The Quartely Conversation / March 16, 2015

Kim Namcheon, Scenes from the Enlightenment (translated by Charles LaShure) Choi In-hun, The Square (translated by Kim Seong-kon) Ch’oe In-ho, Another Man’s City, (translated by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton) Hailji, The Republic of Uzupis, (translated by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton) Park Min-gyu, Pavane for a Dead Princess, (translated by Amber Hyun Jung Kim)   Despite South Korea having the kind of vibrant literary scene you’d expect from a country with one of the highest literacy rates in the world, we’re still not exactly inundated with English translations of South Korean fiction. Given this dearth, Dalkey Archive Press’s Library of Korean Literature series, twenty five titles published in collaboration with the Literary Translation Institute of Korea, was always going to be a welcome endeavor, though there are also niggling doubts: will the books stand on their own merits, or will they require some pre-existing knowledge of Korea to be properly appreciated? Is there some kind of cultural propaganda going on, a desire for “representativeness” that might have skewed the selection process?

The New York Times / April 01, 2015

SEOUL, South Korea — There’s good news in South Korea: One of the country’s favorite actresses may return to the spotlight after a six-year absence. Unlike many entertainers who take time away for rehab or spiritual regeneration, Ok So-ri, a celebrated actress of the 1990s and the former host of the popular radio show “11 O’clock, I Am Ok So-ri,” left the country and abandoned her career to stay out of jail. In 2008 she was sentenced to eight months in prison after the actor Park Chul, who was then her husband, accused her of adultery. Now she is poised to come back home.  

_list Books from Korea / February 16, 2015

  In Search of a Forgotten Land: The Republic of Užupis by Haïlji   By Cailin Neal on Feb 16 2015 15:37:13 Vol.26 Winter 2014   The Republic of Užupis Haïlji Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton Dalkey Archive Press 2014 300pp. ISBN 9781628970654     When The Repulic of Užupis by Haïlji opens, Hal, a Korean traveling to Lithuania, is explaining the purpose of his trip to an immigration officer. He has come to bury his father’s ashes in his homeland—The Republic of Užupis, an independent state not far from Vilnius. However, whenever he states his destination, it draws blank faces and laughter from immigration control, his taxi driver, and some friendly Lithuanians he meets in a hotel bar. The place he speaks of does not exist   But Hal persists.   In a number of proceeding scenes, Hal regains his confidence when he sees the Užupis flag or hears its national anthem or hears people speaking Užupis. Despite not being able to speak Užupis, he can clearly understand it, and hears it often around the city, including being spoken by the mayor in a funny scene where a Lithuanian falsely translates the mayor’s Užupis, which she cannot understand. Yet still, people deny the existence of this independent state.   It is Jurgita, a woman Hal meets on his first night in Vilnius, who confirms the existence of the Republic. In an intimate scene, Jurgita cooks him traditional Užupis soup, and tells him stories from her childhood: her lost love, memories of her dead father the practice of old traditions. When Hal asserts that he will find their fatherland, Jurgita says, “That’s exactly what my husband said. He promised he’d take me to Užupis. But he never came back.” Knowing the fate of so many Užupis men—killed by their own hand—Hal still decides to travel forth.   With the city blanketed in snow, he takes a trip out of Vilnius, where he meets his fate and an elderly woman with answers to some of his questions. Sliding into a chapter out of Kafka, the reader is ultimately warned by Hal’s sad fate.   The descriptions of the snow-covered Lithuania are breathtaking, and add to the sense that this is a land both familiar and not. The translation by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton is outstanding. This story lingers long after the pages are closed.  Twitter Facebook Google Email .

list_Books from Korea / -

Literary and Cinematic Imagination Rising from the Darkness (1970s-mid 1990s)   By Lee Sang-yong on Oct 28 2014 02:07:30 Vol.6 Winter 2009 During the time of rule by military dictatorship to riding the historical wave of democracy, the boundaries between literature and cinema naturally crumbled and interaction between the two fields increased. Turning bestselling novels into blockbuster films was a major trend at the time.   During this period, Korean culture was considered to be at a crossroads of darkness and light. Under military dictatorships that began in the 70s and lasted until the early 90s, there were limits to what artists could express. But with the advent of the so-called hangeul generation, growing interest in popular culture and the wave of democracy all led to the deluge of popular culture seen in the 90s. Within this historical context, the boundaries between literature and cinema naturally crumbled, and the interaction between the two fields increased. Certain authors not only started writing screenplays early on, but also began to participate in film productions. And some authors went on to forge steady partnerships with specific directors. From the late 60s to the 70s, author Kim Seungok was without equal. Considered to be one of the best modernist writers of the 60s, his writing defined an era. But before Kim Seungok made his literary debut, he worked as a newspaper cartoonist. And even after he became an author, he also worked as a screenplay writer and a film director. In his autobiography, The Lord I Met, the author says that after he directed Potato (1968), he anguished over whether to continue working as a director or to commit fully to his life as an author. Of course, his film, Potato is by no means a masterpiece, but it should be notated that he helped usher in the 70s: a time when film and cinema blossomed together. And this proves how multi-talented he was.