Korean Literature Review – The Wounded

The title story of Yi Chong-Jun’s The Wounded is founded on an intriguing premise. A doctor (a heart surgeon no less) experiences a crisis following a failed surgery on a ten-year-old girl. Though no blame is ascribed in the incident, a breakdown of sorts obliges the doctor to declare a self-imposed exile from the healing arts. He puts down his scalpel in favor of a pen (and a bottle), and before long he finds himself writing a novel. While the bungled surgery seems to be the impetus for this endeavor, the subject matter of the doctor’s novel turns out to be none other than the Korean War, which has ended a decade before.

The Wounded is told from the perspective of the doctor’s younger brother, an artist who ekes out a living running a small studio in a shabby suburban neighborhood. Rather suddenly the artist becomes permeated by a desire to draw a human face – an undertaking he’s never previously attempted. Although he manages to sketch an outline, the canvas remains unfinished. Strangely, the artist’s block that prevents him from completing the picture coincides with his brother’s struggle to realize a pivotal scene is his novel. The congruency is anything but incidental. Rather it is Yi’s way of indicating that the experiences of one determine the outcomes of another – a theme that recurs on a larger scale later in the story.

An interesting discourse develops around the narrator’s unfinished painting. The absence of features leads the doctor to comment that it is the face of an innocent, and that every feature added (an ear, a nose, an eye) will carry the subject further away from a state of grace. It’s an unusual observation to say the least but one that seems to address the tension that resides at the heart of the narrative. Plainly stated, the very things that make us human alienate us from God.

The second story included in this volume, An Assailant’s Face, hones in on the guilt of a young boy, Kim Sa-Il, who fails to provide sanctuary to a wartime fugitive. Though Kim survives the conflict and goes on to prosper in the new Korea, he never fully forgives himself for what likely transpired. Even as an old man, he finds himself grappling with his dual identity as victim and assailant.

The resulting dissonance has disastrous effects on his relationship with his daughter, who becomes an enthusiastic advocate of unconditional reunification. A generation gap, forged not only by the disparity of their ages but also that of their experiences, proves impossible to bridge. In the end, disputes within the family turn out to be as difficult to resolve as those that sustain a divided Korea.

In The Wounded, Yi Chong-Jun has given us a thorough and deliberate repudiation of the dominant historical narrative that portrays Koreans as the victims of foreign imperial powers. His writing seeks to absolve the older generation while giving voice to the fierce optimism of those unscathed by the brutality of war. While it seems to be Yi’s position that the future of the nation lies with its youth, he rarely misses an opportunity to keep young ideologues in check with a dose of reality.