom is not a word to be bandied about by someone full of hot air. The true value of freedom emerges only in a society that has established ethical standards that take human dignity into account. Justice comes before freedom. Otherwise freedom becomes nothing more than a tool to be manipulated. Like an apple that’s shiny and red on the outside but rotten to the core on the inside. Do you know what our basic moral position is? Our concern is with mapping out the future direction for the entire nation. The individual must find a place within this concern. That’s where freedom lies. I guess in the final analysis it does come down to ideology. Apathy, indifference—that’s the only way to describe your way of thinking. What you mean to say is that all you want to do is play around, engage in all sorts of depraved activities. You have no proper concept of freedom, you have no ideology. What you’ve got is your animal urges. That’s what’s leading you from one day to the next. That’s what the ‘self’ you want to revel in is made of, your staggering, aimless self…” Her voice trailed off in anger. “What’s left after you throw away the self? The highest form of freedom is the one that allows people to play around a little, to commit a few harmless misdeeds. That’s the way people are—it’s human nature. There are societies that make the necessary allowances for this. These societies possess both depth and adaptability. They are appropriately tolerant of such behavior while maintaining an overall balance and stability. Does that line of reasoning make me full of hot air? Who’s full of hot air, someone who throws away a sense of self and becomes nothing more than an ideological abstraction, or someone who, appropriately—” “By all means, you’re right. How can there be ideology without the self? Why throw away the self? The point is, one must take a firm, clear sense of self and ground it in the proper ideology. Otherwise, you’re nothing but the empty shadow of a person, wandering around without a purpose. Your view of freedom is rotten to the core. It’s got a putrid smell. It reeks… How can you possibly try to justify yourself in such a way?” “It’s possible. Completely possible. There’s no limit to the depths of the inner self. Your side only thinks of people in terms of data to be made use of in the most efficient manner possible. I’m getting a feel for just how one-dimensional the moral standards are in your society.” “No. It’s just that right now we’re confronted with some pressing circumstances. That’s the reason for it.” “Have you heard of Dostoevsky or Shakespeare? What do you think of them?” “Of course I’m aware of them. Dostoevsky inserts a characterized version of himself in his novels. His emphasis on the unnecessarily grandiose gestures made by the urban petit bourgeoisie places his work in the category of speculative philosophy. As for Shakespeare, he offers an incisive portrayal of the various aspects of a country in which the sprouts of civil society are first appearing.” “That’s frighteningly abstract.” “No, that’s the essence of it. One shouldn’t get hung up on particulars. You have to grasp the overall framework.” The older foreign woman walked by; the smile on her face seemed to say, How wonderful. They stopped talking. A calm seemed to come over them. Black Rims was having his picture taken with his “big sister.” The two of them were laughing, the earlier fuss apparently forgotten. Meanwhile, half a dozen reporters from both sides were bickering beneath the eaves of the building where the meeting was taking place.    pp. 41-72  Translated by Theodore HughesReprinted with permission from Asia Publishers, Seoul, Korea.  

ESSAYS

• How I Discovered Korea Vol.13 Autumn 2011

REVIEWS

• The Light at the End of the Tunnel: Stories from the Terrifying Night by Lee Ho-cheol Vol.27 Spring 2015

• How I Discovered Korea Vol.13 Autumn 2011

BOOKS

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