Gwangju Writes: The Last Summer

Freedom for Danny was a different matter but nevertheless not easy to attain. His struggle is more of a coming-of-age story that one might expect to find in a book for young adults. However, in line with Lee’s purpose of telling a story about North Korea, Danny’s youth is appropriate, as the facts are that most of the North Koreans crossing the Tumen River into China are young.

I enjoyed Lee’s straightforward writing style. The characters in their youth are naïve in many ways but have experienced sufferings more appropriate for much older people. Thus, when they speak, they show us the world that they see without trying to impress or influence, and the life burdens they bear are not hidden by overmodified impressions. It is as if Lee has her characters stick to their script because they know that they are trapped and that one wrong move could destroy the faint hope that keeps them going.

My edition of the book has 244 pages, but it is past page 200 that Lee surprises us with unexpected drama. Up until this point, the reader is expecting that something must happen. Yet Lee’s twist of fate remains in the realm of believability as everything before, while drawing this episode of these young people’s lives to a close, or perhaps I should say, to a new beginning.

The Reviewer

Michael Attard is a Canadian who has lived in Gwangju since 2004. Though officially retired, he still teaches a few private English classes. He enjoys reading all kinds of books and writes for fun. When the weather is nice, you may find him on a hiking trail.

The Last Summer

By Ashley Johnson

A jeweled and winding way, A quiet unfurling of sunshine Inside. The swing begins, the wind up and spin, Thrilled breathings of cicada wings and whispers Loud, the remnants of our grief-and-stricken sound, The waves that ringed around and round Until we stopped to look, Whenever the spinning really stopped, Did it? At all? Who took – ? It then – When did it? Go – Shall we look around and see? Remember the heat and darkling trees, the shadowed greens of mountains Singing Slow, and slowly down. We were those stones and rooted veins, together, Some silent song We sang In summertime, We wound our ways through heated plumes of heart-smoked memories. If every cast of sunlight caught In evenings spent along Our rivers Were beads of crystal light, I’d wear them round my neck and draped low across my shoulders, And carry you all, how mine, One bead by thought by bead by note , Into my next, the core domain, A tunnel to Autumn’s night.

The Author

Ashley Johnson has been an English teacher in Gwangju since 2015. A California native and resident hippie in the tight-knit music and arts scene, she’s always endeavoring to bring a little burst of sunshine wherever she goes. @wildheart_haven