UNSRC Korean Cultural Society

Korea Herald

The summer heat continues to beat down on Korea, and with the promise of relief still weeks off, it is an excellent time to stay inside by the air-conditioner, or outdoors in the shade by a river, and catch up on your reading.

The good news is that, in the past few years, partly due to good work of the Korea Literature Translation Institute (KLTI), the number and range of Korean translations has increased dramatically. Until recently, most translated novels focused on the brutal realities of occupation, war and division. Given Korea’s modern history, this made sense, but it sometimes made for rather grim reading for English speakers who were looking for a diversion, rather than a harsh history lesson. Many books still focus on these issues, and many of these are extraordinary, but more recent translations extend the scope of translated Korean literature. There has never been a better time to begin “reading Korean” if only in English.

So, if you’re looking to read some good, translated Korean literature, where should you start?

To begin with, you can’t go wrong by looking through the Portable Library of Korean Literature (PLKL) from Jimoondang Publishing. The PLKL consists of over twenty slender books of short stories by authors of classic Korean modern literature such as Yi Sang (”The Wings”), Kim Yu-jeong (”The Camellias”), Yi Chong-jun (”The Wounded”), and Choe Yun (”The Last of Hanako”). While many of these works do focus on the “older” issues of modern literature, they are nonetheless quite interesting and a quick way to be introduced to a range of Korean writers.

In terms of short story collections, “Land of Exile” remains the accessible standard. Recently re-released to include newer stories, this excellently translated volume is a good starting point for a reader interested in understanding the general outlines of Korean post-war literature. It is organized chronologically, which also helps it demonstrate the general lines upon which Korean modern literature has developed and expanded. As Korean modern literature has developed, it has been studded with great writers.

Yi Mun-yol is an interesting writer whose work bridges the gap between the more traditional concerns of modern Korean fiction and what might be called the cutting edge. “An Appointment With My Brother” is perhaps his most predictable work, telling the story of a family bisected by the Korean War. Yi’s classic “Our Twisted Hero” is a meditation on the uses and misuses of power, while “The Poet” tells an even older story of poet Kim Sak-kat who dishonors his grandfather and suffers considerably for it. Yi is also capable of stunning modern work as his “Twofold Song” ably demonstrates with its explosive mix of surrealism and a love story.

Kim Young-ha writes for readers interested in something with an existential edge. His dreamlike, “I Have the Right to Destroy Myself”, asks questions about sex, identity, and death, while his dead-on laconic creation of a policeman in “Photo Shop Murder” (published in the PLKL series) is well suited for anyone who likes the true-crime genre. Currently Chi Young-Kim (who translated “I Have the Right to Destroy Myself” and Lee Dong-Ha’s brilliant “A Toy City”) is scheduled to translate Kim Young-ha’s latest novel, “The Empire of Light.” If Kim’s previous work is any indication, this should be well worth the read.

A longer novel, but quite easy to read due to its episodic structure, is Cho Se-hui’s “The Dwarf.” This is the tremendously affecting story of a dwarf’s family and their ongoing struggles to survive industrialization and urbanization. “The Dwarf’ was tremendously popular at its first publication, and its key chapter “A Dwarf Launches a Little Ball” has been reprinted in Korea 245 times. Cho writes sparely but hypnotically and if you read only one Korean novel, this would be an excellent choice.

Choe Yun first came to the attention of English readers with the publication of “Last of Hanako” which was initially published by the PLKL and later added to “Land of Exile” in its latest edition. The story of youthful friends who are torn apart by circumstance, “Last of Hanako” depended on a plot twist that might be seen ahead of time by a western reader. With the release of “There a Petal Silently Falls”, Choe steps firmly into the forefront of international Korean writers. The novella from which the book draws its title is a horrific story of family tragedy (based on real events in Gwangju in 1980) along the traditional plotlines of Korean literature, but Choe invests the story with such surreal tragedy and a hallucinatory writing that the reader is pulled along. “Whisper Yet” is the slightest work in the book, and “The Thirteen Scent Flower” is a surreal, happy-yet-sad, story of an unlikely romance enmeshed in the coarse fabric of larger life.

The authors and books mentioned here are merely the tip of the translated iceberg. A trip to “What The Book” in Itaewon, or Kyobo Books in Gwangwhamun can lead a reader to a treasure trove of new fiction, while just around the corner by Noksapyeong Station, the Foreign Book Store often stocks out of print collections. For readers out of Korea, many of the works discussed here are available on Amazon.com and Kindle. It’s hot out there, but the bookstores have air-conditioning and once you’ve bought a stack of books you have a good excuse to stay in out of the sun and read some truly excellent writers and their best works.

 

 

Charles Montgomery teaches at Dongguk University. He can be contacted through his translated Korean Literature blog at http://www.spunangel.com/morningcalm.html - Ed.

 

 

By Charles Montgomery

 

 

2009.08.22

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Korea Herald

 

This is the 39th in a series of articles highlighting tourism spots in Seoul. The guide for planning weekend trips in the capital city will help readers rediscover Seoul. - Ed.

By Annabelle Lee

 

The new Gwanghwamun Square opened in the heart of Seoul featuring a variety of interesting exhibits and charming fountains, in a place that was once crammed with bumper-to-bumper traffic.

 

History

 

Lee Seong-gye - later to become King Taejo - founded a country named Joseon on the peninsula in 1392. He had searched around for a site for a new capital.

After transferring the capital to Hanyang in 1394, King Taejo reported to the god of mountains and rivers that he would build a new palace and royal shrine. Construction of Gyeongbok Palace was completed in September 1395. The name of the palace literally means “palace with a great blessing from heaven.”

On Dec. 28, King Taejo moved into the palace, which was comprised of over 390 rooms, from which he ruled a new country that thrived for six centuries.

The southern gate of Gyeongbok Palace was called Sajeongmun, but was renamed Gwanghwamun, meaning “the King’s virtuous light shines on the nation.” The two-storied Gwanghwamun had three entrances. The central arch was for the King, and the two on either side were for his subjects. In front of Gwanghwamun stood two statues of Haechi - a lion-like creature that appears in Korean myths as a guardian against fire and disasters. In a picture of Jujak a guardian to protect the southern region was painted on the ceiling.

Gwanghawmun had government offices on both sides of the road to the south. The street was called “Yukjo Geori,” the street of six ministries. On the right side stood Yejo (the Ministry of Rites), Samgunbu (Three Armies Command), Jungchubu (the Office of Ministers-without-Portfolio), Saheonbu (the Office of Inspector-General), Byeongjo (the Ministry of Military Affairs), Hyeongjo (the Ministry of Punishments), and Gongjo (the Ministry of Public Works).

On the left were Uijeongbu (the State Council), Hanseongbu (the Ministry of the Capital City), Hojo (the Ministry of Taxation) and Giroso (the Club of Elders). The street was as important as the inside of the Gyeongbokgung since it was a bustling place of information exchange.

 

Celebration of reopening

 

On Aug. 1, 2009, the refurbished Gwanghwamun Square was opened.

Gwanghwamun Square had lost its original structure over time. The original gate was burnt during the Japanese invasion of Korea in 1592. Although it was rebuilt in 1864 by Heungseon Daewongun, it lost its appearance once again during the Japanese colonial rule (1910-1945). The Gwanghwamun area then lost its exclusive image and became known simply as the place with the worst traffic congestion in Korea.

To resurrect the site’s spirit and beauty, Gwanghwamun Square has now been reborn as a place for citizens to relax.

Over 44.5 billion won ($37 million) was spent in refurbishing the Gwanghwamun Square - which is 34 meters wide and 557 meters long, stretching from Gwanghwamun through the Sejongno intersection to Cheonggye Square. The facelift took 16 months. On ordinary days, the square is surrounded by a 10-lane thoroughfare but can be changed into a big public plaza that can accommodate up to 70,000 people on special occasions.

When arriving at Gwanghwamun Square, a huge “flower carpet” will be the first thing to catch your eyes. This flower bed, which is 17.5 meters wide and 165 meters long, was planted with 224,537 flowers. The number matches the number of days between Oct. 28 1394, when the capital of the Joseon Dynasty was transferred to Seoul, and the day the square opened. The flowers are planted in a Dancheong pattern, traditionally used in decorative painting, and create a beautiful harmony with Gyeongbokgung in the background. The haechi statues at both ends of the flower carpet are also worth a look.

Towards the southern end of the flower carpet, a new statue of King Sejong will be unveiled on Oct. 9, Hangeul Day. There will be an exhibition hall set up in the passage underneath the statue to enable visitors to take a closer look at the life and achievements of King Sejong, who led the invention of Hangeul, the Korean alphabet.

 

Going along the square

 

Pass through the miniature street that recreates the old Yukjo Geori in the middle of the square and you will see an exhibition hall named Haechi Madang.

Haechi, the symbolic icon of Seoul, are guardians against fire. It was first installed in front of Gwanghwamun when Gyeongbokgung was constructed, in order to prevent the negative spirit of fire coming from Mount Gwanak.

At the hall, a number of models and pictures of Haechi are on display. Haechi pictures are also featured in stained glass on the ceiling, while Arisu Fountain in the center provides fresh water for thirsty visitors. The stratigraphic layers of the site where Yukjo Geori once stood - excavated during the construction - are also on display.

An exhibition on “Plazas and Squares of Europe” is currently being held in the main exhibition hall, which also acts as an underground relaxation area with various communal facilities. On the way out of Haechi Madang, “Haechi Board,” a wide state-of-the-art screen is set on the right side. The high tech sound system can be used for various events. The screen can also be used upon reservation to announce your love to the world.

On each eastern and western side of the square are “Waterways of History.” Each waterway is two centimeters deep, one meter wide and 365 meters long.

On the east side, the 617-stone tiles along the bottom of the waterway are engraved with key historical events that have occurred since 1392, from the establishment of the Joseon Dynasty right up to the inaugural ceremony of the new Gwanghwamun Square. The stone floors of the western waterway, however, are left blank, ready for future events.

The two waterways meet at the end point of the square near the Sejongno crossroads. The integrated waterway passes through a reinforced glass tunnel paved along the road to join Cheonggyecheon stream.

The most popular spot with children would probably be the “Fountain 12.23″ near the statue of Admiral Yi Sun-shin, one of the country’s most revered figures. In front of the statue, 364 water jets are installed in recognition of the naval battles that Yi successfully led against foreign invaders. LED lighting illuminates the fountains in front of the statue. Number 12 originates from the 12 warships that successfully fought against 133 invading vessels, and the number 23 refers to Yi’s perfect record of 23 wins out of 23 battles.

“The plaza will become a landmark of Korea that represents national identity like the Champs-Elysees in Paris, the National Mall in Washington, and Tiananmen Square in Beijing,” Seoul Mayor Oh Se-hoon said on the opening day.

The plaza, which once used to be dominated by cars, has indeed been reborn to become a space for leisure and cultural activities.

The square reunites Cheonggyecheon and Gyeongbokgung and enjoys a clear view of Mount Bukak, successfully uniting culture and long history of Korea.

 

 

Travelers who almost missed the opening

 

 

Interview

 

Two young Canadian men were among the crowds who rushed out to see the capital’s newest attraction. They were veteran travelers who arrived here two weeks ago. Starting with Seoul, they had already traveled around the east coast, Gyeongju, Daejeon, Cheongju and Busan.

Jadan Strilchule, 25, and Derek Padlersky, 28, had seen a lot of Korean culture and tried bibimbap, samgyeopsal, kimchi jjigae and kalguksu.

Their last destination in Korea was Gwanghwamun Square, an off-the-cuff plan because their departure flight schedule had been delayed.

They said they would have regretted missing the chance to see the square, giving it the thumbs up, especially praising the square’s proximity to Gyeongbokgung, City Hall, Cheonggyecheon, and various museums and theaters.

 

Tips on eateries

 

There are three types of eateries available around the Gwanghwamun Square.

First, you can use the alleys behind the Sejong Center for the Performing Arts. A myriad of mom-and-pop kitchens such as Sapporo Udon (02-738-5663) sell bibimbap, pizza, bindaetteok, kimchi jjigae, and udon.

You can also choose to stay closer to the Gwanghwamun Square by eating at restaurants lined up along the main road. Seommaeulbatjip (02-723-5922) offers a good view of the square as well as the people, and Italian restaurant Jacob (02-720-6011) located on the second floor commands a better view from above.

You may want to opt for a quick take-out. There is a great choice of take-out coffee shops like Starbucks (02-758-8036) and fast-food options such as Dunkin Donuts (02-723-5933) and KFC (02-738-9870). Buy some food here and sit on a bench to fully enjoy the outdoors.

 

Tips on eateries

 

Haechi, the symbolic icon of Seoul, is a legendary animal representing “justice and integrity” that distinguishes good from evil, providing “safety” from disaster, and bringing in “blessings and luck.” This mythical creature has a horn on its head, a bell on its neck, scales all over its body, and wing-like feathers under its arms so that it can fly. It lives by water in summer, and in pine forests in winter. It also takes residence in Gwanghwamun and Gyeongbokgung.

 

2009.08.14

News Clippings

latimes.com
COLUMN ONE

South Korean kids get a taste of boot camp

These youths aren’t delinquents — most are sent by parents who realize that their pampered offspring need more discipline to become better students and grow into conscientious adults.

By John M. Glionna

August 22, 2009
Reporting from Daebu Island, South Korea
The rain pelting down on him in gray bullets, the teenager in tortoiseshell glasses stands in a muddy field and takes his punishment, well, like a boy.

Teeth clenched, lenses steamed, water streaming down his face, he looks ready to cry. His sneaker comes off in the muck and he reaches down to pick it up, losing step with the 70 other youths performing drills in rigid military formation.

“Are you feeling cold?” the drill instructor yells.

“No!” the boys respond.

“Are you sure you’re not cold?”

“No, not at all!”

“Well, you sure look cold, let me make you sweat.”

Their hair stringy, eyes downcast, they drag themselves zombie-like in pursuit of their instructor, the boy in the glasses last of all.

It’s the summer camp from hell.

The Blue Dragon Marine Corps Training Camp is the brainchild of Park Kyung-hoon, a rock-hard 52-year-old former drill sergeant who sees the younger generation as a sorry lot: physically fragile, undisciplined and weak-minded, hunched over their computers playing video games, talking trash to their overworked parents.

But the moms and dads aren’t blameless. They grew up during the lean years after the Korean War, and many overcompensate with their children, giving them everything they didn’t have.

Finally, after years of such pampering, some parents realize that their young need more discipline to become better students and more conscientious adults.

So they’re sent to Park’s little shop of horrors.

“These days, kids don’t know difficulty,” says Park, a stocky man weighing almost 225 pounds. “Everything is convenient: hot water, refrigerators full of food. What they lack is a sense of caring for each other, starting with their own parents.”

Unlike similar camps in the United States, where such tough treatment is usually reserved for youths with drug problems or those in trouble with the law, South Korea’s kiddie boot camps are a rod not spared from the average child.

Park’s is one of numerous camps that have sprung up in South Korea in the last decade. They are not monitored by the government, but Park says his venture, opened in 1997, has been free of major accidents.

The camp, on a lonely stretch of beach and grass on Daebu Island, about 50 miles from Seoul, attracts 15,000 students, age 7 to 19, each year. They live in military-style barracks, training in fields or along the beach regardless of the weather. At times boys and girls train separately, at others they are together, all wearing green fatigues, which give them the appearance of huffing and puffing little soldiers.

The camp, which has no official affiliation with the military, is run by veterans of the marines’ special operations force. For the wide-eyed cadets, this might as well be the U.S. Marine Corps’ Parris Island training base, a place where they are awakened before dawn for another day of pain.

Some spend as little as three days here. But there’s also a 14-day regimen, for nearly $1,000, that attracts the hard-luck cases: wallflowers and schoolyard bullies, kids addicted to the Internet and those who know no boundaries with parents or anyone else.

The cadets, 70% of them boys, show up on a bus, many duped by their parents into thinking that they’re heading for a beach break.

Then reality hits.

In Park’s eyes, they’re a bunch of slackers, soft clay to be thrust into the hot furnace of physical exercise. One-third are obese, he says.

Most groan about the rules: no cellphones, no computers and no calls home. Not to mention hard exercises, dawn to dusk. Drill instructors barking orders, the kids slither along barbed-wire obstacle courses, jump from towers, run with tires dragging behind them, carry boats over their heads and wallow in the mud.

“It’s hard on your body if you’re not used to it,” says 15-year-old Gina Yu, a Korean Canadian who is in Seoul for the summer. “When you don’t listen, or don’t answer loud enough or fool around, you pay the price. I fainted on the first day when we were doing squat-thrusts.”

She’s miffed at her parents. “I’m frustrated they didn’t warn me. They said I was going someplace to get fit. They didn’t say it was a boot camp.”

The 12 former marines who make up Park’s staff aren’t afraid to get into a kid’s face. In the crowded mess hall, they run cadets through a drill before allowing them to dig into their lunch of rice gruel, kimchi and fruit.

“I will become the strongest and coolest kid!” the boys yell, repeating the camp’s mantra. “I thankfully eat this meal!”

One 11-year-old says he was sent to Blue Dragon after he got a bad grade on an important test. Another broke a window in the family’s apartment. “I threw a marble at the couch,” 13-year-old Andre Courchene says. “But I hit the window instead.”

As another boy uses halting English to describe his knee injury, Park hovers nearby like a press agent.

“Speak Korean!” he commands. “Don’t use your clumsy English!”

Sitting alone before his metal mess tray, David Peck says he doesn’t know why his parents dispatched him and his sister here. “I think this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says.

David’s father, a former ROTC officer, says a bit of pain is good for kids. “I know they didn’t want to go,” Peck Song-ho says. “But you can’t let kids do only what they want to do.”

Some cadets decide they can’t take it anymore. They go over the wall.

Park tells of five 12- and 13-year-old boys who made a break one night after lights out. Dressed in their military fatigues, they ran up some hills and hit the highway.

“Nobody would stop for them,” Park says gleefully as a group of cadets hurries past his office in the rain on another grueling exercise. “They thought they were North Korean spies.”

The boys were later found huddled at a sauna near their hometown and their parents sent them back to camp. Each year, a few cadets demand to go home. Park typically responds by calling their parents for permission. Most tell him no.

Some children buckle under the physical pressure. That’s when Park goes from drill sergeant to camp counselor.

“I explain to them that there are going to be a lot tougher times in life,” he says. I say, ‘Enjoy your childhood, but use it as an opportunity to build character. Embrace the pain.’ ”

He’s talking about the much-dreaded gas mask drill: Cadets sit inside a room filled with red-pepper mist and remove their masks long enough to sing the South Korean national anthem. One kid was so traumatized that he threatened to call the police.

“It was terrible,” says Kim Mi-jin, 17. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. My face was scratchy. All I could do was cry.”

But after thinking about it, Kim says she’s glad she did it. “I think I’m learning to be more confident. I realize life isn’t all about me.”

Park has seen transformations in other kids.

“They get bolder. Even their voices change,” he says. “On the first day, I might hear 10 voices out of group of 200. By the last, I can hear every last one of them. It’s a thundering chorus.”

Back in the cafeteria, one cadet ignores an order by a drill sergeant who resorts to a familiar training tool: pain.

“Because of you,” he tells the boy, his fellow cadets in earshot, “another gas mask drill is coming up.”

Their shoulders stooped, the youngsters follow him out of the cafeteria.

john.glionna@latimes.com

Ju-min Park of The Times’ Seoul Bureau contributed to this report.
Copyright © 2009, The Los Angeles Times

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