Korean Literature Review – A Man
There are certain parts of the world where writers tend to produce literature richer in metaphor than that of their contemporaries in other places. Of these, a few spring to mind: post-revolutionary France and Russia, post-apartheid South Africa, frontline states throughout the Cold War. Of course, one might easily add Korea to this list, for it is by no means rare for critics, commentators, and even writers themselves, to frame what appear to be straightforward narratives within the broader context of the nation’s history.
An example of this occurs on the back cover of the English translation of Hwang Soon-Won’s A Man, where, in reference to the first of the three stories contained in the book, The Dog of Crossover Village, the editor writes: ‘[it] portrays life in a traditional rural village but can be read as an allegory of the Japanese colonial occupation’.
At the outset this seems plausible enough. A white dog (clearly representing the oppressed Korean race) appears in the village. Desperate for food, ‘Whitey’ is obliged to perform degrading displays of submission to earn a scrap from the bowls of the other village mutts. The alpha dog of crossover village, a large stud known as ‘Blackie’, seems to represent the Japanese occupiers. All is well. However, as the story progresses, we are also introduced to a yellow dog and a spotted dog, not to mention a cast of human characters of various social standings. How can we account for these?
Thankfully, the title story of the collection relieves the beleaguered reader by offering a tale that can be comfortably accepted at face value. A Man relates the romantic misadventures of a hapless divorcé, Kim, whose sexual dysfunction is rooted in the early days of his first marriage, when his mother slept between him and his new bride. Emotionally scarred and bound by a promise to trust no one, Kim drifts from one woman to the next: a voyeuristic invalid, an adulterous thief, a woman with a child from a previous relationship. At several points in the story Kim swears off women, but is helpless to resist when his passions are ignited by the sight of an unshaven armpit.
The final story, Bibari, is set in wartime Jeju, where Juni and his aging mother have settled to await the end of hostilities. Memories of the infamous Jeju Rebellion are still fresh in the minds of the locals, including the young haenyeo (diving girl) with whom Juni becomes enamored. The pair embark on a whirlwind romance, but are ultimately parted by the diving girl’s refusal to leave her native island.
As with many of the titles featured in the Portable Library of Korean Literature’s short fiction series, Hwang Soon-Won’s A Man has been garlanded with highhanded praise from the editors. Terms such as ‘timeless’, ‘universal’, ‘greatest’, and ‘masterful’ appear with numbing regularity on the back covers of these books, and increasingly of late I’ve found myself wishing that (for once) the writing had been left to testify to the genius of its creator.