i am currently reading a book called the empire of light by a korean novelist named kim young-ha. as far as i know, his work has not been translated into english, but he is one of the few fiction writers besides murakami haruki whose collection of work i have read almost in their entirety. many of kim's novels and stories make surreal and fantastical departures while also grounding them in recognizable realities of fairly everyday people.
one backdrop to which the author likes to return is the politically tumultuous south korea of the 1980s. some plots they take place immediately in the 80s--following student activists during the democracy movements--, others take place in contemporary times--following the lives of formerly passionate and young activists who now lead ordinary lives as obedient citizens.
the empire of light weaves the stories of several characters in present-day seoul: a north korean spy, who snuck into the south in the 80s and joined a secret communist club while attending a prestigious s. korean university; his wife, a former student activist whom he met at the same club (but doesn't know he is a spy); their teenage daughter, a s. korean detective, who attempts to catch the protagonist.
for over a decade, the n. korean protagonist lives a typically normal s. korean life. he runs a small movie-import business, marries an unsuspecting s. korean woman, starts a family. he has friends from college whom he still sees. one friend also used to be an activist during her college days, but is now a teacher at the protagonist's daughter's school. one day they discuss writing fiction and the friend brings up a film starring dustin hoffman about a man who vengefully seeks out the criminals that raped his wife. the friend asks, "i wonder why we [koreans] don't have a culture of revenge?"
i thought of very uniquely "korean" untranslatable words and part of a graduate peer's thesis about "han."
the most untranslatable words in korean are all similar in nature:
억울하다 (uh-gool-ha-da)
분하다 (boon-ha-da)
원통하다 (wun-tong-ha-da)
한 (han)
the top three are adjectives and the last, a noun. they all basically describe the helplessly painful sense of having been wronged. it's an internal suffering caused by an external source but about which the sufferer can do absolutely nothing. it's bearing of a burden that eats away at him/her for a long time, sometimes for the rest of his/her life. japanese have a similar concept too, as seen by their female spirit stories. the movie may be called the grudge, but the feeling is less vengeful than that. it's a more resigned, victim mentality. in korean horror myths, many bearers of han are women too--forced to conform to passive and subordinate positions, they (especially the young who did not even get to live till their peak) must hold everything inside. the only way their han--and their spirits--can be released is through speech and a listener, which is not possible during their lifetime. that is why the concept of han manifests itself through horror stories about spirits in limbo. the sufferer may speak only after death--while alive, one must "bear it." this kind of mentality is very characteristically korean.
standing up for one's rights and taking action against injustice, i feel, is a very american concept. active and aggressive heroes leading the people are familiar images in historical texts and art. on the other hand, i think of yoo gwan-soon, a popularly evoked figure of the independence movement in korea. the images of a strong woman surround her myth, but i would argue that her image as a revolutionary martyr plays a significant role in the making of her legend. she suffered and died too young, and for a greater cause--the independence of her nation from the japanese empire. this combination--active leadership and heroically obstinate suffering--elevates her to a fantastical realm. especially in such a culture bound to a history of confucianism and buddhism (note things and release them, no attachments or dwelling), the revolutionary myth of yoo occupies a position so far removed from reality that the practicality of such a hero to our lived circumstances becomes unimaginable.
this, of course, applies elsewhere too. it is easier to accept our circumstances and bear/endure them, rather than take action. especially now, when the system of injustice and oppression are so complex, intricate, and elaborate and pervades every nook of our lives, where does one even begin? it is easier to surrender to a world which renders it increasingly difficult to live outside of its rules. even the internet--often perceived as a free, alternate realm of possibilities--has become systematized according to structures similar to the "tangible" world. in fact, it is no longer separable from the "real world." big corporations and other forms of power dominate the way in which we navigate space, find information, and tell us what we should like, know, do--they impose (and many of us accept) their standards of normativity and definitions of a "good citizen."
the glorious legend of che guevara becomes reduced and flattened to mass manufactured t-shirts.
i feel as though even the heroes who emerge in our present times become legends and myths so quickly that we have no time to incorporate them into the reality of our lives; they almost immediately become divine symbols (steve jobs?).
can we have real heroes today without the fantastical glory, the otherworldly aura that remove them from practice? maybe, like walter benjamin's loss of the aura, we need superficial glorification of personalities and figures to make up for a loss of "old times." we reminisce and mourn. is there hope for action?
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