Thursday June 10,
2021
6:00 -7:30 pm
The Powerpoint images as
a PDF file (changing at (**^**) )
In this
presentation I would like to survey the history of the
translation into English
of Korean literature. We will see how most early
translations, from the late
1960s until the year 2000, were made by Koreans wishing
to make the world admire
the quality of the poetry and fiction being written in
Korea, and so enhance
the prestige of their country, which was almost
completely unknown to the West.
Before 1970, only a tiny handful of translations had
been published, and with
minimal impact. Before 2000, despite many more being
published, the impact
remained minimal. It is only in the last few years that
Korean fiction in
translation (English and other) has become part of the
world’s mainstream of
popular fiction. (**^**) The first translator of Korean poetry and
fiction into English was
James Scarth Gale (1863-1937). He was a prolific
translator but had little
success in finding publishers. Toronto University
Library today houses a
considerable number, 10 or 12, perhaps, of his completed
translations that
still await publication. He was able to find a publisher
for a series of short
tales by Im Bang (1640-1724) and Yi Ryuk (16th century),
published as Korean
Folk Tales in London by J.M. Dent
in 1913. The title suggests a marketing strategy by the
publisher, for these
are not “folk tales” in the usual sense, but
entertaining “yadam” stories
composed by scholars to be read by scholars. Equally
scholarly was Gale’s other
published translation, Kim Man-Choong’s The
Cloud Dream of the Nine (London: Daniel O’Connor,
1922) which was very
beautifully produced but perhaps not widely read. Apart from these two British
publications, Gale’s published translations were limited
to magazines produced
in Korea with extremely limited circulation. Gale
established and did most of
the writing for the monthly Korea
Magazine which was published from January 1917
until April 1919. Especially,
a version of the “Tale of Chunhyang,” “Choon Yang,” was
published in
instalments in the Korea Magazine
from
September 1917 to July 1918. This was a translation of a
prose “new novel” (shin-soseol)
version of the older pansori text, Ok-jung-hwa (獄中花) Flower in Prison by the contemporary
novelist Yi Hae-jo, which was
serialized from January until July 1912 in the Maeil Shinbo daily newspaper, then
published in the same year as a
single volume. However, the Korea
Magazine had a very limited circulation and few
subscribers seem to have
kept the complete series. Until I scanned and put the
story (and the whole Magazine)
online last year, almost
nobody had access to it. (**^**) Other translations by Gale,
many of poetry, were also published in the Korea
Magazine, and so remained unnoticed. The monthly Korea Mission Field had a somewhat larger
circulation, but only mainly
among missionaries in Korea. It was published from 1905
until 1941. James Gale
published short installments of his History
of the Korean People in the Korea
Mission Field from July 1924 until September 1927
and they contained a
considerable number of poems and other texts from Goryeo
and Joseon periods
translated by Gale. But again, the readership was
severely limited. The
complete text was only published in book form in 1972,
again in Seoul. Joan Grigsby, a Scottish poet, who
spent some time in Seoul 1929-1930, rewrote many of
Gale’s poetry translations
from the History
in her own style and
they were published in Japan in 1935 as The
Orchid Door. This was the first book-length
publication of Korean poetry in
translation, but it was read by very few people. Gale can be taken as a token for
what was to follow. His translations were effective and
(relatively at least)
accurate, his British publishers were well-established
and reputable. However,
there is little indication that his two books were much
noticed. Once printed,
they were given little or no publicity, were probably
not reviewed, and once
they went out of print they were not reprinted. Gale’s
choice of works to
translate was judicious. The Folk Tales
were delightful and entertaining tales in many of which
a simple, often young, low-class
hero outwits ghosts and other evil creatures to come out
on top. (**^**) The Cloud Dream of the Nine is a
remarkable work, probably the
finest work of Joseon fiction, relating a man’s rise to
fame and fortune over a
whole lifetime, only for him to wake up on the last page
and discover that it
had all been a dream, an illusion. For some reason, the
equally learned
Anglican missionary Richard Rutt chose to retranslate
the same tale as A
Nine Cloud Dream and publish it inconspicuously
in Korea in 1974, rather than simply reprinting Gale’s
version. Last year, a
new translation by Heinz Insu Fenkl was published as the
second Korean title in
the prestigious Penguin Classics series, finally making
it an accessible part
of “world literature.” (**^**) As for his translation of
the Chunhyang novel by Yi Hae-jo, this is intriguing
because Gale usually disliked
and despised the contemporary culture of Korea. He could
not have realized and
would not have cared that the writers of Shinsoseol
were laying the foundation for the modern novel in
Korea. He must simply have
chosen it as being the most easily accessible text of a
popular Joseon-era tale.
He probably did not recognize the anti-Japanese subtext
that a number of Korean
writers exploited after March 1, 1919, according to
which the beautiful,
faithful beloved lady Chunhyang in her prison cell and
her torments is Korea,
while the wicked, corrupt and cruel magistrate is Japan,
the miraculous return
of the young hero an impossible collective dream of
liberation. (**^**) We now look back over the
Japanese colonial era and see the emergence of modern
Korean poetry and fiction,
the fiction represented both by short stories and
full-length novels, the
former probably the majority. Novels were often
serialized in newspapers or
magazines, and were not always published as books after
that. The most often
mentioned names of writers of early modern fiction are
Yi Kwangsu and Kim
Tong-in. In poetry, Kim Sowol and Han Yong-un are today
highly celebrated in
Korea, yet each only published a single volume, at
almost the same time around
1925, and they only became celebrated poets in Korea
after Liberation and the
Korean War. More significant as influencers of post-1945
modern Korean poetry
were Yu Chi-hwan and Pak Mog-wol, together with Seo
Jeong-ju. Many of the most creative, radical
literary figures went to live in North Korea after 1945,
assuming that
socialist ideas would produce a more humane society than
American capitalism.
Others were kidnapped northward or killed during the
Korean War and this
serious loss of talent had an extremely negative impact
on South Korean writing
in the decades after 1950. (**^**) Literary historians today mention Kim
Tongni and Hwang Sunwon as the
most celebrated writers of fiction, Kim Su-yong and Kim
Chunsu for poetry, prior
to 1970. Apart from Joan Grigsby’s little book of poems,
we have to look
elsewhere for the first published volume of translated
Korean poetry. That is a
roneotyped collection entitled Songs from
Korea by Y.T. Pyun, in an old-style tied-thread
binding, dated 1936, which
begins with 102 translated ‘old songs’ (Joseon-era
poems) and then continues
with a substantial set of Pyun’s own poems in English.
The same book was later
republished in a more modern-style edition printed in
Seoul in 1948. Pyun
Yung-Tai (Byeon Yeong-tae) was born in 1892, died in
1969, and served as
Foreign Minister of the Republic of Korea (1951–1953)
throughout most of the
Korean War before becoming Prime Minister from June 28,
1954, until July 31,
1955. In 1946 he also published Tales
from Korea, an equally roneotyped collection of
“folk tales” which he later
developed into his Folk Tales from
Korea (1952).
He is thus the first Korean to translate
older Korean poetry into English, and so far the only
literary translator to
have served as Prime Minister of Korea
Then in
1948 정인섭Zŏng In-Sŏb (Jeong
In-seop 1905-1983)
published his An
Anthology of Modern Poems in Korea (대한현대
시 영역 대조집), with translations of 125 poems by
100 (today often forgotten) poets. Zŏng In-Sŏb
graduated from the English
Department of Waseda University (Tokyo) in 1929 and
taught at Yeonhui College
(Seoul) until 1946, while being active in several
literary and academic
associations. In 1946 he became a professor at 중앙대학, then during the Korean War, from
1950-1953, he taught Korean at SOAS
in the University of London (UK) while earning his M.A.
In 1954 he was one of
the founders of the Korean PEN Club, from 1956 he was
its first President,
while teaching at SNU before returning to 중앙대학 in 1957, where he stayed until he retired
in 1968. He then published
his An
Introduction to Korean Literature
(1970), almost certainly the first such book in English.
Ten years after the Anthology, Zong
In-Sob’s Modern
Short Stories from Korea, (Seoul:
Mun-ho Publishing Co., 1958) was the first collection of
modern Korean short
stories in English translation ever to be published.
Charles Montgomery[1],
writing in the LA
Review of Books in
2016, wrote “Ten of its 20 stories focus on “love and
marriage,” and the rest
are characterized as “social stories.” “Most demonstrate
a kind of depth and
lack of didacticism that would soon almost vanish from
translated Korean
fiction. . . ..” The first published volume containing
English translations of works by a single modern, living
Korean poet was the
volume Before
Love Fades Away (1957),
containing poems by Cho Byung-Wha. This was soon
followed by Selected
Poems of Kim So Wol (1959),
both volumes being translated by Kim Dong-seong
(1890–1969) and published in
Korea. Kim was a Korean comic artist, translator,
journalist, and politician.
He left for America in 1908 and studied journalism at
Ohio State University.
Kim returned to Korea in 1919 and was a founding member
of the Donga-Ilbo.
He was the Minister of
Culture in South Korea’s first government in 1948. Broad selections of Korean poetry,
from the early periods until the present, soon followed.
Peter Hyun published Voices of the Dawn:
A Selection of Korean
Poetry from the Sixth Century to the Present Day
with John Murray (London)
in 1960, the first western publication of translated
Korean poetry. Peter Hyun
was born in 1927 in what is now North Korea, then moved
to the USA to study
during the Korea War, before moving to Europe in 1952.
In 1961,
another set of short fiction was published, Collected
Short Stories from Korea edited by Chu Yo-seop
(1902-1972) published by
Korean PEN. Chu was educated in Shanghai after being
imprisoned in Pyongyang
during the March 1 Movement, then did an M.A. at
Stanford, worked for
newspapers in Seoul, taught in China and at Kyunghee
University. He was one of
the early Presidents of Korean PEN. He was a poet and
novelist. Charles
Montgomery has summarized[2]
the
stories in this collection, finding them lively but
rather less entertaining
than the previous anthology. He quotes Chu as writing, “Some Americans who read Korean
short stories say that the reading of
them create (sic) gloom and pain, for practically all
the stories deal with
hard and tragic lives. The editor acknowledges that they
speak the truth. But
to the Korean writers and readers, the gay or happy life
seems unreal and
unnatural, because for generations the Korean people
have lived in poverty and
have been mercilessly oppressed. Readers would feel
offended if they found
their reading devoid of the pain of the mind as well as
of the body.” Today, looking
back, the main interest of Jeong
In-seop and Ju Yo-seop’s anthologies is their focus on
poets and novelists
writing before 1960. In fact, a good number of the works
they translated were
written during the Japanese period. The writers’ names
are often unfamiliar
today, to readers of more modern Korean literature at
least, and many of them
were writing before the Japanese surrender of 1945. (**^**) Peter Lee was born in Seoul
in 1929, moved to the USA as a child and did all his
studies in American
schools. In 1964, Peter Lee published Anthology
of Korean Poetry: From the Earliest Era to the Present
with John Day of New
York. Like Peter Hyun, he had spent his entire adult
life outside of Korea.
Peter Lee became one of the first professors of Korean
literature, in Hawaii
then in UCLA, and he went on to publish a considerable
number of academic
translations of mostly pre-modern Korean texts, which
have made him one of the best-known
and best-selling translators of pre-modern Korean texts.
At this
time, almost the only westerners living in Korea with
sufficient Korean skills
to translate literature were missionaries. In 1971, the
American Methodist
missionary Edward Poitras published in Seoul Sea of Tomorrow, poems by the contemporary
poet Park Tu-jin. In
later years he published several other volumes, while
his wife Genelle also
became a translator of Korean short stories. Also in
1971 the more scholarly
British Anglican missionary Richard Rutt was fortunate
to publish his fine
volume The Bamboo
Grove: An Introduction
to Sijo with the University of California Press.
Soon after, in 1974, The
Irish Catholic priest Kevin O’Rourke, published Where Clouds Pass By: Selected Poems of Cho
Byung-Hwa. It was only
in 1983 that the well-known Bruce Fulton (former
American Peace-Corps member) and
his Korean wife Yun Ju-chan, living in the USA,
published their first collection of short
stories, Debasement and Other Stories. Each of
these translators went on to
produce a significant number of other books in the
following decades, but apart
perhaps from the Fultons, they found it very hard to
attract good publishers
and the books by the missionaries were poorly
distributed. Meanwhile, the great majority of
published translations were works translated by Koreans,
only sometimes with
help from a “native-speaker” of English. Many of these
translators were
professors of English / American literature, who were
rather too proud of their
English skills to seek help.
(**^**) Until
recently, western readers of Korean
fiction in translation have often been turned off by the
preponderant gloom,
the lack of humor or suspense, and the tendency to
assume that readers are
familiar with every detail of traditional Korean history
and culture. Clearly,
the fiction was written with only (South) Korean readers
in mind. It did not
travel well. Certainly, there is a deep national trauma
due to the oppressive
Japanese regime, then the division of the Peninsula by
outside forces and the
ensuing ideological conflict and war. The Korean War was
followed by a series
of less-than-democratic regimes with a continuing policy
of enforced
industrialization and urbanization. Criticism and
protest were not tolerated. The
main concerns of worthy writers were assumed to be (1)
national identity (2)
individual human dignity. In school textbooks, short,
accessible poems from the
Japanese period were given pride of place as tokens of
Korean national
resistance, especially if the poet had been killed by
the Japanese. Literature,
critics felt, should be resistant or inspirational. As a
result, poetry and
fiction were not considered to constitute “light
entertainment” but were
supposed to be written with a “high seriousness” to
promote good citizenship
and noble humanity. In the dreadful years of
destruction, division and poverty after 1950, stories of
people experiencing
terrible suffering with dignity became the new literary
norm, whether the
setting was the Korean War or the newly built industrial
cities. Humor and
fantasy were not completely excluded, but they were
little valued in
themselves. Poetry was expected to be disincarnate,
lyrical, full of
traditional symbols or references to ancient legends or
to the world of nature.
Then, especially after the 1960 April; Revolution, Shin
Dong-yeop, Kim Su-yeong
and Shin Kyeong-nim gave a new impulse to socially
resistant poetry, inspired
by the sufferings of the poor, though their stance was
not explicitly
“socialist.” The
preference for dark “documentary
realism” and for stories about pain and alienation
continued on into the 1990s,
when women writers turned their attention to the
solitude and alienation of
married women living alone in apartments, often slowly
going mad. There was
little or no light relief. It could be thought that Han
Kang’s “The Vegetarian”
continued this tradition.
(**^**) The wish
among Koreans to “globalize” Korean
literature began with their discovery of the classics of
Western literature,
often through Japanese translations or in the English
Departments of Japanese
universities. The celebrated works of the Western canon,
often poorly
translated into
Korean, did not seem so
superior to the poetry and fiction being written in
Korea, where certain
contemporary Korean writers and their works enjoyed
great prestige and
popularity. However, it seemed clear that very few
non-Koreans would ever
master enough Korean to be able to appreciate Korean
literature, therefore
translation was the only way of bringing it onto the
world stage. Soon after the end of the Pacific
War, a certain kind of Japanese fiction was promoted in
the US by the American
government as a means of transforming the American
perception of the Japanese
from the brutal, sadistic warriors of the past to
sensitive lovers of sophisticated
beauty, as natural enemies of the Soviet Union and
allies of the West in the
Cold War. The 1968 Nobel Prize awarded to Kawabata
Yasunari (whose Snow
Country was published in English already
in 1957) was a shock for Koreans. The to them
incomprehensible prestige enjoyed
in the West by Japanese fiction (and movies) left
Koreans feeling even more
ignored and humiliated. They knew that in the West
prestigious writers were
part of each nation’s national image and they wanted
Korea’s prestigious
writers to contribute to Korea’s greater prestige,
without realizing that what
they as Korean readers responded strongly to might not
have the same impact on
people who had not shared Korea’s unique experience of
trauma. The most important single factor in
creating a new bridge between Korea and the USA was the
arrival in the
mid-1960s of the first Peace Corps volunteers. While
missionaries learned
Korean in order to work in Korea, these young Americans
went back home soon
after they had learned at least a certain amount of
Korean, taking with them
(often) a deep affection for the country. Some then
entered East Asian Studies
departments and in due course became the first
generation of professors of
Korean Studies in the US, including Kathleen Stephens,
David McCann, Bruce
Cummings, Edward Shultz, Bruce Fulton . . . A new
concern arose, since their
students could not learn enough Korean to read difficult
texts, therefore translations
of Korean texts, both old and recent, were needed for
classroom use. This was
the first (small-scale) commercial reason for publishing
translations from
Korean in the USA and a few university presses took a
lead. These books rarely
reached a general readership. The Columbia
Anthologies of Korean Poetry and Fiction were only
published in 2004-5. (**^**) Some basic statistics give a clear
picture: Between 1970 and 2000, some
130 English translations of Korean poetry, fiction and
(occasionally) drama
were published. Of these, 95 were translated by Koreans,
and over 40 were
published in Korea. 53 of the total were
poetry. 44 were anthologies with works by multiple
authors. 63 were fiction (collections
of short stories or full-length novels). It was not
until 1979 that a
full-length Korean novel was published, Ulhwa
the Shaman by Kim Dongni, translated by Ahn
Junghyo and published by
Larchwood (USA), a press that went on to publish several
other Korean novels in
the following years. Before 2000, 36 full-length novels
were published, most
(20) of them in Korea. (**^**) In the first 12 years of
the 21st century, another 130 volumes were published. 60
of these were poetry.
Nearly 100 of the books had at least one Korean named as
translator/co-translator. By now, very few were
published in Korea but almost
none were published by a major commercial or university
press. 18 were
anthologies. 38 full-length novels were published. In the 10 years since 2012, 73 more
volumes of poetry and 130 more volumes of fiction have
been published, most of
the fiction being full-length novels published overseas.
We will talk about
this most recent period a little later.
(**^**)
Attention to what is now known as “World Literature”
began in countries where
translation was more widespread than in the US or the
UK. In France, for
example, in the 1980s and 90s, Actes Sud
began to publish small, pocket-book-size French
translations of works from many
countries, including Korean short stories and novellas,
then later some
full-length novels. In the 1990s, some good Parisian
bookstores stocked those
little books, but in a rather dark corner, on a shelf
labelled “Corée,” close
to “Chine” and “Japon.” The same was true in England.
Korean literature was not
expected to appeal to general readers, but only to
specialists, if at all.
In
England, the Harvill Press was founded after the war to
publish translated novels
from Russia and other East-European countries, mainly,
and by other important
European and international writers, such as Calvino or
Durras. It built up a
fine reputation. The owner, Christopher Maclehouse, one
day felt an urge to
publish a Korean title, since none were available
anywhere. His wife, a French
lady, duly read the Korean books published by Actes Sud
and identified Yi
Munyol’s novel “The Poet” as the most interesting. By a
complex series of
events I became one of the translators, obliged to work
with a very difficult
Korean professor. For the first time, a major western
publisher had chosen a
work and then commissioned a translation from the
Korean. Previously it was
always the translator who chose what was translated,
then desperately sought
for a publisher. The
book was published, and it was duly
reviewed in the Times
Literary Supplement.
But instead of being reviewed by a specialist in world
fiction, they asked an
academic expert in Korean Studies, Keith Howard, to
write a review. His
specialty is ethno-musicology, including Korean music
and he admits to knowing
nothing of Korean literature. The review, quite lengthy,
was all about modern Korean
history and ignored the novel entirely . . . .
Probably
the most important turning-point came in 2011, when
Knopf published Please
Look After Mom by Kyung-Sook
Shin, translated by Chi-Young Kim ( a New
York-based lawyer whose mother, Yu Young-nan was an
earlier translator). Knopf is a Big Name!
Until then, almost all Korean
titles had been published by small, unknown presses with
no budget for
publicity or bookstore distribution, or by university
presses relying mainly on
class-room use and automatic library purchases. At last
Korean fiction was no
longer seen as material for study but as material for
the worldwide
entertainment industry, just like movies, TV dramas, and
(a little later) K-pop.
Please Look After
Mom was marketed in
the West for general readers, especially members of
book-clubs, being presented
as a touching Asian family saga. It was not at all
marketed as a “Korean”
title, although the author’s identity made that clear
enough. It was
distributed, reviewed and publicized in the usual Knopf
style, massively. There
was a separate UK edition with a corrected English
title, Please Look After Mother It
did not sell millions of copies, as some of Knopf’s
titles do, but for the very
first time a translated Korean novel was treated just
like any other appealing
novel, whether translated or not.
The
other major event for the translation of Korean fiction
was the recognition
accorded to Deborah Smith’s translation of Han Kang’s The Vegetarian
by the 2015 Man
Booker International Prize. Again, we find a touching
Asian family saga,
although darker and more clearly a study in social and
psychological alienation.
The fuss made by some pedantic Koreans about the
somewhat free / inaccurate
translation had no effect on international sales. In
fact, The Vegetarian was the trailblazer for
what was to follow. Korea
had by this time begun to be an international household
name, especially among
the younger generations, thanks first to a series of
very successful romantic
TV dramas adored especially in Japan, South-East Asia
and India, perhaps more
than in the UK or USA, and then to the growing
popularity of Korean movies, but
above all to K-Pop music. In Korea literature, the
troubled, problematic
psychology of the main character in The
Vegetarian was already a familiar motif, although
certainly some readers
wondered whether the novel was really worth so much
praise. (**^**) A New York literary agent ,
Barbara Zitwer, soon seized on the growing popularity
among younger Western
readers of psychological “thrillers,” as well as horror
stories, science-fiction,
and almost anything written by younger women, and was
able to find important commercial
publishers for a considerable number of Korean novels,
mostly by younger female
authors such as Bae SuAh, Sun-mi Hwang, Hye-young Pyun,
You-Jeong Jeong, Cho
Nam-Joo, Kim Soom, as well as Un-su Kim, and the older
male Hwang Sok-yong. The
name of Sora Kim Russell looms large among the younger
translators producing
this new form of Korean Wave. Thanks to Barbara Zitwer, we have
escaped from the nightmare decades in which a
translator, having selected a
novel or poet she liked and translated the work,
desperately tried to find a
“publisher” of any kind. Major companies like Knopf were
inaccessible because
they only deal with literary agents. We often turned to
White Pine Press,
Cornell East Asia Series, MerwinAsia, Homa & Sekey,
or (worse still)
Stallion in Singapore . . . . the books got printed, but
that was about all.
The Korean government has long tried to encourage the
“globalization” of Korean
writing, first through the 문예진흥원 Korea Culture & Arts Foundation, then
through 한군문학번역원 LTI Korea,
providing generous funding to translators
once their work was accepted by a foreign publisher, as
well as sending Korean
writers overseas to speak and read at festivals. But
that has had very little real
impact. But today, the tables have turned. It
is not only K-pop and Korean movies that make the
headlines, even Korean
fiction is being translated, then published by major
commercial presses, and
embraced by readers in many countries as
never before. Not all of it, of course, since major
publishers can only publish
a certain number of titles each year, and they only want
to publish novels that
they can market successfully. Korean writers have begun
to understand that they
have to be writing to entertain the world at large,
especially the young, not
only older South Korean readers. The younger translators
now producing
translations of popular novels and graphic fiction by
younger Koreans can hope
for more success, so long as the Korean writers are able
to provide what is
needed. Fiction today has to be entertaining, and
different, has to speak to
the world’s demanding young readers who do not care if a
writer is famous in
Seoul and Busan. Korean writers who write exclusively
for a Korean readership
do not need translators. Those who write for tomorrow’s
world will be given the
priority. If the writers do not write what is needed,
the translators will
labor in vain. (**^**) To end on a personal note,
since the Covid pandemic struck early in 2020 I have
been translating
contemporary Korean novels proposed to me by the agent
Barbara Zitwer. Of the
seven I have completed, only one has so far been taken
by a major publisher. Yi
Geum-yi’s “The Picture Bride” 알로하, 나의
엄마들will be published in October 2022.
It all takes time! This tells the
story of three young women from a remote Gyeongsang
Province village who in
1919 set out to become “picture brides” marrying Koreans
working in the
plantations of Hawaii. Two find themselves married to
men far older than they
thought, while the main character discovers that her
husband did not know she
existed until she arrived, his father having acted
without telling him in order
to have a grandchild before he died. The three women end
up working together,
united by strong bonds of friendship. The last part
moves to 1941, Pearl
Harbor, when the daughter of one of the three discovers
something surprising
about herself. Gong Ji-young is a popular but
rather controversial writer. I have translated two of
her novels, A
Tall, Blue Ladder 높고 푸른 사다리, and The Open Sea 먼바다, in both of which we see how very
difficult communications are between
two people who claim to love one another. Gong is
strongly Catholic, the first
tells of a young brother in a Korean monastery who falls
for the niece of his
Abbot, despite knowing that she already has a fiancé in
the US. Finally, their
relationship comes to nothing, he becomes a priest. The
novel evokes two major episodes
from the Korean War, the Heungnam Evacuation and the
years spent in the
Oksadong prison camp in North Korea by a group of German
Benedictine monks and
nuns. The Open
Sea tells of an older
woman, a university professor, who visits New York and
meets a man who, forty
years before, she had loved but he was a seminarian and
she only a high-school
student, then suddenly he left for the USA. Reconnected
thanks to Facebook,
they are to meet and all the questions she still has
about what happened forty
years before come back amidst tension and confusion. Kwon Jeong-hyeon is perhaps less
well-known, even in Korea. the novel Blade
and Tongue 칼과 혀 (already published
in France) is set in Manchuria
during the last days of the war. A Chinese prisoner, a
cook is given the task
of preparing special dishes for the Japanese Commander,
whose main interest is
the enjoyment of fine cooking. Various plot strands,
including one involving a
Korean woman, are interwoven. JM Lee’s Broken Summer 부서진 여름
was only published in May 2021, the translation is
already complete and it is currently
being shown to publishers. A famous artist wakes one
morning to find that his
wife has left him, leaving a section of a novel she has
written depicting him
as a seducer of an under-aged girl. We return in
flashback to the death by
drowning 25 years before of the wife’s older sister. The
artist’s father was
imprisoned for her murder but doubts remain until at the
climax all becomes
clear and the artist acknowledges that he has been using
and abusing his wife
all these years.
Im Seong-sun’s Antarctic Mutiny극해 is the most
violent novel I have translated. It is
entirely set on a trawler commandeered by the Japanese
navy during the Pacific
War. The officers are Japanese, the crew Korean,
Taiwanese and Filipino. The
cruelty of the Japanese Bosun leads the Koreans to
mutiny, killing all but one
of the Japanese. The novel includes sodomy, cannibalism
and multiple murders.
Barbara Zitwer is afraid of it, it seems to me a very
exciting read. Now I am
working on the same author’s The
Consultant 컨서턴트 which tells the
adventures of a murder-planner. These brief summaries of translated
but not yet published recent novels serve to show that
Korean fiction is no
longer gloomy and nationalistic. It is as entertaining
and imaginative, although
often in grotesque and hair-raising ways, as any Korean
movie, and shows that
Korean writers have come a long way from the earlier
nationalistic “documentary
realism.” They are now fully “globalized,” so much so
that translators and
agents have to struggle to keep up with them. [1]
http://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/the-korea-blog/looking-back-modern-short-stories-korea-first-collection-korean-fiction-english/ [2]
https://www.ktlit.com/early-korean-modern-literature-collected-short-stories-from-korea/ |