Koreana Spring 2017 (English)

spring 2017

Weddings

WEDDINGS KOREAN WAYS TO TIE THE KNOT

Traditional Weddings, Past and Present; Royal Weddings of the Joseon Dynasty Seen through Uigwe Documents; Getting Married in Korea Today: From Honsu to Honeymoon; The Future of Marriage; Marriage, a Garden for Old Dreams of Love and Happiness; International Marriage: A Personal Account

ISSN 1016-0744

vol. 31 no. 1

Literary Translation in a Post-Trump World | Seoul International Writers’ Festival 2016 LTI Korea Translation Award | Reviews of latest translations | Book excerpts

speCial Feature

pring 2017 vol. 31 no. 1

WINTER 2016

Korean Culture & arts

http://KoreanLiteratureNow.com

IMAGE OF KOREA

RITE OF PASSAGE AT NONSAN ARMY TRAINING CENTER Kim Hwa-young Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts

“Y

our parents and siblings sleep tight, putting their trust in you!”

An outsized billboard backdrops long lines of young men with closecropped hair striding five deep forward, addressing them with its deeply emotional message. They look tense. But they are neither prisoners of war nor convicts toting their meager possessions in small shopping bags. They are candidates for military duty, young men who will give two years or more of their youthful prime in service to protect the national community, so “parents and siblings [can] sleep tight.” This scene is repeated every Monday and Thursday at the Army Training Center in Nonsan, South Chungcheong Province, in the coastal western flank of the country. In addition to the billboard signs greeting the new recruits, there is a display of military equipment, weapons, combat uniforms, and other gear that they will be using once they enter the army.

In the Republic of Korea, every healthy young man over the age of 18 must go through this rite of passage. Induction day brings a curiously festive air when some 7,000 people gather in town: parents, other relatives, and girlfriends come to see off the 2,000 military candidates. When the admission ceremony is over and the families have left, the new recruits join their battalions, spend the next three days going through physical examinations and aptitude tests, and receive their military supplies. Then they begin five weeks of hard training.

Two weeks later, the parents are notified by phone which regiment their sons have been assigned to and the recruits’ civilian clothes are sent home with a letter. When the parents receive this parcel of clothing, their worries take hold. This signals the start of almost two years, sometimes longer, of military duty that could put their sons in harm’s way. But over the 60-some years since the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950, people have become accustomed to living with the threat of war; terrorist violence in faraway countries seems more frightening and immediate.

The Nonsan Army Training Center is one of the largest military training centers in the world. Covering a vast area 76 times the size of Sangam World Cup Stadium in Seoul, this huge complex has a resident population of new recruits, or trainee soldiers, and instructors that almost matches that of the nearby town of 16,500. It is currently responsible for the rigorous basic training of some 45 percent of the nation’s annual 125,000 army recruits, so far producing some 7.8 million new soldiers since it opened in 1951.

The lingering mystery is that a remarkable number of Korean males who manage to get exempted from this coming-of-age rite by failing the physical examination later presume themselves as leaders of society.

Editor’s Letter

Marriage and its Implications for Korea’s Future The institution of marriage is universal, but weddings as the ceremonial procedures of formalizing the union of two individuals as a married couple vary between cultural, ethnic and religious groups, as well as between social classes. Weddings also embody different customs and traditions of families and societies, not to mention the values of the respective individuals getting married.

The Special Feature of this issue, “Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot,” aims to offer an opportunity for our readers to learn about Korean weddings, traditional and modern, as vital aspects of Korean society and culture. From the royal weddings of centuries ago to contemporary wedding ceremonies, the feature stories will take our readers to different wedding scenes, introducing various ritual practices and their symbolic meanings.

Our contributing authors will also discuss the current and future status of marriage, revealing insightful views on the changing norms and attitudes concerning love and conjugal relations in our days. These discussions are profoundly related to the demographic problems faced by Korea. The number of marriages and childbirths continues to decline as young people increasingly defer or avoid forming families due to unemployment and financial instability, among other socioeconomic factors.

The Special Feature is followed by an article exploring Korea’s ever deepening demographic concerns that arise from the low birth rate and aging population.

It is hoped that our readers will appreciate these stories and at the same time find them useful in understanding significant issues faced not only by Korea but by many nations in the world today.

Lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

PUBLISHER EDITORIAL DIRECTOR EDITOR-IN-CHIEF EDITORIAL BOARD

COPY EDITOR ASSOCIATE EDITOR ASSISTANT EDITORS CREATIVE DIRECTOR EDITORS ART DIRECTOR DESIGNERS

Lee Si-hyung Kim Gwang-keun Lee Kyong-hee Bae Bien-u Charles La Shure Choi Young-in Han Kyung-koo Kim Hwa-young Kim Young-na Koh Mi-seok Song Hye-jin Song Young-man Werner Sasse Matthias Lehmann Lim Sun-kun Teresita M. Reed Cho Yoon-jung Kim Sam Park Do-geun, Park Sin-hye Lee Young-bok Kim Ji-hyun, Kim Nam-hyung, Yeob Lan-kyeong

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KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Spring 2017

The groom and his attendants head to the bride’s house to conduct the wedding ceremony. From a series of paintings depicting important events constituting a man’s ideal life in the Joseon Dynasty.

“Wedding” Attributed to Kim Hong-do (1745–after 1806) 18th–19th century, Ink and color on silk, 53.9 x 35.2 cm.

Published quarterly by The Korea Foundation 2558 Nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho-gu Seoul 06750, Korea http://www.koreana.or.kr

PRINTED IN SPRING 2017 Samsung Moonwha Printing Co. 10 Achasan-ro 11-gil, Seongdong-gu, Seoul 04796, Korea Tel: 82-2-468-0361/5 © The Korea Foundation 2017 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the Korea Foundation.

The opinions expressed by the authors do not necessarily represent those of the editors of Koreana or the Korea Foundation.

Koreana , registered as a quarterly magazine with the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism (Registration No. Ba-1033, August 8, 1987), is also published in Arabic, Chinese, French, German, Indonesian, Japanese, Russian, and Spanish.

FocuS

36

Woes Deepen as Population Reversal Begins Lee Seung-wook

inTervieW

40

Harmonica Player Jeon Je-duk Seeks a Deeper, Warmer Sound

04

Surh Jung-min

arT revieW

44

Inner Landscapes by a Pioneer Abstract Artist

16

“For Nirvana: 108 Zen Sijo Poems”

SPECIAL FEATURE

Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot Special FeaTure 1

04

Traditional Weddings, Past and Present

Heo Young-sun

56 60

Wind and Rocks, and the Sighs of Time in South Jeju

Royal Weddings of the Joseon Dynasty Seen through Uigwe Documents

an orDinarY DaY

16

Getting Married in Korea Today: From Honsu to Honeymoon

Charles La Shure, Kim Hoo-ran

78

Soul Ho-joung

82

Digital Fast Kim Dong-hwan

68

journeYS in Korean liTeraTure

86

Seasoned Writer’s Classy Melodrama Choi Jae-bong

Kim Seo-ryung

Yi Song-mi

Special FeaTure 3

“Mask Dance”

liFeSTYle

Similar but Different Lives of Convenience Store Clerks

TaleS oF TWo KoreaS

Korean History for Young Readers

eSSenTial inGreDienTS

Gwak Jae-gu

10

“Letters from Korean History, I–V”

Crazy for Samgyeopsal : Koreans’ Love for Three-layered Pork

Kim Hyun-sook

on THe roaD

Poetry of Paradox for a Long Road to Discovery

Traditional Instruments for Today’s Music

The Adventures of Barry Welsh in Seoul

Han Kyung-koo

Special FeaTure 2

52

Jeju’s Haenyeo Cherish Modern Artisan Yi Seong-mo’s Diving Suits

in love WiTH Korea

76

BooKS & More

Chung Jae-suk

GuarDian oF HeriTaGe

55

72

In the Mood for Love Gu Hyo-seo

Volunteers Help Bridge the Language Gap for Defectors Kim Hak-soon

Lee Yoon-jung

Special FeaTure 4

24

The Future of Marriage Baek Young-ok

Special FeaTure 5

28

48

Marriage, a Garden for Old Dreams of Love and Happiness Lee Chang-guy

Special FeaTure 6

International Marriage: A Personal Account Charles La Shure

32

60

SPECIAL FEATURE 1 Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot

TRADITIONAL WEDDINGS, PAST AND PRESENT A traditional wedding ceremony at Korea House is indeed very traditional and at the same time very modern. Not only have time and space been compressed, people who would never have sat down together in the past — the respective families, relatives, and guests of the bride and groom — are now gathered in the same place for the wedding ceremony and the following reception.

4 KOREANA Spring 2017

Han Kyung-koo Cultural Anthropologist and Professor, College of Liberal Studies, Seoul National University Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

o

ne Saturday at noon, the day is rather cold but the sun is shining bright and the sky is clear and blue. At Korea House in downtown Seoul, a cultural showcase run by the Korea Cultural Heritage Foundation, the courtyard is filled with people. A marquee and folding screen have been set up in the center. On the stone base of one of the surrounding wooden halls, seven musicians in beautiful traditional attire take their places, giving the space a formal yet glorious ceremonial air. On the ground covered with matting, a high wedding table has been positioned before the screen with a small, low table on either side, to the east and west.

The table for the groom is that on the east, which stands for yang (positive energy) and man, while the table for the bride is that on the west, which stands for yin (negative energy) and woman.

Wedding in a Classic Courtyard Arranged on the high wedding table are some plates of food such as dates and chestnuts as well as a miniature pine tree and a bamboo plant in pots. A hen and a rooster are placed underneath the trees. The food on the table may vary from one region to the next, but common items are dates and chestnuts, which symbolize wishes for longevity and many children. The evergreen pine tree and resilient bamboo stand for loyalty and fidelity. Though it is the middle of the day, two candles, blue and red, stand on the table, also as symbols of yin and yang. In the past, when weddings were commonly held at night, candles were absolutely necessary. But even in modern wedding halls where dazzling chandeliers hang from the ceiling, you will still see these candles on a table. And the weddings generally start with the mothers of the bride and the groom entering the hall together and lighting the candles.

Back at Korea House, south of the wedding table chairs are laid out in rows, as at any other wedding. On one side sit the guests of the groom and on the other side the guests of the bride. A lot of other people stand, crowding the yard. Some are standing because there are no spare seats and others are foreign tourists, but a large number of them have come just to hand in their envelopes containing gifts of cash, greet the bride and groom and their family members, and hurry away before the ceremony ends. While a preference for small weddings is growing, most weddings in Korea are still big

The bride and groom sit to the west and east of the high wedding table covered in red and blue cloth, facing each other, in a traditional wedding ceremony held in the courtyard at Korea House in central Seoul.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 5

events that many must attend with a cash envelope in hand. That’s why a wedding invitation in the mail is sometimes considered a bill to pay.

Finally, the nice and portly officiant arrives, dressed in a long white coat and high black hat, and takes his place on the northern side of the table. In recent times, when a minister or priest does not preside over the wedding, this role is performed by one of the groom’s former teachers or a friend of the parents, a respected figure of good standing in society. But in a traditional wedding, all that was needed was someone to read the order of proceedings, so in most cases an elderly neighbor who could read literary Chinese presided over the ceremony. Today’s officiant is a professional host registered with Korea House who sometimes presides over ssireum (Korean wrestling) competitions. At last, he opens the large folding fan on which the order of proceedings is written and solemnly announces the start of the wedding by saying, “Haeng chinyeongnye.” In case the crowd might not understand the archaic Sino-Korean expression, he explains that the groom will now proceed to greet his bride.

Greeting the Bride at her House Under Confucian tradition, chinyeongnye is the rite in which the groom goes to fetch his bride and bring her to his home for the wedding. The “Annals of the Joseon Dynasty” from the early period notes: “In the traditions of our country, the groom goes to live at the bride’s house and his children and grandchildren grow up in the home of their maternal relatives,” and “Unlike the Chinese, we do not have the custom of the groom taking the bride back to his family home to live. Hence, men regard their wife’s maiden home as their own and her parents as their own parents, calling them mother and father.” As Confucian influence grew and took hold in Joseon, NeoConfucian scholar-officials argued that since man is yang and represents heaven and woman is yin and represents the earth, women should obey their husbands and go to live at their husband’s home after marriage. That is, the man should not go to his wife’s house to live when married, but bring his wife to his own parents’ home.

The royal family first led by example, then encouraged the common people to practice chinyeong as well, and send the bride to live at the groom’s home. Sometimes this marriage custom was enforced, but with little success because marriage is not only about where the couple will live. Many other social systems also come

into play, such as inheritance of assets and the holding of ancestral memorial rites. Hence a compromise was made and the custom of ban-chinyeong (“half-chinyeong”) was established. That is, the wedding ceremony was held at the bride’s home, and after living there for some time the married couple went to live at the groom’s parental home. Indeed, various compromises were suggested. At first they lived at the woman’s maiden home for three years, but it is said this period was later shortened to only three days. The officiant earlier announced the start of chinyeong, but it seems Korea House has been appointed as the bride’s home for today’s wedding ceremony.

When the musicians begin to play, the officiant uses the classical Sino-Korean words and modern Korean to announce that “the bridegroom will enter, as well as the goose-father.” The goosefather is a friend of the groom’s who serves as his attendant carrying the wooden goose to be presented to the bride’s family as a gift in a rite called jeonanrye. The goose is used as a wedding gift because it is known to come and go according to the seasons (or the flow of yin and yang) and to mate for life; thus it is considered a symbol of fidelity.

Before long, the groom’s party enters the yard from behind the opposite building. The groom is dressed in a crimson official’s robe and black scholar’s hat, the uniform of a high-ranking official of the Joseon Dynasty. As Joseon was a Confucian state, the ideal for men was to pass the state exams and become a government official.

So, on their wedding day, even men of the commoner class were permitted to wear an official’s uniform. Leading the groom are two young boys, one carrying a red lantern and the other a blue lantern.

This is a feature that was adapted from the flower girls and page boys of Western-style weddings.

The officiant calls out the following procedures: “The groom will go to the bride’s house and lead her to the wedding ... The groom will go down on his knees and place the goose on the table ... The groom will stand up and bow twice.” As before, he speaks the original Sino-Korean words, then gives the modern translation and an explanation when needed. Next, the groom gives the goose to the mother and father of the bride, who are seated inside the hall at the front, and makes two deep bows. This ends the goose-presenting rite. The groom turns and heads back for the courtyard and, according to the celebrant's instructions, the bride appears from inside. She is dressed in a red skirt and light-green jacket and has a jeweled coronet on her head. This wedding costume is a copy of

In a traditional Korean wedding, there were no spoken vows or exchange of rings. The bride and groom simply faced each other and bowed, then looked at each other over cups of liquor. In this way, they quietly promised to spend their lives together.

6 KOREANA Spring 2017

the ceremonial dress of upper-class women of the Joseon period.

Like the groom, the commoner bride was permitted to wear these clothes on her wedding day as it was meant to be the most joyous and important day in her life.

Arrival of the Couple for the Ceremony Now the wedding party comes down the stairs into the courtyard with the lantern-carrying boys in front, followed by the groom and then the bride. This procedure, too, is a slight variation on the entry of the groom first and then the bride in a modern wedding.

The groom stands on the eastern side of the wedding table and the bride on the western side. They wash their hands as a symbol of purifying body and mind, then bow to each other. This rite is called gyobaerye (“bow exchanging rite”), signifying a promise to spend their lives together. While it is not uncommon these days for couples to get married after the woman gets pregnant or gives birth, in pre-modern times, when marriage was decided between two families rather than the couple concerned, the rite of exchanging bows was when the bride and groom saw each other for the first time. The bride, with the help of her attendants, first bows twice to the groom, who then bows once in return. Once again the bride bows twice and the groom once. Though the celebrant explains that woman is yin, which equals even numbers, and man is yang, which equals odd numbers, it is likely that young female guests wondered why the bride has to bow twice as many times as the groom.

Union Sealed with Three Cups of Liquor When the bowing ceremony is over, the main part of the wedding begins: hapgeunrye (“rite of unifying the cups”). The bride and groom drink three cups of liquor during the ceremony. The celebrant explains that the first cup represents a vow to heaven and earth, the second cup is a vow of tying the knot, and the third is a vow to love each other and stand by each other for life. The cups for the third vow are made from the two halves of a split gourd; after the couple have exchanged their liquor cups and made their vows, the two halves are joined together again. This is meant to show that the man and the woman are made for each other and that the two are now joined as one. Traditionally, the gourd was decorated with red and blue threads and hung from the ceiling of the newlywed’s bedroom to keep watch over them. In the course of their lives together, when the couple had problems they were meant to look

Bride and groom exchange three cups of liquor in the “rite of unifying the cups,” which signifies the union of the two as one.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 7

Changing Marriage CustoMs lies concerned (uihon ) is still carried out, but the wishes and For Koreans, marriage used to be the most important occasion in life. The harmony and union of man and woman — of yin preferences of the two people concerned have become much and yang — was a part of the shamanic cosmology and worldmore important. Even specialized matchmaking companies view long before Confucianism. Men and women had to marry; have emerged. As the man is yang, no matter what people really failure to do so was considered a great misfortune. In the agriculbelieve, the marriage proposal letter and the groom’s four piltural society of Joseon, local officials sought out men and women lars (time, day, month, and year of birth) are sent by the groom’s who had not married and found a match for them. If yin and yang family to the bride’s, a procedure called napchae, and the bride’s are not in harmony and heaven is filled with lingering regrets and family sends a letter notifying the groom’s family of the wedding grudges, it was believed the flow of heavenly energy would be date, a procedure called yeongil — two customs that continue to disordered to possibly bring drought and famine. The modernthis day, though they are often omitted. day influx of brides from Southeast Asia to marry Korean men in In the nappye procedure, when the groom’s family sends gifts the countryside who are unable to find wives is not unrelated to to the bride in a chest, it was customary in the past to send silks this line of thought. The custom of arranging a spiritual marriage or other fabrics for the bride to make her wedding clothes. Amid for young men and women who Korea’s rapid economic growth, die unwed still continues to this however, jewelry such as rings day. One of the tales handed and necklaces were added to down from antiquity is that the the chest. Just a decade or most fearful ghosts are the so ago, the spectacle of the spinster ghosts and bachelor groom’s friends going to the ghosts who died before they bride’s house to “sell the chest” could marry. was not an unusual sight. One Today, however, the proporfriend served as the “horse” tion of young Koreans who say and wore a dried-squid mask marriage is not necessary has on his face and carried the risen to well over 50 percent; chest on his back while anoththe annual number of marriager friend was the “coachman” 1 es fell below 300,000 in 2016 for who directed the horse. When the first time in 40 years. Some this party of friends neared the 1 Laid on the wedding table are plates laden with foods such as dates argue that economic factors bride’s house, they would claim and chestnuts, a miniature pine tree and a bamboo plant symbolizing such as the impossible cost of they could go no further with loyalty and fidelity, and a red candle and a blue candle. Traditionally, housing are to blame for young such a heavy chest, whereupon a live hen and a rooster wrapped in red and blue cloths, respectively, were placed on low tables underneath the main table, but today replipeople delaying or even giving the bride’s family and friends cas are used instead. up on marriage and the rising would emerge from their house 2 After the wedding ceremony, the bride and groom face their parents marrying age. The average age with food and drink and money and guests to bow before them as an expression of gratitude. This ceremonial practice comes from modern weddings. of first marriage rose by five to give them the energy to put years for both men and women on a spurt and enter the house over the past 15 years. Terms such as “old miss” or “daughter with the chest. They would pretend to argue back and forth, one past the marrying age” have disappeared into the past. side refusing to budge and the other side cajoling them to come Korean marriage customs underwent great change during inside. Sometimes, the playfulness of the groom’s friends would the Joseon Dynasty when Confucianism was upheld as the govgo a bit too far and voices would be raised. erning ideology. Then, with the introduction of Christianity in the Moreover, there was an old custom of teasing the groom. process of the nation’s modernization, the so-called WesternWhen the groom arrived at the bride’s home for the wedding, style wedding became the vogue, but with a celebrant other than the young men of the village or young male relatives of the bride the minister or priest presiding over the occasion. The wedding would test his suitability with various tricks and pranks. Originally venue also shifted from the bride’s home to a church or wedpracticed on the bride’s side, the teasing of the groom is these ding hall. The discussion of the marriage between the two famidays often the job of his own friends.

8 KOREANA Spring 2017

at the gourd and think again. As such, in a traditional Korean wedding, there were no spoken vows or exchange of rings. The bride and groom simply faced each other and bowed, then looked at each other over cups of liquor. In this way, they quietly promised to spend their lives together.

Next, the officiant announces that the newlywed couple will bow to each set of parents and to the guests. This procedure, called seonghollye, is also borrowed from modern weddings. The officiant then signals the end of the wedding, advises the couple to love each other, raise their children well, be grateful and dutiful to their parents, and be useful members of society, and lastly thanks the guests for taking time out of their busy lives to witness the wedding.

It’s a very short speech in the manner of the celebrant at a modern wedding.

The traditional wedding has come to an end at Korea House, but yet another ritual awaits at most modern wedding halls. In a room set aside for this purpose, hyeongugorye (“rite of presentation to the parents-in-law”) takes place. Traditionally, this rite in which the bride formally greeted her in-laws was performed after the first night spent at the groom’s family home (in the case of chinyeong) or

after the first three nights spent at the bride's family home (in the case of ban-chinyeong). But it has been incorporated into the wedding ceremony these days.

Epilogue The norms of Korean marriage and family life have been criticized for their dominant patriarchal tendency. But changes in recent times seem to indicate we are going back to the days of early Joseon, before Confucian ideology became so strongly rooted.

Among newlywed couples, relations with the woman’s family and relatives seem to be growing stronger than relations with the man’s family and relatives. And, as far as the man is concerned, there is increasingly less distinction made between his own parents and his wife’s parents when it comes to the rules and customs for funeral rites. In terms of inheritance, legally there is no distinction between sons and daughters. In modern Korea, it seems the wedding is not so much a solemn rite in which the bride and groom vow to spend their lives together, but rather a kind of performance: one event in the process of marriage that can be freely arranged with new inclusions and exclusions or reconfigured from scratch.

2

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SPECIAL FEATURE 2 Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot

ROYAL WEDDINGS OF THE JOSEON DYNASTY SEEN THROUGH UIGWE DOCUMENTS

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A vast collection of the official records of major ceremonies and rites held by the royal family of Joseon (1392–1910), the last Korean monarchy, the uigwe are highly valued for the exquisite quality of their textual and graphic descriptions. The impressive palace documents offer up-close glimpses of royal weddings, which influenced the wedding customs of people across all classes.

Yi Song-mi Professor Emerita of Art History, Academy of Korean Studies

This uiqwe has been returned to Korea in accordance with an agreement signed by the governments of Korea and France on February 7, 2011, and a subsequent agreement between the National Museum of Korea and the National Library of France.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 11

T

wenty official records of royal weddings of the Joseon Dynasty are handed down to provide amazingly detailed information about their elaborate procedures. Dated to the early 17th to the early 20th centuries, these books, called uigwe, document in text and illustrations the wedding rites of members of the Joseon royal family that took place between 1627 and 1906.

A state founded under the principles of Neo-Confucianism, Joseon conducted all its important rites according to the rules stipulated in the “Five Rites of the State” (Gukjo orye ui) compiled in 1474. The “five rites” refer to ancestral worship rites (gillye), royal weddings and other celebratory rites (garye), military rites (gunrye), the reception of foreign envoys (binrye), and funeral rites (hyungrye).

According to the chapter on royal weddings, when the court decides on such an event, the first step is to choose the bride-to-be through a meticulous three-stage selection process called gantaek . The names of eligible girls from reputable scholar-official families are submitted along with the names and official titles of their fathers, grandfathers, and great grandfathers. The names and official titles of their maternal lineage up to their grandfather are also submitted.

The first four of the six rites were performed there and the groom’s visit to the bride and the final wedding ceremony took place at Taepyeonggwan (Hall of Great Peace), normally a guesthouse for Chinese envoys.

According to the uigwe document, the first round of the royal bride selection process took place on the 25th day of the 6th month.

The proposal was made on the 28th day of the 10th month, the acceptance about one month later on the 20th day of the 11th month, and the wedding date was announced the following day, on the 21st day of the 11th month. The appointment of the crown princess took place on the 4th day of the 12th month and the groom’s visit to the detached palace on the 27th day of the same month. However, instead of going to his bride’s residence, Crown Prince Sohyeon went directly to Taepyeonggwan and waited for her there. The bride arrived in her palanquin accompanied by her honor guards.

Being the wedding of a crown prince, there was one more rite to be performed on the day of the fifth rite, before setting out to meet the bride. The crown prince appeared before the king and his courtiers in front of the throne hall at the palace. The king ordered his

Three-stage Selection of the Bride The girl who is finally selected is considered The crown prince appeared before the king and his courtiers a royal from that moment onward and does not in front of the throne hall in the main palace. The king ordered return to her parents’ home. Instead, she is taken his son, “Go and meet the bride and command that she duly to a residence called byeolgung , or a detached palace, where she is to stay until the wedding day, succeed the affairs of the Royal Ancestral Shrine and manage receiving instructions on the etiquette, manners, the subordinates with authority.” and lifestyle of the palace. For practical reasons, a private home was considered inadequate for the series of ceremonial events leading to the royal wedding. son, “Go and meet the bride and command that she duly succeed The six ceremonial events known as the “six rites” (yungnye ) the affairs of the Royal Ancestral Shrine and manage the subordiinclude the royal proposal (napchae ), the acceptance of the pronates with authority.” The crown prince replied, saying, “Your subposal (napjing), the announcement of the wedding date (gogi), the ject will follow the command with utmost respect.” He then bowed investiture of the queen or the crown princess (chaekbi or chaekfour times to the king. bin), the royal groom’s visit to the detached palace to meet the bride and bring her to the palace (chinyeong ), and the formal wedding The Six Rites ceremony (dongroe-yeon). While the final ceremony took place at In the process of the six rites, the royal family sends a wedding the royal palace, the first five rites were usually performed at the goose as a gift to the bride’s detached palace twice: first, at the time detached palace. of the proposal and once again when the groom visits the detached Two different royal weddings can be compared through their palace. Both times it is a single live goose (saeng-an), not a couple uigwe documents: the wedding of Crown Prince Sohyeon and of wooden geese, as commonly known today. Koreans adopted the Crown Princess Kang in 1627 and the wedding of King Yeongjo and goose as a symbol of marital fidelity because they believed that the Queen Jeongsun in 1759. bird remains faithful to its mate until death. Since the goose was The “Uigwe of the Wedding of Crown Prince Sohyeon” consists live, it had to be tied around the neck and was enfolded in a wrapof one volume ending with a painting of the wedding procession ping cloth specially made for the occasion. The second time, the spread over eight pages. Sin Heum (1566–1658), the Minister of the bearer of the goose proceeds on horseback ahead of the prince’s Left, or the second state councilor, was appointed the superintenpalanquin and hands the bird to the prince upon his arrival. The prince then places the bird on the ceremonial table for the rite of dent of Garye Dogam, the temporary office established to supervise presenting the goose to the bride (jeonanrye). The royal couple then all royal wedding procedures. On this occasion, the birthplace of Prince Sohyeon’s younger brother served as the bride’s residence. heads to the wedding venue after exchanging a cup of wine.

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In this painting of the royal bride's wedding procession from the “Uigwe of the Wedding of Crown Prince Sohyeon,� the bride's palanquin is escorted by two men in front carrying blue lanterns and another carrying a blue umbrella, and palace attendants on each side as well as senior court ladies, wearing veils, on horseback and other palace staff. Jangseogak Archives, Academy of Korean Studies.

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All stages of the wedding preparations were recorded from the sixth month of 1627 to the first month of 1628. The records detail the acquisition of the goods and materials for all stages, specifying regulations pertaining to the costumes of all participants, and a list of gifts to be sent to the bride’s house. The royal wedding office had three divisions for the execution of these matters. The first division was responsible for the document for the investiture of the crown princess and her special costumes; the second division for providing the flags and ceremonial weapons for the procession of the honor guards, the interior and exterior decoration of the event halls, boxes for ritual items, and all the folding-screen paintings including those for the detached palace; and the third division for production of the bamboo book containing the king’s instructions for the crown princess and supply of all utensils.

The eight-page painting of the procession by rank (banchado) is the briefest of all extant paintings of the kind contained in records of royal weddings. As the groom went to meet his bride at Taepyeong-

gwan instead of the detached palace, the painting depicts only the bride’s palanquin. Escorted by female palace attendants, her palanquin is preceded by four smaller palanquins carrying various ritual objects, including the royal letter of appointment, the seal of the crown princess, her investiture book made of bamboo, and formal costumes. The painting of King Yeongjo’s second wedding procession 1 in 1759 was the first to depict both the king’s and the queen’s palanquins.

King Yeongjo’s first queen, Queen Jeongseong (1692–1757), passed away without producing a male heir to the throne. For his second queen, the court selected the daughter of Kim Han-gu, a young scholar without any official position. At that time, Yeongjo was 66 years old while the bride was 15.

The Sexagenarian King’s Second Marriage Their wedding was the first since the publication of the “Sequel to the Five Rites of the State” in 1744, and the “Exemplar Regula-

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This uiqwe has been returned to Korea in accordance with an agreement signed by the governments of Korea and France on February 7, 2011, and a subsequent agreement between the National Museum of Korea and the National Library of France.

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3 1 The Crossed Dragons Banner, called gyoryonggi , was among the most important ceremonial implements in the royal procession. Silk, 396.2 x 341.6 cm. National Palace Museum of Korea.

2 The king’s procession as depicted in the “Uigwe of the Wedding of King Yeongjo and Queen Jeongsun.” Though the king’s palanquin is open on all four sides, the king himself is not depicted. Ahead of the event, the office in charge of the royal wedding produced a painting of the procession and presented it to the king for inspection.

3 Details of the painting of the royal procession from the “Uigwe of the Wedding of King Yeongjo and Queen Jeongsun.” The procession includes foot soldiers carrying a variety of flags and ceremonial weapons (top), the cavalry carrying bow and arrow cases (bottom left), and mounted female palace staff wearing veils and female physicians (bottom right). For copies other than that for the king’s perusal, woodblocks were carved for the parts of the painting that are repeated, stamped as many times as needed, and colored later.

tions of Royal Weddings” (Gukhon jeongrye ) in 1749, in which the quantity of wedding costumes and gifts was curtailed in keeping with Yeongjo’s policies emphasizing frugality. Another important difference is that the king went to meet his bride at the detached palace and they went to the palace together in the same procession.

Therefore, the painting of their wedding procession depicts both of their palanquins escorted by their respective honor guards. All later paintings of royal wedding processions followed this composition.

Sin Man (1703–1765), first state councilor, was appointed to supervise the royal wedding office. The selection of the bride was conducted from the 2nd day to the 9th day of the 6th month and all the six rites were performed from the 13th day to the 22nd day of the same month.

The uigwe of this royal wedding, the first of its kind produced in two volumes, has no mention of folding-screen paintings newly made for the occasion. Presumably, the king ordered the existing screens to be repaired and reused. Likewise, he ordered the reuse of existing jade figurines and that all the gold accessories on ceremonial costumes be made of gilded metal. But the pair of ritual wine cups for the bride and groom was made of gold.

Yet, the painting of King Yeongjo’s wedding procession is among the most sumptuous of its kind known today. It spreads over 50 pages with the first half devoted to the king's section of the procession and the second half to the queen's. Carried by 18 men, the king’s palanquin is wide open on all four sides, though the king himself is not depicted. Out of reverence to the throne, the king’s image was never represented in any form except in official portraits throughout the Joseon period.

The queen’s section begins with guards and objects for the wedding ceremony, followed by four small palanquins carrying the royal letter of appointment, the jade book, gold seal, and official costumes, all to be given to the new queen, guided by mounted sanggung, or senior court ladies. They are followed by more female palace staff, some on foot and others on horseback, all with their faces properly veiled. Additional female staff, including female physicians, follow the queen’s palanquin which, unlike the king’s, is closed and veiled with red drapes adorned with hexagonal patterns in green lines.

Spectacular Wedding Procession This grand wedding procession went along the broad street starting from the bride’s detached palace, located in today’s Sajikdong on the northwestern side of Gyeongbok Palace, toward Changgyeong Palace, over approximately 3.6 kilometers. The king was sufficiently exposed to the people along the way.

Held about 150 years apart, the two royal weddings of the Joseon Dynasty recorded in the uigwe show some changes in formality whereas in other ways the practices remained almost the same. In both weddings, the order of six rites remains mostly unchanged, except that the king went to meet his bride in person at her detached palace and take her to his palace for the wedding ceremony. In earlier days, the royal groom did not make the trip himself but waited for the bride at the palace. Maybe King Yeongjo’s personal proclivities as well as his imposing personality led him to decide on how the rites were to be conducted.

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SPECIAL FEATURE 3 Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot

GETTING MARRIED IN KOREA TODAY

FROM HONSU TO HONEYMOON

Lee Yoon-jung Editor-in-Chief, Noblesse Ahn Hong-beom, Kim Dae-hyun Photographers

Follow the customs or be more original? When planning their weddings, many brides and grooms find themselves having to walk a fine line between tradition and individual expression. Since it is a matter directly linked to wedding expenses, it can be quite an agonizing dilemma.

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These days, couples are increasingly opting for a more intimate wedding with close friends and family members at an outdoor venue rather than a runof-the-mill wedding hall.

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ntil the late 1990s, when I got married, it was the norm for young people to live with their parents until marriage.

Unless there was an unavoidable reason, such as school or work being too far from home, marriage was considered the only legitimate reason for moving out of your parent’s house. Back then, I often met people who wanted to get married just for the sake of escaping parental control.

We are living in a different age now. I know a fair number of singles who are living alone. There is no fixed age at which people choose to venture out on their own since it is possible once they achieve financial independence. This may have played a part in the changing attitudes toward marriage among young people who increasingly view it as an option, not a must. The concept of “the right age to marry” is also diminishing.

There are also quite a number of people who want to marry but cannot, or will not do so, largely because of the hefty wedding costs. A wedding can be a heavy burden for most young couples; they either have to work like a dog to save up enough money, or be blessed with well-off parents. According to Statistics Korea, the average cost of marriage in 2015, including housing, amounted to 250 million won (approximately US$218,000).

Hurdle in the Road to Marriage A man and a woman meet, fall passionately in love, and decide to tie the knot. The romance ends here! Once the parents meet and

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the wedding date is set, reality hits hard. Looking for the right venue and finding the perfect wedding dress — there is an endless list of things to do.

Adding to the burden is the preparation of honsu , which are goods needed for marriage and gifts exchanged between the families of the bride and the groom. The gifts sent by the bride’s family to the groom’s family are called yedan and typically include bedding for the parents-in-law, silverware, clothes, a handbag, and money.

The range of items varies depending on the family’s financial situation. The gifts the groom’s parents give to the bride are called yemul. They are placed inside a wooden chest called ham, together with the honseoji (marriage letter thanking the parents for giving their daughter’s hand in marriage), and sent to the bride’s family. A few days before the wedding, the groom’s friends carry the chest to the bride’s house, where the family greets them with a feast of food and drink.

The gifts inside the chest include jewelry, a watch, a handbag, a purse, clothes, cosmetics, and shoes, varying according to family customs and affordability. To display their wealth, upper-class families may include pricey items such as fur or a leather jacket and high-end jewelry. This custom of exchanging gifts and money can, at times, become a source of conflict due to a mismatch of expectations; when relatives put in their two cents, adding fuel to the fire, it can cause a fall-out between the two families. A tradition that is supposed to be observed with decorum and respect becomes the

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1, 2 Times may have changed, but it is still every bride’s wish to look her most beautiful on her wedding day with the perfect make-up and a glamorous wedding gown.

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©Kim Bo-ha

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seed of discord, and in the worst case, the wedding may even be called off. To prevent such a calamity, some people choose not to exchange gifts or money at all.

The biggest concern for couples is finding a place to live. In the past, the house was generally regarded the responsibility of the groom while the bride prepared the necessary household items that went in it. This hasn’t changed much today, but more couples are sharing the burden due to the exorbitant housing costs.

Jewelry Trends Back when I got married, parents were usually the major decision makers when it came to choosing marriage items and gifts.

Neither the bride nor groom had much say in the choice of watch and wedding ring. Nowadays, couples are not so willing to meekly comply with the wishes of their parents or in-laws; they tend to actively voice their opinions, wanting to make their own choices. So, some parents give money to the bride and groom, leaving them to buy whatever they want.

As for the wedding gifts for the bride, three, five, or seven jewelry sets were common in the past. The basic set is a diamond set consisting of a diamond ring, earrings and necklace, as well as a gold, sapphire, or ruby set. But most brides these days prefer a simple diamond or pearl set, which can be worn casually, rather than colored gemstones that tend to look old. Some also prefer to spend all the money on a larger diamond ring, but flashy, over-the-top pieces with a giant rock are a thing of the past. Practicality has become the general trend as brides prefer jewelry that is more appropriate for everyday wear over pricey pieces that will end up in the safe or deep inside a wardrobe. For example, some couples prefer to exchange just a simple Cartier wedding band. Pearls were shunned in the past as they were thought to resemble teardrops, but now they are

Wedding Planners’ evolving role Professional wedding planners first appeared in Korea some 20 years ago and they now play an indispensable role in the marriage process. From choosing the wedding venue, wedding dress, make-up, photographer, and wedding gifts to planning the honeymoon, busy couples entrust everything to the planner instead of doing the legwork themselves.

Lee Mi-ja, director of the wedding consulting company Marry On Wedding, based in Gangnam, Seoul, says, “People are usually recommended wedding consulting firms by a married acquaintance or family member, but they can also check the company website for the vendors it uses and the wedding dress or jewelry brands it is affiliated with to determine the level and quality of service. Consulting firms will try their best to accommodate the clients’ wishes and work within their budget. After all, that is our role.”

Lee, who has been in the business for 10 years, says she sees increasing polarization in the industry, like any other.

“The middle range has decreased drastically. Now, it’s either an extravagant wedding or a minimalist, frugal wedding. For example, in the case of wedding rings, except for the very few who purchase several pricey gemstone rings, most settle for either a simple platinum or 18-carat gold wedding band. There’s even a brand that specializes in couple rings.”

Planners typically work on a project for several months, during which time they constantly communicate with their clients to find out their preferences and tastes, and guide them in making decisions. At times, they may play the role of counselor because even a minor disagreement between the bride and groom or among family members can lead to a crack in the relationship. “Sometimes a couple will express their gratitude before leaving for their honeymoon, or I will receive a little token of appreciation. It’s these moments when my job is particularly rewarding,” says Lee. “On the other hand, it breaks my heart to see a couple break up right before the wedding. I hope that the role of wedding planners will expand to include not only finding the perfect wedding dress or recommending vendors, but also offering advice on marriage, in the future.”

A growing number of Korean universities are establishing wedding-related departments since wedding planning as a profession is expected to evolve further in a positive direction.

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1, 2 The traditional custom of the groom’s friends carrying the ham (chest filled with jewelry and other gifts for the bride) and “selling” it to the bride’s family has nearly disappeared.

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This custom of exchanging gifts and money can, at times, become a source of conflict due to a mismatch of expectations; when relatives put in their two cents, adding fuel to the fire, it can cause a fall-out between the two families. in vogue again due to the preference for jewelry that can be worn casually. According to jewelry industry statistics, around five million won on average is spent on jewelry and watches for wedding gifts.

Tiffany & Co. and other top brands account for the major share of wedding ring sales in Korea. Those who are less affluent crowd the Jongno 5-ga jewelry district in the old city center of Seoul looking for “Tiffany-style” wedding bands.

Whereas it was customary in the past for the bride and groom to choose watches from the same brand and of similar design and price, this is not the case anymore. Interestingly, brides today tend to place greater importance on watches compared to the past when the focus was more on rings or necklaces. A Rolex watch used to be by far the most popular wedding gift for grooms. But this is no longer so, as people now have greater access to diverse brands. One reason why luxury watch sales in Korea are among the highest in the world is their demand as wedding gifts.

Bridal Dress and Ceremony Western-style weddings have become the norm in Korea, but the tradition of pyebaek (bride’s formal greetings to her parents-in-law) is still observed after the ceremony. In the past, the bride left her parents’ house after the wedding and went to her in-laws’ and performed the rite there, but now this is done right after the ceremony at the wedding hall where a separate room for the rite is prepared.

The bride changes from her Western-style wedding gown into Korean traditional wedding costume and makes deep bows to her in-laws, and then offers them liquor. In return, her in-laws give her chestnuts and jujubes, which are symbols of fertility.

As all eyes are on the bride at the wedding ceremony, the wedding dress naturally attracts great attention. Wedding gowns with a long majestic train are passé; now, rather than overblown dresses, brides prefer designs that allow them to express their individuality. When consulting with designers, instead of relying solely on their advice, many brides these days come equipped with a pretty clear sense of what they want, thanks to ideas and information from the internet and social media. The current trend is that there is no particular trend. What’s also interesting is that the boundary between everyday fashion and wedding fashion is blurring under the growing preference for bridal dresses that can be used later. Lee Myung-

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soon, owner of a wedding dress shop that has been in operation for 27 years in Cheongdam-dong in southern Seoul, says, “I switched from renting out to selling some time ago. Brides no longer want grand and ornate wedding dresses that they will only wear once, but look for designs that can express who they are.”

The change in wedding dress trends is closely related to changing trends in venue. People are increasingly opting for a more personalized wedding held outdoors in the countryside, a garden, or a house rather than the one-size-fits-all wedding hall. Even at a wedding hall, couples wish to create an intimate atmosphere and express their personality through the interior decoration and attire.

Simple Wedding, Luxurious Honeymoon In the past, the wedding was an occasion for the parents to announce to relatives that their child had grown up and was starting a family, and in some aspects, to display the family’s wealth and stature. Therefore, the higher the social standing and financial means, the more lavish the wedding. Perceptions are changing, though, as the children of this generation become parents. Accelerating this change is the belief among young couples that they, not their parents, should be in charge of their own wedding; their focus is on content rather than formalities, on personal preferences rather than custom. Unlike typical weddings of the past where guests flocked to the wedding hall, placed their monetary gift at the reception desk, and hurriedly exchanged hellos while not even bothering to attend the actual ceremony, many couples today opt for a more intimate wedding where they share the special day with a small group of family and friends celebrating the beginning of a new chapter in their lives.

There is also a growing tendency to keep the wedding simple and instead splurge on the honeymoon. Lim Mi-sook, editor-in-chief of The Wedding, says, “There’s this funny story that until recently, the Maldives was the most popular honeymoon destination among newlyweds in Korea because of an ad that said the island nation was in danger of sinking in a few years. Hawaii is hot these days.

Korean couples like to indulge a little when it comes to their honeymoon. They seek luxurious resorts with upscale facilities, particularly a pool villa.” Couples these days also prefer to plan their own trips instead of following the wedding planner’s itinerary.

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1 At Western-style weddings in Korea, it is common for the mothers to enter the hall ahead of the bride and groom, and light the red and blue candles on the altar before taking their seats.

2 After the wedding ceremony, the bride and groom change from Western-style wedding clothes into traditional wedding costumes for the pyebaek rite; they make deep bows to the elders in the groom’s family, who in turn throw chestnuts and jujubes, symbols of fertility, into the bride’s skirt which is held out in front.

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SPECIAL FEATURE 4 Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot

THE FUTURE OF MARRIAGE Baek Young-ok Novelist

The concept of marriage is undergoing radical change. Geographical distance matters less than ever for couples in love while the desire to maintain independence in a relationship grows stronger.

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t 1 a.m., a time when people become mellow, a flow of stories comes into the booth where I host a counseling segment on a late night FM radio show.

Through the intimate conversations with listeners since last spring, I have realized that some issues on love and relationships represent a new modus vivendi of our time, when people are connected around the clock through social networking media.

©TOPIC IMAGES

The Idea of Distance in Love In the past, we parted with old friends upon graduation, which meant joining a new community and a new set of relationships. Today, however, there is no need to be separated from anyone just because of geographical distance. This is true even for broken up couples — the social media algorithm does not let us alone.

Some friends tell me that they have seen their exes on the list of friends on Facebook or KakaoTalk. One friend told me how she felt bad for days after finding that her ex-boyfriend's girlfriend was recommended as a possible friend on Facebook. Feeling like a stalker (unintentional, of course), she looked into the woman’s account and found out that they were soon to be married (news that she really didn't want to hear).

An increase in long-distance relationships is another new trend. Stories of couples living far apart — in Tokyo and Seoul, for instance — are often delivered to my radio booth. There are also many couples in love with one of them going abroad to study or spend a working holiday. Living apart in Tokyo and Seoul is better than most cases, since there is no time difference. But what about couples living in London and Seoul? In Seoul and São Paolo? These days, long-distance relationships are not limited to unmarried couples. I know a married couple with the husband living in Seoul and the wife in Pohang, and another with the wife in California and the husband in New York.

One of my friends in Seoul had a boyfriend living in Amsterdam. One day, she went to meet him there and stayed for three months. As her visa expiration date neared, she had to return to Seoul. At the airport, her boyfriend thought of a way to be with her longer and suggested the “fiancé visa,” a legal device preventing the deportation of partners with different nationalities.

Today, almost 50 percent of couples are said to decide against marriage in Europe, where the distinction between marriage and cohabitation has become blurred.

What about Koreans? The prolonged economic recession in this country has led many younger people to give up three major things in life: employment, dating, and marriage — hence the term sampo sedae, meaning “triple resignation generation.” Presuming no change in the curKOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 25

rent institution of marriage, more couples will give it up because it will do almost nothing to make their lives better, at least in economic terms. Who would be willing to marry if marriage means living under the burden of bank loans? Love is not the sole issue in a marriage since it is affected by an array of social policies including real estate and finances.

The friend who stayed in Amsterdam longer than she planned eventually broke up with her boyfriend. Another friend who traveled between Seoul and Busan also ended her relationship. A friend who was in a relationship with a man in New York and coping with a 14-hour time difference told me: “Keeping up this long-distance relationship for two years, I’ve realized one thing. The only way to make such a relationship work is to cheat!”

This friend, a psychiatrist, was firm in her opinion. She said having an affair was the only solution to get over the sexless bouts that such a situation imposes on a couple. She added that the greatest virtue required of today’s long-distance couples was a proper amount of indifference — not trying to know too much about their partners.

A New Type of Union The German novelist Erich Kastner said, “Geography spells the ruination of love.” Almost every country in the world has sayings to the effect of “out of sight, out of mind.” Then, you might want to ask this question: “How much distance can love tolerate?”

In the first week of the New Year, the topic for my radio show was again long-distance relationships. The two lovers, who were not even separated yet, were terrified by the temporal and geographical distance that would lie between them. They wished to marry, but wondered if that would be possible, predicting failure in advance.

I want to ask them, “Does the completion of love have to be marriage? Does marriage mean being together all the time?” Marriage in our time should be different from the past as the conditions of life have changed. In an interview with U.S.-based Korean journalist Ann Hee-kyung, Zygmunt Bauman made an interesting statement:

“Have I mentioned the French novelist Michel Houellebecq? He is a very wise man who wrote about dystopia. His book ‘The Possibility of an Island’ depicts a sinister picture of what awaits us, as opposed to utopia. It tells us what we will end up with if we go on with the current tendencies. As far as love is concerned, many couples will be half committed to their relationships, not due to geographical distance but because we all want to share intimacy while remaining autonomous. What you hear a lot in American films is, 'I need a space of my own.' This is a plea for others to stay away, to let us alone. This is an ideology of our time.”

According to Bauman, “dependence” is considered a shameful condition today. It means, in extension, that the marriage vows pledging to depend on each other in good times and in bad, whether rich or poor, are becoming an anachronism. In our time, we lay such emphasis on autonomy.

Now, love responds from places different from before. We want to stay connected for 24 hours a day, but one's physical presence is in a kind of fortress of one's own. Connected only online, we maintain a solitary existence. We want to stay connected because we feel lonely, but we also want to be free to go anywhere. The problem is that stability is incompatible with freedom. Stable freedom is an oxymoron. No freedom is without risks, and stability needs a community.

For these reasons, a new type of union called “semi-cohabitation” is spreading. Many of my internet friends keep up their relationships by having their separate places and living either apart or together whenever the need arises. A couple in Jeju Island live apart, the husband in Hyeopje and the wife in Pyoseon, working separately on weekdays and meeting on the weekend. Of course, they call or see each other when it’s necessary. They say that this is the golden mean, achieved in their 12th year of marriage. A proper amount of freedom and a proper degree of stability serve as a stimulant for their relationship. The couple has figured out the optimal distance that keeps the fire of their love burning.

“Graduation from marriage” is a recent coinage that originated

Most of us get married knowing hardly anything about the institution. It's like falling in love without ever being taught about love. In fact, what we know about love are mostly myths bordering on superstition.

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in Japan. A concept different from divorce, it involves couples remaining married but living independently without interfering with each other in how they live their lives. Graduation from marriage stresses a life much more independent than semi-cohabitation.

A Room of My Own Most of us get married knowing hardly anything about the institution. It’s like falling in love without ever being taught about love. In fact, what we know about love are mostly myths bordering on superstition. Love at first sight. Love that comes effortlessly. Love in a magical moment when everything is so natural that you know with your whole being that this person is the one.

These are illusions created by movies, novels, and television dramas.

If we explore what constitutes “lasting love” with half the interest that we celebrate “budding love,” we will experience love in quite a different way. The same is true for marriage. Perhaps, this issue has been most profoundly addressed by the writer Alain de Botton. In his essay “On Marrying the Wrong Person” posted on the website entitled the “Book of Life,” he describes in detail how a normal man or woman turns into an impatient and inconsiderate ignoramus: “On our own, when we’re furious, we don’t shout, as there’s no one there to listen — and therefore we overlook the true, worrying strength of our capacity for fury. Or we work all the time without grasping, because there’s no one calling us to come for dinner, how we manically use work to gain a sense of control over life — and how we might cause hell if anyone tried to stop us. At night, all we’re aware of is how sweet it would be to cuddle with someone, but we have no opportunity to face up to the intimacy-avoiding side of us that would start to make us cold and strange if ever it felt we were too deeply committed to someone. One of the greatest privileges of being on one’s own is the flattering illusion that one is, in truth, really quite an easy person to live with. With such a poor level of understanding of our characters, no wonder we aren’t in any position to know who we should be looking out for.”

De Botton makes a bold claim that a standard question on any early date should be “And how are you mad?” I couldn't agree more! Asked to define marriage, I could think of more than 30 definitions, but the one that immediately comes to mind is this: Marriage means failing every moment, knowing all too well in advance that you will do so. This may sound like an overstatement, but it’s not. That said, the most realistic advice that I can give is this: Marriage is actually a choice of whether or not to endure pain. In marriage, your partner will probably inflict on you a kind of pain that you never imagined. Therefore, the decision to get married is tantamount to determining if the person you’re marrying is worth the effort of enduring the pain. Nobody can avoid getting hurt in life. Even so, we should at least have the power to choose the person who will be inflicting the pain. That way, you will feel less unhappy. After all, the most honest statement that I can make about marriage is that tolerating one another will sometimes be much more difficult if you are not truly in love.

To marry, or not to marry? This may be one of the most hackneyed relationship questions, along with “To have children, or not to have children?” and “Can men and women be just friends?” However, what I have learned from my 15 plus years of marriage is that life is not about straddling two choices while making none. Any choice is inherently exclusive and cruel since it means bearing the consequences of picking one thing over another. Additionally, it’s clear that anyone who’s good at living alone will be good at living with someone else. Surely, it's not only writers who need a room of their own.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 27

SPECIAL FEATURE 5 Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot

MARRIAGE, A GARDEN FOR OLD DREAMS OF LOVE AND HAPPINESS

ŠTOPIC IMAGES

In the midst of the historical turmoil of the early 20th century, the notions of new literature and free love provided important undercurrents of social discourse among Korean intellectuals.

Well into the modern era and through the period of industrialization, novels portrayed a motley collection of love affairs and marriages between individuals who either supported or resisted social conventions.

Lee Chang-guy Poet and Literary Critic

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ith the start of the new millennium, Koreans were exhilarated by the first ever inter-Korean summit since the country’s division in the 1940s and by the resultant June 15 NorthSouth Joint Declaration. Overwhelmed with joy, over and over again they watched the footage of the leaders of the two Koreas holding hands and hugging each other in front of the runway trap at Sunan Airport in Pyongyang. As they voiced their ardent hopes for reunification, an outburst of related discussions overshadowed other issues.

In such an atmosphere, literature received little attention. “Marriage is a Crazy Thing,” a provocative novel by Yi Man-gyo, seemed destined for the purgatory of obscurity when it was published in May that year, though it had been awarded the Today’s Writer Prize. However, it was adapted into a film of the same title in 2002. Then, in 2006, “My Wife Got Married” by Park Hyun-wook was published, another inflammatory novel on marriage, which also won a literary prize and was turned into a film. Only then followed a rush of articles and critiques dealing with subversive ideas on marriage as a social phenomenon.

Marriage is a Crazy Thing?

Some critics considered extramarital affairs as a “new code of deviation and marriage” while others expressed contempt for literature dealing with the subject, claiming, “Adultery novels are rubbish.” Nevertheless, readers were both alarmed and fascinated — alarmed by one woman who cheats on her rich doctor husband to maintain her relationship with her former lover, a part-time college instructor, saying, “I’m feeling less and less guilty as time goes on. It’s just like living a life a little busier than others” (from “Marriage is a Crazy Thing”); and fascinated by the outrageous wish of another woman who argues, “Did I ask for the stars? Did I ask for the moon? I’m just asking for another husband!” (from “My Wife Got Married”). Using the cynical tagline “Are you sure? Do you really believe you can stay in love with just

one person?” the film version of “My Wife Got Married” disclosed the hypocrisy of monogamy, ahead of French economic and social theorist Jacques Attali who predicted that monogamy would be but a memory by 2040, saying, “Monogamy has rarely been honored in practice; soon it will vanish even as an ideal.” Many readers and moviegoers were amazed by the stories of mundane life infused with fictional assumptions.

From a more academic perspective, the significance of these works lies in the fact that they tested the plausibility of a new genre involving the reappraisal of marriage, separating the subject from the traditional forms of fiction, such as personal growth stories and autobiographical novels, in which marriage is used as an important narrative factor. If counted from Yi Gwangsu (1892–1950), modern Korean literature took a whole century to expand marriage to the realm of a literary discourse that addressed the institution squarely and raised questions about it. In the new landscape created by the shift in paradigm, Korean readers found, however briefly, a sense of relief and freedom from the yoke of the rigid institution that was like a second skin.

In broad terms, Koreans’ spiritual culture is manifested in four ceremonial occasions of life: coming of age, weddings, funerals, and ancestral rites. Established almost 600 years ago, when Confucianism took root as the country's ruling ideology, these four ceremonies have been more than just rituals to Koreans. They have been an essential part of social order, wielding an enormous influence over their lives. The model for the protocols of these rites was the Chinese classic “Family Rituals of Zhu Xi” (Zhuzi jiali). With the Confucian manual as a reference, and incorporating local customs and practices, Koreans compiled their own rules for royal rituals in the “Five Rites of the State” (Gukjo orye ui), which was included in the “National Code” (Gyeongguk daejeon), a book of the highest law during the Joseon Dynasty.

While the ritual manual of the royal family was adopted by other social classes as

the highest set of rules for all other occasions, the wedding was an exception, perhaps because it required the agreement of two families. Specifically, the practice called chinyeong was not scrupulously observed due to the economic burden involved in having the groom go to the bride’s house for the wedding ceremony and then bringing her back to his own family home to live (often represented in traditional wedding scenes featured in introductory materials on Korean culture).

Confucian Marriage Traditions For a considerable part of the early Joseon Dynasty, most commoners preferred the old marriage rituals and customs dating back to the ancient Goguryeo Kingdom (37 B.C.–A.D. 668), which allowed them to choose their own spouses, and the husband to live with the wife’s family (serving as a valuable source of labor) until their children grew up. Besides, dramatic love affairs that led people to risk their lives also happened among the aristocracy and nobility, as described in some ancient stories: Princess Pyeonggang of Goguryeo in the sixth century refused a marriage arranged by her father and chose to marry Ondal, known as a dim-witted boy from a poor family; and death could not separate Yi Saeng and the girl from the Choe family in “Student Yi Peers over the Wall” (Yisaeng gyujang jeon), included in the “New Stories of the Golden Turtle” (Geumo sinhwa ), Korea’s first collection of stories in classical Chinese, written by Kim Si-seup (1435–1493). To sum up, commoners of the Joseon Dynasty had not followed the complicated Confucian wedding rituals until the 18th century, when advanced agricultural techniques and active trade brought them prosperity. Interestingly, those who had accumulated wealth were now eager to catch up with the aristocracy and observed the more rigorous rules of the “Family Rituals of Zhu Xi.” As shown in the process of matchmaking, the people of Joseon regarded marriage not as a union of two individuals but of two different families and regional cusKOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 29

toms. The two families had to be of similar social standing and their needs and values had to be finely adjusted for mutual harmony. This meant the process was discreet and serious, but often it was too lengthy and complicated, naturally inviting abuse. Above all, ostentatious spending on empty formalities was escalated by the competitive pride of the two parties. Yi Deok-mu (1741–1793), a scholar of the Silhak (Practical Learning) school, deplored the “corruption of ethics and morality among the general public who consider the birth of a daughter as the family’s misfortune because it will take a great amount of money to marry her off with a large collection of household gifts.

So some people console parents bereaved of a young daughter by pointing out that they won’t have to spend so much money in the future” (from Sasojeol, or “Elementary Etiquette for Scholar Families”). Also problematic was the fact that matchmaking 30 KOREANA Spring 2017

was largely the decision of the parents, not the couple. The novelist Yi Gwang-su, mentioned above as the starting point of modern Korean literature, was himself the victim of an arranged marriage that ignored the wishes of the persons to be married. Pointing out how matchmaking and arranged marriage could fail, he spread the notion of romantic love through his novels.

Marriage in Modern Korean Literature In his essay “On Marriage,” Yi Gwang-su criticized the contemporary custom of parents having their own way with their children’s marriage as follows: “One proposes, ‘Give me your girl to be my daughter-in-law,’ and the other responds, ‘Okay, I’ll take your boy to be my son-in-law.’ They laugh and drink a cup of rice wine, and the marriage takes effect, deciding the fate of two people for the rest of their lives. But marriage should be a contract made between an adult man and a

woman of their own accord.”

Suffering from his own unhappy marriage to a perfect stranger, Yi advocated marriage for love, women’s independence, and gender equality. In his 1917 novel “The Heartless” (Mujeong ), the first full-length modern Korean novel, the author highlighted women’s self-awareness and liberation from traditional ethics and norms through the heroine Park Yeong-chae, who attempts to remain faithful to her lover by killing herself.

Another novelist, Kim Dong-in (1900– 1951), portrayed “modern girls” of the 1920s who advocated free love and their internal contradictions caused by the lack of independence to support such liberal sexual consciousness. In “The Sadness of the Weak,” Kim describes the ordeals of a modern girl named Kang Elizabeth, orphaned and alone, who works as a child's governess and has an affair with the child's father, Baron K.

Fearful and nervous, youths in Korea today hover around, peeking into the garden with an old sign that reads “love and happiness.”

Given that various alternative forms of family have been suggested, marriage may not be the only vaccine that can keep the garden healthy and sound.

From left: “Pretending to be Happy (The Woman)” by Yang da-hye. 2014. Ink and color on silk, 69.5 x 53 cm; and “Pretending to be Happy (The Man)” by Yang da-hye. 2014. Ink and color on silk, 69.5 x 53 cm.

Marriage in the Industrialization Period In Korean literature, a new portrayal of marriage for love began to appear in the 1970s, a period of relative stability and prosperity for Koreans brought by rapid economic growth and their collective passion for education. In her 1976 novel “Swaying Afternoons,” Park Wan-suh (1931– 2011) offered a lucid depiction of the 1970s, the age of the “vulgar middle class,” who had risen from nothing to be successful, but only in the competition to accumulate wealth. The novel revolves around the three daughters of a successful small businessman, depicting what each of them holds valuable in a marriage and how they are crushed by the reality of Korean society encountered through married life.

The eldest daughter, Cho-hui, refuses to live like her parents, who had to endure unspeakable hardships to escape poverty, and chooses an “indecent man of wealth”

in his 50s over the man she loves. In the end, however, she ruins her life by having an affair with her former lover. On the other hand, the second daughter, U-hui, marries the man she loves but finds herself bound by mundane chores, like emptying her mother-in-law’s chamber pot, talking about love “as if it were a magic spell.”

She realizes that her future will be “weary with poverty, like a dingy motel room.” The youngest daughter, Mal-hui, watches her two sisters with sympathy and contempt.

The smart girl finds herself a man both rich and lovable, and moves overseas to get away from home. Until today, the love and ambition of these three women has been a typical theme of Korean television dramas.

While Park Wan-suh succeeded in sketching the social conditions of her time through the popular portrayal of marriage, Oh Jung-hee, born in 1947, provided a more fundamental and thoughtful picture of married life in “The Old Well”

(1994). The narrator is an ordinary middleaged woman who finds herself no longer “talking about last night’s dream” with her husband, but only sharing “trivial household concerns, food, and sex.” One day, she meets an old flame, whom she has secretly missed and longs to “go somewhere private and lay there with our bodies all entangled.” However, she parts with him, “relieved to see the boat coming to take us back to the safety of the places from where we came.” Later, she happens to learn about his death, but all she can do is to “fold the laundry, make kimchi with the cabbage soaked in salt water the whole afternoon” and “cook for my son’s lunchbox, and exchange jokes watching TV with my husband.” She returns to her daily routine, recollecting the old well saturated with the mystery of life and death and the old house filled with forgotten memories. Finally, she weeps alone, realizing that she is doomed to “keep on surviving in the swamp of the everyday, embracing the shadow of deaths in this world, the countless souls that have disappeared with the passage of time.”

Awaiting New Insights into Marriage No other institution is as replete as marriage with secrets about the ignorant and clumsy, the dismal and pathetic nature of human relationships. Ever so persistently, it plays up the contrasts between family and individual values, between “you” and “I,” between reason and emotion, and between man and woman. Fearful and nervous, youths in Korea today hover around, peeking into the garden with an old sign that reads “love and happiness.” Given that various alternative forms of family have been suggested, marriage may not be the only vaccine that can keep the garden healthy and sound. At least, if solitude is not the answer, we must know more about each other — and about human nature, for that matter. This will allow us to overcome fear, which instigates enmity, and ease the grip of capitalism, which drives us to relentless competition.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 31

SPECIAL FEATURE 6 Weddings: Korean Ways to Tie the Knot

INTERNATIONAL MARRIAGE

A PERSONAL ACCOUNT

Charles La Shure Professor, Department of Korean Language and Literature, Seoul National University Kim Dae-hyun Photographer

When getting married, everyone has to make adjustments to make the relationship work. An international couple may generally face more challenges in this respect. But things can also turn out unexpectedly easier as they did in my case.

Over the past 20 years since I married a Korean woman and settled in Korea, I have witnessed remarkable changes in the perception of international marriages in Korean society.

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t is March 1996. I have been in Korea for about six months now. I am sitting in a restaurant outside the front gate of Ewha Womans University, waiting for my language exchange partner to arrive so we can begin our exchange of languages, Korean and English.

I look at my watch; she is 10 minutes late. Just then, a girl I have never seen before hurries through the door and sits down across from me. “Sorry, I’m late,” she says in hesitant English. She explains that my partner is busy with schoolwork and asked her if she could take over. I frown, but I decide I will see how things go.

I figure that I will study with her for a few sessions and then make some excuse not to continue the language exchange.

To my surprise, though, my new partner is quite enthusiastic about teaching me Korean. I continue to study with her informally until enrolling in a language program at Yonsei University, and she continues to help me as I study there. But there is something more, something that goes beyond language study. Exactly one year after that day in March 1996, we are married.

An international couple smile happily during their recent wedding ceremony in Seoul.

Though it is generally assumed that international couples have more adjustments to make, overcoming the challenges that a married couple may face is more about personal differences than nationality.

Language Study Partner to Life Partner It has been nearly 20 years since then and we are still going strong. People often ask us about the challenges we have faced being in an international marriage. I guess they expect things to be much more difficult than in a “normal” marriage. It is true that cultural adjustments have been necessary, of course. There are things that are done a certain way in Korea but are done a different way in the United States, and vice versa. Cultural adjustment is an important part of living in any foreign country, but it becomes much more urgent and vital when you are sharing your life with someone from that country.

It hasn’t all been difficulties and obstacles, though.

There have also been pleasant surprises along the way. For example, in Korea, a son-in-law is traditionally quite welcome in his wife’s home and the motherin-law takes every opportunity to spoil him. He is, to borrow a Korean phrase, a “guest for a hundred years.”

The relationship between a Korean mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law, on the other hand, has traditionally been a difficult one. In the U.S., things are different, if not exactly reversed. Mothers-in-law and sonsin-law often do not get along, while mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law don’t have nearly as hard a time as they do in Korea. As it turns out, my wife and I got the best of both worlds: My wife gets along great with my mother and my wife's mother was far more than just a

mother-in-law to me before she passed away.

To be honest, most of the adjustments we have had to make have not been cultural; they have been personal. That is, we have had to make the same adjustments that every married couple has to make if they want a successful marriage. Basically, you have to learn how to share your life with another human being. It may sound counterintuitive at first, but in a way I think we might have actually had it easier because we were an “international” couple. I feel that my wife and I had an advantage because we went into our marriage expecting things to be difficult. After all, we were coming from two completely different cultures and two completely different backgrounds. How could it be anything but a challenge?

More Personal than Cultural Adjustments The truth is that everyone who gets married is marrying someone from a different culture, in a manner of speaking. The couple might be from the same country and the same general culture, but they are from different backgrounds, were raised in different families, and have different life experiences. Perhaps most importantly, men and women are very different, no matter what culture they come from. In some ways, a Korean woman may have more in common with an American woman than she has with a Korean man. Yet, I often wonder if people in “intranational” marriages go into their relationships with an understanding of the challenges they are going to face. My wife and I went into our marriage ready to deal with some serious adjustment issues and I think this allowed us to overcome a lot of our differences very early on. When one of us did something that frustrated, confused, or hurt the other, it was fairly easy to just chalk it up to “cultural differences” and move on. As time went on, our rough edges were gradually worn down and we learned to get along smoothly.

This has been my experience of international marriage, but it is not a typical case. I am an American man married to a Korean woman. I am not a marriage migrant. That is, I did not move to Korea for the purpose of getting married, but I just happened to be living in Korea when I met my wife. Another thing that distinguishes us from other couples is that we do not have any children. I suppose the ramifications of that would require another article to explore properly, but it is safe to say that we are unusual in that regard.

According to 2015 government statistics on “multicultural marriages,” the typical international marriage KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 33

It is difficult to predict the future of international marriages in Korea. Whatever that future may be, it will be part of the general development of multiculturalism here. Greater acceptance of international marriages will happen naturally as people who may not have been born in Korea or are not ethnically Korean become a more accepted part of Korean society.

is between a Korean man and a Chinese or Vietnamese woman. Perhaps the most prominent image of international marriage in Korea is a young man from a rural village marrying a woman from Southeast Asia. In fact, statistics from 2016 show that 22.7 percent of all marriages among men engaged in farming or fishing over the previous five years were international marriages (down from 40 percent in 2007). This is often what comes to mind when Koreans think of international marriage. This phenomenon is both positive and negative. On one hand, it addresses and, to some extent, ameliorates a very real social issue in the Korean countryside — namely, a shortage of brides — but, on the other hand, negative stories abound. A bride from a poorer country running away shortly after her arrival in Korea is a common one, for example.

Marriage Migrants and Multiculturalism The Korean government recognizes the difficulties faced here by those who immigrate to Korea for the purpose of marriage. In the First Basic Plan for Immigration Policy (2008–2012), the government devoted an entire subsection to marriage migrants, outlining the need for measures to help them adapt to Korean society and achieve financial independence. In the plan, the government acknowledges that marriage migrants face discrimination and even human rights abuses, and steps are being taken to address these issues. The Ministry of Gender Equality and Family publishes a “Welcome Book” in eight languages that is designed to provide practical information on adjusting to life in Korea, and activities such as kimchi-making festivals and other educational programs are designed to introduce international brides to important aspects of Korean culture.

Perhaps more important than such institutional efforts on behalf of marriage migrants and other international couples is the average Korean's perception of international marriages. It is true that there is a lot of negative media coverage related to international marriages, focused mainly on “fraudulent marriages” or “marriage scams,” but among the general public the 34 KOREANA Spring 2017

perception of international relationships and marriages seems to have improved. I remember the days when a foreign man walking hand in hand with a Korean woman would elicit scowls at the very least, and quite often insults and abuse. Now, however, people are much more accepting of international couples. This is part of the increasing acceptance of foreigners in general in Korean society, but it also goes far beyond that.

Many people seem to be more amenable to the idea that foreign residents can play an integral part in Korean society and are not necessarily just transient visitors.

Interestingly enough, while the social and cultural acceptance of international marriages in Korea is on the rise, the number of international marriages has been on the decline. While the rate of marriages has been declining on the whole, the rate of decline in international marriages has been even steeper. Partly as a result of increased supervision of marriage brokers and the introduction of tightened criteria for screening marriage migrant visas in 2011, the number of international marriages compared as a percentage of all marriages in Korea decreased from 10.8 percent in 2010 to 7.4 percent in 2015. Given that the number of marriages with Chinese spouses in particular has decreased, while that with spouses from the United States and other OECD countries has increased, the overall decline may represent a shift in the types of international marriages that are taking place rather than a trend that will continue indefinitely.

The Changing Perception of International Marriages It is difficult to predict the future of international marriages in Korea. Whatever that future may be, it will be part of the general development of multiculturalism here. As a nation, Korea has a very strong ethnic identity. This identity was of course forged over many centuries, but the Japanese colonial period, during the first half of the 20th century, probably played the largest part. As Korea lost its status as a nation and the people were in danger of being subsumed into the Japanese

The changing perceptions of international marriage among Koreans have brought changes to the idea of Korea as a “single ethnic group.”

empire, they developed this strong ethnic identity as a defense mechanism. As a result, today Koreans identify as such because of their ethnicity, not because of the passport they hold. This is why a Korean-American who may have been born and raised in the United States will still be considered “Korean,” while a Westerner who has naturalized as a Korean citizen will continue to be considered a “foreigner.”

It is likely that the new era of international marriages and multicultural families will change this perception of identity because multiculturalism also generally means multiethnicism. Ideas of bloodlines or of Korea’s status as “a nation composed of a single ethnic group” (danil minjok gukga ) will have to be rethought — and are indeed being rethought even now — as the Korean population becomes much more diverse culturally and ethnically. Something else will have to form the core of the Korean identity, something that can be shared by everyone who calls Korea their home.

Even a cursory glance at current events is enough to see that multiculturalism is under siege in the West.

There are those who still hold out hope that people from different cultures might be able to live together in peace, adopting common values that will benefit all.

But there are others who say that multiculturalism is a failed experiment, that the values held dear by many in the West are in danger of being overthrown and must be defended against outside forces. I do not know what will become of Western multiculturalism, but I think it is safe to say that Korea will face many of the same challenges if it continues down the road of multiculturalism. Will Korea be able to avoid some of the pitfalls along the way? I believe that the status of international marriages — what role they play in society, how they are perceived by the members of society, etc. — will be one good indicator of what lies ahead. If my own experience is anything to go by, the signs are good. But I know that there is still much room for improvement.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 35

FOCUS

WOES DEEPEN AS POPULATION REVERSAL BEGINS

Lee Seung-wook Professor Emeritus, Graduate School of Public Health, Seoul National University

Due to declining fertility rates and rising life expectancy, Korea’s population structure is undergoing rapid changes, more so than any other country in the world. The decrease in the nation’s total population is leading to a drastic demographic transition which is characterized by a shrinking labor force and rising dependency ratio, posing a serious problem for Korean society.

©TOPIC IMAGES

Rising life expectancy is good news, but falling birth rates and the growing trend to avoid marriage portend a gloomy future with an increasing burden of supporting the elderly population.

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raditionally, Koreans regarded having many children as one of the five blessings. The expectation that their children would support them in old age was greater than the burden of child-rearing and having many offspring was thought to bring prosperity to the family.

Demographic Changes and Government Policies From 1955, shortly after the end of the Korean War, the nation experienced a surge in the birth rate, leading to the so-called baby boom. Statistics show that in 1960, the total fertility rate (TFR), the average number of children born to a woman during her childbearing years of 15 to 49, reached 6.0. But due to the dire state of the economy and a food shortage, people lived in destitution and many starved to death during the spring lean season. To tackle the problem, the government introduced a population control program in 1962 as a national policy priority by implementing extensive family planning measures. This proved to be immensely effective and eventually the public came to regard having just two children as a virtue. By 1983, the TFR had dropped to the population replacement level of 2.1 (the fertility rate at which the population remains unchanged from generation to generation, 2.1 children per woman at present after factoring in early deaths).

As the TFR reached the replacement level, demographers debated whether the family planning projects should be continued. Opinion was divided. Some argued that the population control program was no longer necessary since the population had been successfully reduced, while others contended that if it was discontinued, the TFR could spring back up again. The fertility rate did, in fact, show a slight increase, but while the government remained undecided due to future unpredictability, the country was hit by the Asian financial crisis in 1997, which led to a significant downward trend in fertility. By 2005, the TFR had dipped to 1.03, an unprecedented level and a shocking forewarning that the Korean population will be reduced by half in the future.

Low Fertility and Aging Population Korea is a small country with an overflowing population.

It is the third most densely populated country in the world after Bangladesh and Taiwan. Then why is a low birth rate a problem?

Economic development, improvement in living stan-

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dards, and advances in medicine have significantly boosted the average life expectancy of Koreans in recent decades. In 1970, the average life span of Koreans was 58.7 years for men and 65.6 years for women. It was the custom then to hold a big birthday party for one's parents when they turned 60. But in 2015, the average life expectancy of Koreans was 79.0 years for men and 85.2 years for women, an increase of roughly 20 years, and it will continue to rise in the years ahead. Now, instead of the big 60, people hold big celebrations for the 80th birthday. As of 2015, there were 3,159 Koreans aged 100 or older; it seems the country is fast approaching the “centenarian age.” The average life expectancy of Korean men is 1.1 years higher than the OECD average and that of Korean women 1.9 years higher.

The youth population refers to those below 15, the age at which economic activity is legally possible, while the elderly population is defined as people over 65, generally considered the full retirement age. The two age groups depend on the nation’s wealth created by the economically active population between 15 and 65. The child dependency ratio is the percentage of the child population divided by the economically active population, an indicator of the number of children supported by one working-age person. Similarly, the aged dependency ratio is the percentage of the elderly population divided by the economically active population, which indicates the number of elderly people per workingage person. A high child dependency ratio means that the economically active population will increase in the future, while a high aged dependency ratio suggests an increase in the population requiring economic support.

As of 2015, Korea’s child dependency ratio was estimated at 18.8 and aged dependency ratio 17.5. Statistics Korea has forecast, however, that the two figures will be reversed in 2017 and that by 2065, the child dependency ratio will remain virtually unchanged at 20.0 while the aged dependency ratio will soar to 88.6.

Korea’s population structure has been represented by a stable pyramid with a large youth population at the base supporting the elderly population that tapers

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toward the top, but it is gradually shifting to an inverted pyramid. The reversal is not a problem that appeared overnight, but a prediction that is starting to become a reality. This year marks the turning point, and hence there has been a lot of media coverage recently about the beginning of the population reversal and the population cliff. As of 2015, the economically productive population was 37.44 million; this is expected to drop sharply to 20.62 million by 2065, or 55.5 percent of the current number. The nation’s population structure is undergoing rapid changes in a very short period of time, posing a great challenge in establishing policies to effectively address the issues of low fertility and population aging that developed countries in the West are already experiencing.

In 2065, the elderly are expected to account for 42.5 percent of the total population and the young for only 9.6 percent. By that time, economic support for the elderly will become a grave social problem and a critical national policy task.

Economic and Sociocultural Approaches Up until 1970, over one million babies were born each year in Korea, but the number has been falling ever since. In 2015, the number of newborns totaled 438,400. By 2029, the number of births and deaths is expected to be roughly the same at 410,000; from 2031, deaths will outnumber births and the Korean population will start to decrease. In 2065, the elderly are expected to account for 42.5 percent of the total population and the young only 9.6 percent. By this time, economic support for the elderly will become a grave social problem and a critical national policy task. The current 15-year-olds who are growing up in an era of

The year 2017 marks the beginning of the population reversal in Korea. Active discussions are under way to establish policies that take into account sociocultural changes beyond promoting childbirth and welfare for the elderly.

rapidly changing perceptions about marriage and childbirth will be joining the aging population then. Back in the industrialization era, it may have been possible to reduce the birth rate with campaigns like “Have just two children and raise them well.” Such an approach is no longer viable in bringing the birth rate back up again.

Education and industry in Korea have developed in line with the current population, and yet unemployment is rising due to a lack of jobs. As the number of births continues to fall, educational facilities will become redundant, leading to a loss of related jobs. Some elementary schools have already been forced to shut down due to a lack of students and universities are likely to face the same problem in the near future. A shrinking population means dwindling purchasing power and economic stagnation. Businesses will not find it easy to maintain their current manpower, let alone hire new recruits, causing serious repercussions for economic activity and structure. The growing elderly population will exacerbate the problem.

Today’s youths who are reluctant to have children will grow old someday. Care for them after retirement will fall on the government, or more specifically, taxes collected from the working-age population. Not having children may be an individual choice, but from the perspective of state administration, it is a form of egoism because in old age, childless people are supported by taxes paid by other people’s children. In addition, a decrease in the economically active population will result in declining tax revenues, which means the government will have to impose heavier taxes on the shrinking workforce. This is likely to spawn conflict between the young and the old. As a buffer measure, the government will have to resort to immigrants from developing countries to fill the labor shortage.

From a demographer’s perspective, the future looks bleak. But unlike animals, humans cannot live on food alone; they create civilization and culture, and ponder not just economic issues, but the meaning of life as well. Demographic shifts, or changes in population structure, lead to changes in human culture. In Chinese characters, the word "population" literally means “a person’s mouth." It implies that people engage in economic activity so that they can eat and live well. The mouth is the opening through which food enters the body and words are spoken. If food is the economy, then language is culture. To address the demographic challenges of the future, the nation needs policies taking into account sociocultural changes as well as the economy.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 39

INTERVIEW

HARMONICA PLAYER

JEON JE-DUK SEEKS A DEEPER, WARMER SOUND

Surh Jung-min Popular Music Columnist; Representative, Cine Play

Without a teacher or musical scores, Jeon Je-duk taught himself to play the harmonica solely ©JNH Music

through listening. Since his debut in 2004, he has continued to build his own musical world, earning recognition for transforming the seemingly simple harmonica into a major solo instrument.

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eon Je-duk caught a fever 15 days after he was born and lost his sight. Since then he has experienced the world solely through sound. Similarly, he communicates with the world through a small, hand-sized harmonica. When he puts it to his lips, the stars brighten and the flowers bloom, and he flies through the sky unawares. He has turned that ecstasy into a song and put it on his album.

When I put the harmonica to my lips, The stars rise in my heart, And the flowers bloom over the lonely sound; Following the strains of my harmonica, Should I become a lonely cloud in the sky?

– From “My Harmonica” on Jeon’s first album In November 2016, exactly 20 years after first picking up the instrument, Jeon Je-duk became the first Korean “Hohner Artist.”

Hohner, headquartered in Germany, is the world's leading harmonica brand. The jazz harmonica player Toots Thielemans, the legendary classical harmonica player Tommy Reilly, folk singer Bob Dylan, and John Lennon of the Beatles are all Hohner artists. At a café in Seoul, I met with Jeon Je-duk, who now ranks among these world famous musicians.

Success and Failure Surh Jung-min Congratulations for being selected as a Hohner Artist!

Jeon Je-duk Thank you. The recognition is a good thing. Yet, I feel a bit sad. It would have been better if it had come earlier, back when my albums drew more attention and had more listeners.

Recognition is a wonderful thing and surely rewarding, but Jeon did not seem overly thrilled at being selected a Hohner Artist. In fact, he seemed a little unhappy, as if wondering why the recognition came now and not 10 years ago when he was in the spotlight.

I became aware of him through his first album, released in 2004.

I recall listening in awe and asking myself, “Is this really the harmonica? Can the harmonica make such a funky sound?” Even more surprising was the fact that a visually impaired man had overcome his disability to create an album of such high quality.

Jazz harmonica player Jeon Je-duk taught himself to play the instrument solely by ear, without the help of a teacher or sheet music.

Surh I remember that your first album in 2004 drew a lot of attention.

Jeon In those days, no other album featured the harmonica, and my blindness also aroused people’s curiosity. I had 13 interviews with daily newspapers and received a prize in the jazz crossover section at the Korean Popular Music Awards. I was so happy that I could almost fly. I even heard that a lot of harmonicas were sold. It was a good time.

Surh After the first album’s success, your second album two years later showed a great transformation. You introduced electronic sound, and included rappers and musicians performing Black music. It was trendy and experimental, but the public and the media were not so responsive. The sophomore jinx . . . .

Jeon Why must the harmonica be played only with the piano and bass? Wouldn’t it be interesting to introduce electronic sound? I acted on these ideas. But the change was probably too great. I was satisfied, but the audience was not so receptive. I think music is like that. Keeping to one style is more advantageous in appealing to the public, but as a musician I don’t want to fall into mannerism. I attempted a change, but unfortunately it didn’t turn out very well.

From Samulnori to the Harmonica Jeon is an artist who constantly dreams of transforming himself and his music, even between albums, regardless of success or failure. In fact, his life and music have always been subject to constant changes. Before coming across the harmonica, he first encountered music through samulnori, traditional Korean percussion music for four instruments. At a special school for people with disabilities, one of the teachers played samulnori for him and suggested that he learn to play it, too.

Surh You received some recognition as a samulnori player, didn’t you?

Jeon Despite my blindness, I could play the double-headed drum, the janggu, while sitting. I trained myself hard and even won a prize in a competition. But playing in a sitting position was my limitation. In the first part of the performance, I can remain sitting, but in the second part, I’m supposed to get up and dance around and be lively, twirling the streamer on my hat. I couldn’t do it. That was why I eventually stopped playing.

Surh Were you interested in other music genres while playing samulnori?

Jeon When I first heard Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” as a teenager, I couldn’t sleep for several days. I can hardly describe how I felt.

The music was just fantastic. It was music from a different world. I wondered if I could play such music if I stuck with samulnori.

Surh The Jeon Je-duk I know is an artist with a lot of enthusiasm. You like rhythmical, rollicking music. I think that inclination led you from the samulnori drum to the harmonica. Even with the harmonica, when you play you can hardly contain your exuberance and want to make people dance — I can feel it in your music. Since KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 41

we’re on the subject, could you explain how you got interested in playing the harmonica?

Jeon In 1996, I happened to hear on the radio the Belgian jazz artist and harmonica player Toots Thielemans playing warm, sweet ballad music. It didn't have the sharp harmonica sound that I knew, and I wondered, “Does the harmonica really sound like that? If the music is as slow as that, couldn’t I learn to play it?” So I bought a harmonica. I wouldn’t have dreamed of attempting something fast, but when I started to play, I discovered that even slow music wasn't easy.

Surh But you didn’t give up.

Jeon I taught myself how to play it. My lips swelled up, and my tongue was rubbed raw. Except when I was performing samulnori, I practiced my harmonica all the time. At some point, I was unable to go any further in samulnori, and my passion moved entirely to the harmonica.

©YOO CHANG-HO

Saying Farewell to Toots Thielemans After Jeon’s samulnori group disbanded, he served as a harmonica session player on drama soundtracks and other artists’ albums. A couple of years passed, and he joined an album recording of Malo, a jazz vocalist. That’s when someone suggested he make an album of his own. He produced his first and second solo albums, but then came a long period of silence. Putting aside his personal musical ambitions for a while, he broke the silence only to offer an album of pop music remakes for wide audience appeal.

Surh How did you spend the long years until 2014, when you released your third album?

Jeon Writing music wasn’t easy, and I wondered if it was necessary to make albums featuring all new pieces only. I found performing fun, so I focused on that. In doing so, I developed a strong desire to express my feelings for nature with a deeper sound. I put this desire into my third album. I also tried hard to attain the sound of Toots Thielemans. That warm sound, that’s what I wanted, and still want, and will always want.

Surh He’s the one who made you what you are now. Did you ever meet him?

Jeon When he visited Korea in 2004 for a concert, I met him briefly backstage afterwards. As I was getting his signature, I told him that I also played the harmonica. He encouraged me, saying, “Are you? Give it your best. The harmonica is a good instrument.” It was a brief meeting, but great.

Surh After Thielemans passed away in August 2016, you held a

Jeon Je-duk performs with his band at the concert “Jeon Je-duk, My Harmonica,” held at the Incheon Culture & Arts Center on December 16, 2015.

tribute concert for him on December 30, didn’t you?

Jeon The title of the concert was “Bye, Toots.” I wanted to say farewell to an admired artist in my own way. Regardless of what others might think, I felt I had sent the artist I cherished to heaven through my performance. I was sustained for 20 years through the music of Toots Thielemans. Of course, he’ll remain an inspiration for the future.

Surh What’s so special about the harmonica?

Jeon The harmonica has warmth and softness, and it even has a “cute” image. That’s what Toots Thielemans taught me. When he played, I felt him whispering at my side. Blues harmonica players

“I developed a strong desire to express my feelings for nature with a deeper sound … I also tried hard to attain the sound of Toots Thielemans. That warm sound, that’s what I wanted, and still want, and will always want.”

42 KOREANA Spring 2017

are so powerful that they even outshine the electric guitar. By contrast, Toots Thielemans played as if he was having a friendly chat with you. That’s the kind of music I aim for.

Surh What's your emotional state when performing?

Jeon While giving a concert, especially playing swing, I often recall times when I went to a live music club and played as I pleased without really knowing much. My skills weren't great, but I had the passion. When I play ballads, I usually think of nature. I play as if I’m outside in the warm sunlight or under softly falling snow.

Surh If you had been able to see, do you think your musical expression would have been different?

Jeon If that had been the case, I would have received more information. But I've never thought that it would make my music better.

My music expresses what my body feels, what my senses feel, and conveys through sound what I think.

Surh Do you have a lifelong dream as a harmonica player?

Jeon I want to make music where the sound tells stories. Even a piece just five minutes long but with a clear introduction, develop-

ment, climax, and conclusion. I want people to hear a short story or a scene from a musical drama. For me, there are sounds that tell stories. For example, a car accident occurs, people run around, and an ambulance appears. A story can be made out of that. I want to express such things philosophically through music. I want to give a concert full of that kind of music.

Sounds that Tell Stories At the beginning of our interview, Jeon had seemed somewhat sad, as if longing for his time in the spotlight, but as he talked about his dream, he became animated and his face lit up with joy. For this man, who so elegantly expresses his emotions through his music, the harmonica seems to contain all his hopes and dreams. Once again, I recalled him singing that when he puts the harmonica to his lips, the stars rise and the flowers bloom in his heart. Perhaps, I thought, he is flying in the sky right now. Next time you look up to the sky and see a lonely cloud, I hope it will remind you of Jeon Jeduk and his beautiful music.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 43

ART REVIEW

inner landsCaPes by a Pioneer abstraCt artist

1 1 “Composition with Straight Lines” (1949). Oil on canvas, 53 x 45.5 cm.

2 “Morning” (1958). Oil on canvas, 100 x 73 cm.

Yoo Young-kuk (1916–2002) was a pioneering artist whose paintings captured the essence of mountains using the basic elements of dots, lines, planes, forms, and colors when abstraction was still an unfamiliar concept in the Korean art world. “Yoo Young-kuk, Absoluteness and Freedom,” a retrospective at the Deoksu Palace branch of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (November 4, 2016 to March 1, 2017) commemorating the 100th anniversary of his birth, showcases some 100 artworks spanning 60 years, shedding new light on the master of Korean abstract art.

Chung Jae-suk Editorial Writer and Senior Culture Reporter, The JoongAng Ilbo

44 KOREANA Spring 2017

©National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 45 2

T

he deep red mountain sparkles like a diamond. Full of such a vivid red that it looks ready to explode, it fills the entire canvas. Green, orange, and blue mountains rise up, pulling the canvas taut. The mountains rendered in simple triangular shapes of various colors throb with intensity. The sturdiness of the triangles draws the viewer in. The brilliant color planes exude both passion and coolness.

“The mountain is not in front of me, but in me,” Yoo Young-kuk once said. This overlaps with the words of Dutch painter Piet Mondrian, whom Yoo greatly admired: “Our subjective vision and experience make it impossible [for us] to be happy. But we can escape the tragic oppression through a clear vision of true reality, which exists, but which is veiled. If we cannot free ourselves, we can free our vision.” For Yoo, painting the mountain inside him was an exploration of the human soul. Rendered in many different colors and forms, the mountain represented the inner landscape of humans that he had seen and felt.

The Mountain Painter Yoo was born in 1916 in Uljin, North Gyeongsang Province (then Gangwon Province), a place with many mountains and deep valleys. The mountains were Yoo’s playground. They were a part of him, his silent friends from childhood, and a subject that consistently appeared in his paintings throughout his life.

“I created many paintings titled ‘Mountain,’ probably because I grew up in the mountains.

Likewise, my forest paintings were inspired by memories of the village forest where I played when I was young. The sun shining down on the grass through the lush leaves and branches had a pristine and lively beauty. I like to express through my paintings the feelings I had in places that I know well, places that I can always run to whenever I want,” Yoo said.

Like the French artist Paul Cezanne, for whom Mont Sainte-Victoire was a source of inspiration, the mountain was an intimate subject for Yoo that offered many possibilities in composition and color. In the 1960s, after he settled down in Seoul, Yoo frequently climbed Mt. Dobong and

1

2

1 “Thawing of the Ground” (1961). Oil on canvas, 130 x 162 cm.

2 “Work” (1967). Oil on canvas, 130 x 130 cm.

3 “Circle-A” (1968). Oil on canvas, 136 x 136 cm.

46 KOREANA Spring 2017

The majestic mountain standing tall rendered in strict geometric form and intense color planes painted with a knife in thick, uniform strokes seems to speak for the artist who wanted “to live freely without interference.” Absent of pomposity and superfluity, only the very essence of the subject remains on the canvas, which takes the viewer into a world of absolute tranquility, freedom, and peace beyond the mountain.

3

©National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 47

48 KOREANA Spring 2017

Mt. Bukhan and visited the Namhan Mountain Fortress, where he soaked up the vital force of the mountains, seeking to assuage the suffering of a country writhing in pain in the process of modernization with his vivid triangles shining with happiness. Art historian Lee In-bum said of his works that they “uphold human dignity and the possibility of freedom through abstraction.”

Exploring the Unbeaten Path Yoo was seemingly well aware of the difficulties of pursuing abstract art in Korea back in the 1950s.

Yoo Jin, the third of his four children and director of the Yoo Youngkuk Art Foundation, tells an anecdote from his school days. In junior high, his teacher was conducting a survey of parents' occupations. When the young Yoo answered that his father was an artist, the teacher asked what kind of artist.

“I asked my father what kind of paintings he did, and he told me to say, ‘abstract art.’ I said that they would ask me what that is, and my father said, ‘Then say it’s modern art.’ Again, I told him that no one understood what that meant, to which he said with a laugh, ‘Then tell them I’m an avant-garde artist.’

Much later, when someone bought one of my father’s paintings at his solo exhibition, he smiled and said, ‘Do my paintings sell too?’ I'll never forget that.”

In his youth, Yoo had gone to Tokyo in 1935 to study art at Bunka Gakuin. There he associated with prominent abstract artists, such as Saburo Hasegawa, and joined the avant-garde art movement. In 1938, he won the grand prize at the Association of Free Artists’ second exhibition and was active in the Tokyo art scene. Around this time, he also studied photography at the Oriental School of Photography and submitted avant-garde photographs to exhibitions.

After returning to Korea in 1943, Yoo had to give up art during the turbulent years of the nation’s liberation from Japanese colonial rule and the Korean War as he had to support his large family; he turned to the family fishing business, and later engaged in the brewery business. But when he turned 40, he resolutely announced to his wife, “I don’t want a gold mountain or a gold field. I have to paint,” and with that took up his art again. He actively participated in artist groups such as the Neo Realism Group, Modern Art Society, Invitational Exhibition of Contemporary Artists, and Sinsanghoe (New Form Group), leading the abstract art movement in the country. Then he abruptly broke all ties with art groups, and after holding his first solo exhibition in 1964, he lived in seclusion, devoting himself solely to his art.

1

1 “Mountain and Lake” (1979). Oil on canvas, 53 × 65 cm.

2 Yoo Young-kuk works at his studio in Yaksu-dong, Seoul in this photo by Limb Eung-sik, dated around 1968.

2

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 49

1

1 “Mountain-Red” (1994). Oil on canvas, 126 x 96 cm.

2 “Work” (1989). Oil on canvas, 65.4 x 91 cm.

3 “Work” (1994). Oil on canvas, 66 x 91 cm.

50 KOREANA Spring 2017

An Artist Without a Legend Taciturn, ascetic, stubborn, persevering — these are among the adjectives often used to describe Yoo Young-kuk. He is an artist without a legend. Compared to his contemporaries like Kim Whanki, Lee Jung-seob, Park Soo-keun, and Chang Ucchin, who under the dark shadow of colonialism rose to prominence as geniuses or were labeled eccentrics, Yoo lived an upright, monotonous life like an ascetic. He kept to a rigorous daily schedule, like an “art laborer,” going to the atelier at 8 a.m. and painting until 6 p.m. Of this rigid lifestyle, novelist Kang Sok-kyong said that “he sought to remove all vestiges [of his life] from his work and remain only as a ‘good artist.’”

Like the mountains in his paintings, Yoo aspired to a pure and transcendent spirit. Artist Kim Byung-ki, his classmate in Tokyo, said, “He was a free-spirited fellow with a cheerful temperament.

He abhorred convention.” Yoo quit a much-coveted professorship at Seoul National University after two years and three months, and likewise at Hongik University after three years. Rather than blending in with the crowd, he preferred to be alone in his atelier and converse with the mountains inside him. “Painting is about putting yourself forward,” he said. “The source of my images is nature and my surroundings. I intended to study the basics until 60, and thereafter return to nature with a softer approach.”

Yoo said the same thing to his children. “Our father talked about studying art all the time. He said he would focus on art studies until 60. When he was 70, he said, ‘The fifties are a young age.’ Then at 80 he said, ‘The sixties are the prime of life.’ I also remember him saying, ‘I did abstract art to make a better world.’”

Moral Landscapes Looking at Yoo’s works divided among four galleries according to period brings to mind the old Asian saying, “A benevolent man loves the mountains.” The fresh air and high spirit flowing from his paintings lead the viewer to contemplation and lyricism, as if deep in the mountains.

“Mountains, especially, he regarded as the soul of the Korean heritage, and his faith was always evident in creating a ‘harmonious whole.’ As the artist’s ideal was the harmonious balance of life, art, and nature, rather than merely pursuing the harmony of color in his work, it must have occurred to him that the essence of color speaks of the value of harmony itself. This is why his paintings of mountains are regarded as ‘moral landscapes.’” (From Chung Young-mok’s review “Yoo Young-kuk’s Mountains: Moral Landscapes,” in the book “Yoo Young-kuk,” 2012.)

Some of the mountain paintings in the Yoo Young-kuk retrospective can be freely viewed from anywhere in the world. The National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art has collaborated with Google to showcase 20 of his major works on the online art exhibition platform Google Arts & Culture.

For the first time in Korea, Yoo’s works have been photographed by the Art Camera developed by the Google Cultural Institute, capturing the finest details of his paintings in ultra-high resolution images, which allows viewers to appreciate even the texture of their surface.

The majestic mountain standing tall rendered in strict geometric form and intense color planes painted with a knife in thick, uniform strokes seems to speak for the artist who wanted “to live freely without interference.” Absent of pomposity and superfluity, only the very essence of the subject remains on the canvas, which takes the viewer into a world of absolute tranquility, freedom, and peace beyond the mountain.

2

©National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 51 3

1

GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

JEJU’S HAENYEO CHERISH MODERN ARTISAN YI SEONG-MO’S DIVING SUITS Heo Young-sun Poet Lee Han-koo Photographer

Yi Seong-mo makes wetsuits for the fabled haenyeo, the women deep sea divers of Jeju Island.

Believing that the safety of the women who work deep underwater without any breathing apparatus depends on his craft, he feels an infinite sense of solidarity and affection for them.

52 KOREANA Spring 2017

W

hen he sees a group of haenyeo (“sea women”) emerging diver. Imagine your body wet on a cold day. Diving in the sea to harmagnificently from the sea after their dives, their black vest seafood is a life-risking job. It would be a crime for me to make wetsuits dripping seawater, the man’s heart fills with joy. a mistake. The divers of Jeju are so committed to their work that He is Yi Seong-mo, an artisan who makes their diving suits. The they don’t come out of the water even when their wetsuits are leaky. wetsuits, he proudly notes, provide the divers life-saving protection They usually work for five hours at a time.” He adds, “Furthermore, and assure their livelihood; he has been suiting up the hardy women every one of the elderly divers is like a mother to me, so I must take divers of Jeju with their aquatic armor for more than 40 years. the utmost care for them.”

Yi lives in Seongsan, the first village on the island to greet the Could it be destiny? The man who has been making haenyeo’s rising sun, best viewed from Seongsan Ilchulbong (Sunrise Peak), diving suits as his life’s work is the son and husband of a haenyeo. a towering tuff cone that rose from the sea in a prehistoric volcaHis mother Han Yang-chun was a veteran upper-level diver (divers are classified into three groups based on their skill levels: upper, nic eruption. Inside his workshop Sora Diving Suits, a set of miniamiddle, and lower) from Bomok-ri, Seogwipo. His wife Kim In-sim ture tewak, an indigenous flotation device still in use by Jeju divers, was also a diver from Udo, a small nearby island, who could not decorates the wall. There is a row of baskets at one corner, each make a living without going out to the sea. When she was only six, labeled with the name of a village and containing sheets recording her grandmother forcefully submerged her head in a water bucket wetsuit sizes and body measurements of the village’s divers. One of to teach her how to dive. She was a child diver who had to take early the rooms is strewn with black and orange rubber fabrics and comleave from school to go to the sea on group diving days. Her own pleted wetsuits on hangers await their owners. mother, who passed away at 97, was an upper-level haenyeo who Yi’s workshop is always drenched in a peculiar smell since rubhad gone to China for diving and spoke fluent Chinese. ber wetsuits are bonded with a special adhesive rather than sewn with thread. Though he has to keep the windows open for ventilation even in winter, the smell gives him a feeling of warmth as he works.

‘Brand Name’ Diving Suits The workshop sees a steady flow of female divers in their 50s up “His suits are the best. They fit snugly and look stylish. It is great to their 80s coming to have their suits repaired, get their measurethat we can have such nice and comfortable wetsuits. Better yet, we can have them mended whenever necments taken, or pick up their new suits. The 1 Yi Seong-mo, an artisan maker of wetsuits, helps fit a walls reverberate with their laughter and essary. That’s why you should buy brand new diving cap on a haenyeo at his workshop in Jeju. boisterous conversations. On the day of this name products,” says Ko Yeoung-il, a diver 2 Hanging on racks in a corner of Yi’s workshop are interview, the artisan was especially busy who had just come into the workshop. To wetsuits awaiting their owners. They are made with artisanship reinforced by his belief that “wetsuits for because they were going to have a group the haenyeo of Jeju, Yi Seong-mo’s wethaenyeo must be a million times more perfect than dive the next day. suits are known as “brand name” apparel. any athletic wear.”

“It’s too loose in the neck. Water leaked Calling him André Lee, after the late in,” said a woman from Seongsan-ri. Yi Korean fashion designer André Kim, elderly jumped to work with his scissors. The probdivers are voluble in praising his work. “His wetsuits are so warm and soft. He treats us lem was perfectly solved through what old folks so kindly that we are always gratelooked like a simple workaround involving some cutting and bonding. With such ful to him,” says 88-year-old Oh Sun-a, the splendid scissor work, he should be called oldest customer of the workshop. She canMr. MacGyver, who can fix anything. With not go out to the sea without wearing her the inscription last year of the Culture of 5mm-thick outfit from Sora Diving Suits.

Jeju Haenyeo on UNESCO’s RepresentaYi Seong-mo adds, “For one who’s had her hip and knees replaced, she collected tive List of Intangible Cultural Heritage of a great amount of conches the other day.

Humanity, financial support from the local How amazing she is!” government has expanded, resulting in Yi’s golden rule for work is that he must increased workload for the artisan. know the haenyeo community very well to make good diving suits for them. AccordHusband and Son of Haenyeo Yi Seong-mo explains what drives his ingly, he tries to figure out the thinking of dedication to his craft: “It is my duty to be each of those women, who in turn have perfect. If the wetsuit is even slightly biggiven him life lessons. However, the longer, or has the smallest break, water will ger he does the job, the more difficult he 2 leak in, which must be frustrating to the finds it. As for the matter of how the wetsuit KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 53

should fit, for instance, elderly divers always ask him to make them job, and adding another 30,000 won. Her sister had to get a loan to a bit larger. This is their habitual preference that originated from buy hers. the time when they had to make do with only one diving suit all year Yi, who was farming mandarin oranges in his hometown Bomokround and had trouble with it fitting tighter in summer than in winri in his 20s, saw potential in the business. He started a wetsuitmaking shop with a partner, but after twists and turns, he decided ter. “Sometimes, I made mistakes by just following their requests. to strike out on his own.

Wearing their new wetsuits tailored a bit larger for the first time on He imported the fabrics from Japan and invited a technician who a cold day, they would find them excessively loose. On the whole, would teach him about designing and tailoring wetsuits. But that negotiating what my clients want with what I know from experience was not sufficient. He recalls, “I repeatedly measured my customis the hard part,” notes Yi. Still, he thinks he must be considerate of each of the haeers and studied their physiques and diving patterns to finely adjust the shape and size of their wetsuits so that they would fit better.” nyeo. He explains, “Unlike ordinary clothes, wetsuits are prone to The price of a suit, which was at first 35,000 won, now comes to wear out in particular places. If snagged on a hoe or other tools, 320,000 won. the frayed spots are easily torn open. The diving suits are made of Most of today’s haenyeo have three rubber suits — the thickest imported Neoprene fabrics which are soft and warm. The divers are one for winter, the medium one for conch harvesting in autumn, and working under better circumstances now because the local govthe thinnest one for summer. Since the sea has seasonal changernment pays for their wetsuits, but in the old days with no such benefit, they repeatedly patched up the holes to save on expenses.” es in temperature, the thickness of the fabrics that Yi uses ranges Yi goes on to say, “I do not let out a word of complaint whenever from 2 to 10 millimeters. they ask me to mend their suits. This is a rule of my work. I don’t let money motivate me and I try to be consistent. To fussy clients, All of Them His Family I offer kind words and the gift of a cap or something. So, a large In 2007, his workshop was destroyed in a fire. A large number of number of haenyeo in every village have come to treat me like a completed outfits, which were ready for delivery, turned into ashes. son, always trying to give me stuff.”

Before rubber wetsuits were introduced to the island in the mid-1970s, All the divers are like family to him. He knows how the physique of the divers used to work in an undereach ajimang (a Jeju Island dialect word for “lady”) has changed with wear-like outfit made of thin cotton age — how bent her back has become, how much weight she has lost. (called sokgot, murot, or sojunggi ) in all seasons of the year. In winter, as When one of them calls him with a problem, say in her cap, he travels soon as they came out of the water, long distances to personally deliver a new one. their skin would be swollen red or turn black all over.

The Advent of Rubber Wetsuits Rubber wetsuits were an amazing discovery for the haenyeo and their arrival in Jeju a turning point in the life of Yi Seong-mo. They were introduced by his wife’s acquaintance, a Japanese-Korean from Jeju living in Ulsan, who asked her to sell them to the islanders.

Yi recalls: “At first, many people were disapproving when a few divers waded in and out of the sea in a rubber wetsuit. They objected to it, not thinking they would also come to be wearing one. It was like that for a couple of years. Only a small number of people with enough money chose to wear it. With time, however, more people realized that the rubber suit’s thermal protection enabled the wearer to work underwater for hours on end. Then people started to buy the wetsuits, even though it was a considerable financial burden to some.”

“People who could not afford to buy it would fret themselves sick,” Ko Yeong-il adds, explaining that she got to buy her first rubber suit by selling her knitting loom, which she had used for a side 54 KOREANA Spring 2017

“I was so worried for the divers who needed the suits to pass the winter, but they found out about the accident and told me it was okay if they had to wait. I owed so much to them,” recounts the artisan.

Ultimately, all the divers are like family to him. He knows how the physique of each ajimang (a Jeju Island dialect word for “lady”) has changed with age — how bent her back has become, how much weight she has lost. When one of them calls him with a problem, say in her cap, he travels long distances to personally deliver a new one.

“Knowing how much trouble she will have to go through, I cannot help going to her,” Yi says.

His workshop gets busiest in September, just before cold weather arrives on the island, when there is a surge in requests for repairs. “I must visit those who have outgrown their wetsuits. I feel a sense of duty because if I do nothing for their suits they will ruin their dive. And I’m also afraid they might go into the sea in an illfitting or leaky suit and catch a cold. They are the kind of people who will seldom miss a day of work even when they are sick.”

The divers who wear his wetsuits are not limited to those living in its from farming oranges. He is always touched by the stories of Seogwipo. He has over 1,500 clients, including those living along the elderly divers in their 70s or even older who risk their lives working coast and on the islands of the Jeolla provinces and those going to underwater and willingly spend their meager income for their childive in Japan. He goes anywhere to take measurements, even to an dren. “Never depend on others. Have your own bank account. Those island with only one client. Unlike regular clothes, wetsuits require are the rules strictly observed by those women. Until death, they more than 20 parts of the body to be precisely measured. never stop giving,” he says.

Traveling to take measurements, he came across an unforgettable person, a haenyeo in her 80s whom he met a few years ago Survival of the Haenyeo and their Outfits in Gangjeong, on the southern coast of Jeju Island. He describes One can see that Yi is as diligent as the divers he serves. In busy their encounter: “She was an elderly woman walking with a cane. seasons, he makes as many as six to ten wetsuits a day, working She walked at the tail end of the group lest some younger divers from 5 a.m. until 11 p.m. This year, there has been a considerable try to dissuade her from going out to sea. A strong wind was blowincrease in order volume, causing him to wake up in the middle of the night worried about delays. He works with an assistant during ing. I said it would have been better for her to stay home on such a the day and with his wife, now retired from diving, at night. cold day. She told me that she goes out because she missed people, A serious issue in his mind is how to keep the tradition of his because she was so lonely.” craft alive. Just as the number of haenyeo A couple of hours later, he heard the sad has declined by about 100 divers each year, news about her death. Her legs were stuck Until the mid-1970s, the female divers of Jeju used it is hard to find young people who could be between rocks underwater. to work in the sea, even in winter, in underweargroomed as artisans making their diving outTo Yi Seong-mo, no one can match the like outfits made of thin cotton. Yi Seong-mo, who believes that his wetsuits are indispensable for women divers of Jeju Island in their diligence. fits. “I just made up my mind to keep working their life-saving protection as well as their liveliThey pay for household expenses with the for as long as I can, as I am indebted to the hood, has been providing the island’s divers with their aquatic armor for more than 40 years. money earned by diving and save the profdivers for my lifelong livelihood,” Yi says.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 55

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

THE ADVENTURES OF BARRY WELSH IN SEOUL Kim Hyun-sook CEO, K-MovieLove Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Since he came to Korea to teach English at a middle school, Barry Welsh has become acquainted with Seoul, difficult and unfamiliar at first, mostly through books and movies. These days, when he invites a famous author to his monthly “book talk concert,” the 200-seat hall is filled to capacity.

56 KOREANA Spring 2017

o

ne day in early January, foreign residents of Seoul arrived one by one to fill the 200-seat hall of the Seoul Global Cultural Center in Myeong-dong, downtown Seoul. They had come for the Seoul Book and Culture Club event hosted by Barry Welsh, a Brit living in Seoul. The guest writer that day was Jo Jungrae, author of “Taebaek Mountain Range,” “The Han River,” and “The Great Jungle.” “Taebaek Mountain Range,” his masterpiece, is a saga consisting of 10 volumes. Selling more than 10 million copies so far, the novel is regarded as an iconic work of Korean literature that delves into the unresolved problems of national division and ideological conflict in modern Korean history. It is among the most sought-after books at university libraries.

Long-cherished Hobbies The event lasted two hours. During the first part, Jo and Welsh talked with the help of an interpreter. Characteristically, the veteran writer covered a wide range of topics from the high-handedness of world powers to nationalism and the immorality of politicians. Despite the weightiness of the subjects, the audience was engrossed in the dialogue. The second part was a question and answer session. Hands shot up here and there. A young woman from New York asked a question. Welsh looked a little embarrassed and grinned awkwardly when Jo spoke accusingly of Britain’s colonial domination around the world over two centuries.

The event came to a close, and Welsh presented Jo with a bottle of single malt whisky he had brought from his hometown in Scotland.

“I’m a Brit. Not English, but Scottish,” Welsh said. “You know ‘Braveheart’ [1995 film depicting the Scottish War of Independence], don’t you? The lead character was in the same position as Admiral Yi Sun-sin portrayed in ‘Roaring Currents’ [2014 Korean war film, aka ‘Myeongnyang’]. So I can fully understand the grudge people have against invaders.”

Welsh’s book club is well-known to foreigners in Seoul. Since it was launched in 2011, the club has hosted an event once a month.

Many of the regular participants have come to know each other and naturally linger afterwards to say hello. It appears the membership of the book club overlaps with that of the Seoul Film Society Welsh launched in 2013.

“We’re lucky to have Mr. Jo at our event today. He uses neither a home phone nor a mobile phone, but can be reached only by fax.

And he rarely attends outside gatherings,” Welsh said.

In October last year, Welsh wrote an article for a local newspaper in which he expressed the hope that more works by Jo — which deal with Korean history and culture and can help people from other countries understand what historical influences have shaped Koreans — would be translated into foreign languages. Jo, who had read the article, gladly accepted the invitation to speak at the book club. Moreover, Jo declined the honorarium, which made Welsh happy because the proceeds from admission fees (5,000 won per person) were just enough to pay the interpreter's fee and other expenses. Any money that is left is spent on the film society screenings for which admission is free.

Welsh currently teaches English speaking and writing as an assistant professor at Dongguk University. “The book club and the film screenings are my long-time hobbies,” he said. “I plan, implement, and promote each and every event by myself. Of course, my wife helps me. I’m fortunate in being able to rent such a good hall from the Seoul Metropolitan Government for free. And it’s very rewarding to meet good people.”

Setting Out on his Journey Welsh majored in English literature at the University of Liverpool and obtained an M.A. in film studies at the University of Edinburgh.

In 2008, when he was working for an investment company on the Isle of Man, the global financial crisis left his career unstable. He decided to teach English in Asia for a year or two and save some money before traveling around the world and returning home. He stumbled upon a job opening for a native English speaker in Korea with attractive terms and conditions. He applied and landed the job at a middle school in Seoul. The school provided him with airfare and housing. He arrived in Korea for the first time in August 2009.

“I was under enormous pressure when I was working for the investment firm. I had no days off and the work was hard. Here at the school, I got off work at 4:30 p.m. sharp every day. And I liked teaching. Besides, the transport was convenient, stores were open till late at night, and it was fun to hike up the mountains in the surrounding area on weekends,” Welsh said.

Having lived on his own since he was 18, adapting to a foreign country when he was over 30 was not too difficult. But he needed some time to get familiar with a new city.

“As I was intimidated by the scale of Seoul and its modern chic

Barry Welsh of the Seoul Book and Culture Club speaks to the audience at a “talk concert” featuring novelist Jo Jung-rae, seated at left, as guest speaker. Welsh is currently an assistant professor of English speaking and writing at Dongguk University.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 57

was beyond imagination, I didn’t go out much for a while,” Welsh said. “My life consisted of working at the school, reading at a café near my home after work, and then going home to sleep. Then I plucked up courage and started to explore the city little by little.”

After his contract with the middle school expired, Welsh worked as a visiting professor at Lingua Express, the language education institute at Sookmyung Women’s University. In January 2013, he fell in love with a woman named Roh Hyun-ui to whom he was introduced by one of his colleagues. She was working for a trading company after graduating from the university’s English Literature Department. Like him, she loved literature and films and playing with her cat at home. They could trust each other and felt they were meant for each other. But he suffered for a while because her parents did not agree with their daughter’s choice of husband.

Welsh said, “I said nothing to try to win them over, like how I would buy a house, what my goals for the future were, or that they wouldn’t regret their decision to let their daughter marry me.

Instead, I just asked them to respect our decision. This made her parents a little uneasy. That was just due to cultural differences. We are all happy and respect one another now, of course.”

They married in 2015. An English-speaking docent at the ICT Exhibition Hall of Digital Pavilion in northwestern Seoul, Roh Hyunui also helps him run the book and film clubs. Earlier, Welsh did everything by himself, including posting announcements about club events in English because he did not know Hangeul. But, with his wife's help, he started making announcements in Korean, too. This attracted Koreans to the club events and their participation has enriched the dialogue between invited authors and the audience.

Talks with Authors The first Korean literary work Welsh read was “I Have the Right to Destroy Myself,” a novel by Kim Young-ha. He was attracted by the title, and enchanted by its hypermodern style and theme. He gathered a few friends to start a reading club, believing that they

1

“I didn’t know foreigners in Seoul had such great interest in Korean literature. I also realized that an event with an invited author is a very effective way of helping them understand the author's works and literary world.”

58 KOREANA Spring 2017

2

would also like the novel. At first, he chose prominent novels and hosted debates on the works, never thinking of inviting their authors. Then one day, he invited Krys Lee, a Korean-American author and professor at Yonsei University whom he had come to know through Facebook, to a small-scale event at the Seoul Global Cultural Center. The topic was “Drifting House,” Lee’s first collection of short stories. Welsh was astonished to see as many as 200 people turn up for the event. His next guest was Shin Dong-hyuk, a former North Korean writer who defected to South Korea.

“I didn’t know foreigners in Seoul had such great interest in Korean literature. I also realized that an event with an invited author is a very effective way of helping them understand the author's works and literary world,” Welsh said.

Subsequently, a galaxy of star authors has been invited to the events. Once he had succeeded in inviting Kim Young-ha, the rest came naturally. “When I mentioned that Kim Young-ha had participated in one of my events, everything became very easy all of a sudden,” Welsh said with a smile.

Renowned authors featured so far include poet Ko Un, novelists Gong Ji-young, Hwang Sok-yong, Han Kang, Lee Changrae, and Shin Kyung-sook, and children’s story writer Hwang Sun-mi. Welsh was elated when Han Kang won the Man Booker International Prize for “The Vegetarian” soon after her book club appearance in 2016. Hwang Sok-yong kept the audience laughing to the end and Ko Un mesmerized the audience with his passionate poetry recitations.

Welsh said he was impressed by such Korean novels as “On the Road to Sampo” by Hwang Sok-yong, short stories by Pyun Hye-young and Park Min-gyu, “The Vegetarian” by Han Kang, and “Modern Family” by Cheon Myeong-kwan. He not only likes the novel “On the Road to Sampo,” but also counts its film adaptation as one of his top five favorite movies.

Though immersed in Korean literature and films, he still depends largely on translations for literary works and on subtitles for films. To improve his Korean, he keeps taking lessons.

“I don’t know what other adventures I’ll have while living here with my wife,” Welsh said. “Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans, as John Lennon once said in a song.”

1 The audience listens to Barry Welsh during his book club meeting held at the Seoul Global Cultural Center in downtown Seoul. This event is posted on Welsh’s Facebook.

2 Roh Hyun-ui is an important contributor to the operation of Welsh’s book and film clubs.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 59

ON THE ROAD

WIND AND ROCKS, AND THE SIGHS OF TIME IN SOUTH JEJU Gwak Jae-gu Poet Lee Han-koo Photographer

The volcanic island of Jeju forms an oval shape stretching east and west of Mt. Halla, which rises up alone in the center. The bottom half of the island is South Jeju, under the administrative jurisdiction of the city of Seogwipo. As the southernmost part of Korea, it is the first place in the country to greet the spring.

©KO BONG-SU, SPRING OF JEJU, THE 5TH JEJU INTERNATIONAL PHOTO COMPETITION

60 KOREANA Spring 2017

Seongsan Ilchulbong, popularly known as “Sunrise Peak,” rises from midnight blue waters of the bay across from a windswept field exuberant with an early spring profusion of yellow rapeseed flowers.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 61

1

H

ello, I say, as I meet you for the first time on the road.

Do you know this? That happiness in life starts with greeting the one that you love. That the greetings between you pile up and up and become happiness. As happiness is like wine, when life crosses the river of disappointment and despair it offers us a small boat and a pair of oars. That’s why we all need happiness.

Today, I’m on my way to the southern part of Jeju Island. I have no idea how many times I’ve started out on this trip, but whenever I do, I say Hello, as if meeting my first love. And with the same warmth in your voice you say back to me, Hello! When we exchange greetings like this I feel a flutter in my heart and my eyes grow bright, as if looking at a flowerbed in the sky. Any shadow of hate or despair in my heart disappears like the wind.

You stand there smiling and waving at me. You — have you ever wondered what country you are from? I’m Korean. I live in Korea and write poetry. The essence of the sixty years I have spent on this earth: probably it’s shame. I have not lived a life filled with passion and virtue, and have not been able to write the best poems I could

62 KOREANA Spring 2017

from the depths of my heart. When the critics gave the nod to a handful of poems that I had stayed up all night to write I grew proud, thinking I had achieved the best that could be. When I think that I have simply crossed over puddles filled with impatience and clumsiness, my heart grows dark again.

Why the Sunrise is Beautiful The road that I’m greeting is the ring road encircling the island of Jeju. Though better known by its old name of National Road No. 12, it is actually Regional Road No. 1132. The island harbors some beautifully mysterious natural phenomena and was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2007 under the name “Jeju Volcanic Island and Lava Tubes.” The villages surrounded by lava, the unfathomably deep lava caves, the waterfalls dropping into the sea, and the myriad little islands … at some point the whole landscape is covered in deep yellow rapeseed flowers. For a moment, I forget what country I come from, what I do for a living. And for a moment, shame is put behind as well. That’s why I come here. People forget their loneliness in their encounter with the road, and the road becomes com-

2

plete in its encounter with people’s loneliness and shame.

I’m now travelling southeast on the ring road. In the distance looming closer before me is a mysterious rocky formation in the shape of an elephant. The Jeju locals call it Seongsan Ilchulbong, or the Sunrise Peak of Seongsan. From this place, located at the far east of the island, you can see the most beautiful sunrise in Korea. This tuff cone was formed five thousand years ago when an eruption under the sea shot magma above its surface. An island at first, it later became connected to the land with the accumulation of sediment. The sunrise is particularly beautiful here because of the way the sun emerges on the horizon in a splendid array of colors, its light rays traversing the density of the dawn atmosphere to shine down in green, pink, blue, and yellow. Magical, don’t you think? Sunshine in a rainbow of colors. Think of Gauguin’s paintings for a moment. The primitive colors reflected in the paintings of the “noble savage” who ended his days on the island of Tahiti are the colors of the sunlight. The island’s black volcanic rocks with holes everywhere, the billowing blankets of yellow flowering rapeseed cascading down the foot of the mountain to the sea, the blue

1 Jusangjeolli Cliff, an aweinspiring formation of hexagonal columns of black basalt, stretches out ruggedly like sculpted ramparts along the shoreline at Seogwipo. It is one of the most spectacular sights of the volcanic island of Jeju.

2 As you walk along the coastal road leading to Kim Jeong-hui's place of exile, you come to a rock-pile stupa, on top of which sits a stone figure with a human face. To the right is one of Jeju's numerous parasitic cones (oreum ).

waves of the heaving ocean — between the long whistles of exhaled breaths of haenyeo, the women deep sea divers of Jeju, the sun shines down.

We should stop for a minute and talk about these divers. The hardy haenyeo are a symbol of Jeju island life.

Wearing no diving or breathing equipment, they dive for hours in freezing waters down tens of meters to the sea floor, harvesting abalones, sea cucumbers, conches, and other marine delicacies. They say the more experienced divers can hold their breath for five minutes. The sound of exhaled breath as they rise to the water’s surface is indeed a symbol not only of the divers themselves but also the powerful life force of the women of Jeju. It is awe inspiring to think of the women divers growing old wresting a living from the sea. In 2016, the Culture of Jeju Haenyeo was inscribed on the KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 63

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Sites to Visit in South Jeju

Seoul

udo

446km

Seongsan Sunrise peak Seopjikoji Mt. Halla Mt. Sanbang

64 KOREANA Spring 2017

cheonjiyeon Waterfalls

lee jung-seob art Museum jeongbang Waterfalls

jeju

UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

I had parked the car by the roadside to wait for the sun to rise. I saw the sun first come down in a mixture of yellow and red, then gradually grow green and blue, and finally a glorious pink. Sitting among the rapeseed flowers on a spring day and watching the sun rise over Ilchulbong, I think I know why the birds sing and why the flowers have such bright faces.

On my way to Seopjikoji I turn my footsteps in a different direction.

Koji is a Jeju dialect word meaning “a very small promontory.” When I first went there thirty years ago, I was on my honeymoon. Back then it still had its primitive landscape. There were the two us, there was the wind laden with the scent of flowers, there was the sound of the waves, and there was the sunshine with its multifarious colors. Perhaps there was nothing there at all. For a young couple completely unaware that the door to stern reality stood before them, this place was like a gift granted by life; yet to come was an unpredictable future that had to be borne. But these days there are too many people. Have you heard of the Korean drama series “All In?” A lot of other dramas and movies have also been shot there, so naturally the place attracts crowds. Once a lonely place, yet lovely and enigmatic, it has now lost its glory. But it is only when the tower of people piles up here that I realize I am human. Everyone would have had their own despair, sadness, and pain. Perhaps they all came here to forget that pain, I think with some pity, because I, and they, and all of us are human beings dreaming our dreams in sadness.

1 Tourists meander along one of Jeju’s Olle hiking trails, enjoying views of Mt. Sanbang and fishing villages along the coast.

2 Dolharubang, rock statues of “old grandfathers,” can be found everywhere throughout the island.

Artist Lee Jung-seob and the Seogwipo Seaside There are two people I have to meet on my trip to southern Jeju.

It’s now time to meet one of them: Lee Jung-seob (1916–1956), a Korean artist. I became engrossed by his work and life when I was around twenty. Over and over again I read the critical biography written by the poet Ko Un until the cover was tattered. I only stopped reading it when my time came up for military service.

In the city of Seogwipo, there is an art museum and street named after the artist.

I’m not sure where to start talking about him.

It was January 1951 when Lee Jung-seob first arrived in southern Jeju. The Korean War was at its height and Lee had come to take refuge on the island with his wife and two young sons.

Born to a wealthy farming family, Lee had gone to Japan to study art at the age of twenty. There he met Masako, who became the love of his life.

When I was in my 20s, the love story between a young Korean artist and a Japanese woman during the period of Japanese colonial rule made my heart ache. The two carried on their relationship, crossing the sea between Korea and Japan, and married in 1945. Not long afterward, Korea was liberated from Japanese rule.

The couple who had lived peacefully in Wonsan, now part of North Korea, fled south when the city was bombed in 1950 during the Korean War. That’s when Lee arrived in southern Jeju. After passing through the crowded refugee city of Busan, the family moved on to Jeju, living at the Seogwipo seaside from January to December 1951. During this period, Lee eked out a scant living catching crabs for his family to eat. That’s why his works frequently feature crabs playing 2 with his two children. Lee once said that he felt KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 65

The road between Ilchulbong and Mt. Sanbang is aptly called Paradise Road. The beauty of nature along the road is breathtaking. At the end of the road is a place steeped in the aura of the scholar and artist most beloved by many Koreans.

1 “Sehando” (A Winter Scene, 1844) by Kim Jeong-hui. Ink and wash, 23 x 69.2 cm.

One of the most famous Korean literati paintings, which were produced by scholars rather than professional artists, this simple landscape expresses Kim’s state of mind as he ponders the meaning of life during his bleak years in exile on Jeju Island.

2 Outside the Lee Jung-seob Art Museum in Seogwipo is a stone monument with a portrait of the artist's visage carved in relief.

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very sorry for what he did to the crabs. After sending his wife and two children to Japan in 1952, Lee lived in unhappiness and wrote letters to Masako every few days. Here I reproduce one of them: “Art is the expression of infinite love. It is the truest expression of love. When one is filled with true love, the heart becomes pure . . . .

More deeply, strongly and passionately, infinitely I love my precious Nam-deok. I love her, and love her and adore her, and everything in life reflected in the pure minds of the two people can be newly produced and expressed. To my endlessly soft and warm Mister Toe, I send loving kisses many times and many times again.”

Nam-deok is Masako’s Korean name. There’s a part of this letter that I can’t take my eyes off of: that part about sending loving kisses to Mister Toe. This expression of infinite love for something so humble and low is a revelation of Lee’s view of the world. Lee deeply loved his wife’s toe. Many of his letters mention kisses to his wife’s toe.

Lee Jung-seob liked to paint cows. In the dull honesty of the cow he sought to bring out the most quintessentially Korean scenes 66 KOREANA Spring 2017

possible. Unable to buy paint and other art supplies in the midst of war, he used the foil lining of cigarette packs as his canvas. After finishing a pack of cigarettes, he etched pictures on the foil and colored them with paint. Of the three hundred-some cigarette foil paintings produced by Lee, three are in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. “Family on the Road” is my favorite Lee Jung-seob painting. The picture of a man taking his wife and two children on a picnic loaded in a handcart is a picture of the world that Lee dreamed of. Lee held his final exhibition in Seoul in 1955, but his paintings did not sell. Mentally debilitated, he started to refuse food and spent his time in psychiatric wards until he died in hospital in 1956 with no one by his side.

At the Lee Jung-seob Art Museum you can see his paintings, the art that he loved all his life, and the letters to his wife. It's heartening to realize the significance of the life of an artist who lived in poverty. The Jaguri coast below is where Lee took walks with his family.

Just walking along the shore here on a bleak and lonely day, thinking about the life of a poor artist in wartime can provide some mental healing.

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The Life of a Joseon Scholar in Exile Mt. Sanbang is located at the western end of southern Jeju.

The ridges have a soft and comforting look. You can see the peaceful scene of native ponies grazing on the grass. By the side is a small port with the lovely name of Moseulpo. Rambling along the ridges, I reach Moseulpo at sunset and dine on grilled Pacific herring with rice at a small restaurant. Making food the joy of living is probably a foolish thing to do. But on a lonely day, on a day of deep despair, sitting in a shabby restaurant in a little harbor town eating alone with a bottle of soju for company is not so foolish. The man is thoroughly analyzing and ruminating on his past. There is no reason he can’t find a new road in life.

In 1840, a man was exiled to Moseulpo. His name was Kim Jeong-hui (1786–1856). In the Joseon period, exile was the punishment meted out to those who disobeyed the king. Kim lived in exile on Jeju for eight years. He was confined to a thatch-roofed house surrounded by a thorny fence. It is true both in the East and West, past and present, that the finest achievements in a person’s life often come in times of poverty and deprivation. It was here in exile

that Kim Jeong-hui’s learning and art reached new heights. The painting “Sehando” (A Winter Scene), familiar to all Koreans, was created here in 1844.

Everyone should see this painting at least once. Designated National Treasure No. 180, it is ever so simple. There’s a rundown house depicted in a few lines, a gnarled old pine tree, and three young Korean pines. It carries an inscription, an old saying by Confucius: “Only when the year becomes cold, then we know how the pines are the last to lose their leaves.” I think he meant that after the cold winter we realize what it means to be green; only after tough days does the light of life begin to shine. Attached to the painting are encomiums written by 16 scholars from Qing China, who wrote down their impressions of the work.

In his home of exile, Kim Jeong-hui pondered the meaning of life. Surely that is meaningful in itself. The road between Ilchulbong and Mt. Sanbang is aptly called Paradise Road. The beauty of nature along the road is breathtaking. At the end of the road is a place steeped in the aura of the scholar and artist most beloved by many Koreans.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 67

AN ORDINARY DAY

Similar but Different Lives of Convenience Store Clerks Convenience stores are spaces where disinterest is a virtue. Most people who work there see their job as nothing more than a means of getting by. But actually, in this line of work, people also have their dreams and affection for what they do.

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1 “It’s not enough just to stand at the register.

An important task for clerks like me is going back and forth from the storage to the storefront and keeping the shelves neatly stacked with products,” Lee Deok-ju says.

2 From his experience as a convenience store clerk for years, Lee Deok-ju has realized that the job requires not so much an appropriate level of friendliness but rather the proper level of disinterest.

68 KOREANA Spring 2017

Kim Seo-ryung Director, Old & Deep Story Lab Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

l

ee Deok-ju, a fourth-year university student set to graduate this summer, works at a GS25 convenience store near Bucheon Station in Gyeonggi Province.

For the last three years, he has been working in a space of about 50 square meters from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon on weekends when he doesn't have classes. His hourly wage is 6,470 won, the legal minimum wage for 2017, which is 7.3 percent more than 6,030 won for the previous year. If you multiply that by eight, his daily wage works out at about 50,000 won, so working two days per week he earns enough pocket money for the following week.

Lee's case is probably not typical of the reality of Korean convenience store workers. His parents pay his university tuition, so he works only part time near home.

He regards the work as part of a larger scheme: preparation to apply for an office job at GS Retail, the company that runs the franchise. This means he readily agreed to

an interview while all the other 10 or more convenience store clerks I approached either refused right away or turned me down, after talking for two or three hours, when I asked permission to do a formal interview and take photographs.

To say that this country is now a republic of convenience stores is no exaggeration.

Walk past one convenience store and it's barely a hundred meters before you come across another. Therefore, part-time jobs in convenience stores are some of the easiest to come by and the employee turnover rate is accordingly high.

For Some, It's Preparation for the Job Market Convenience stores sell all manner of items. Lee said he didn’t know exactly what the number of product lines in his store was. But he did explain that, while there is a wide assortment of daily essentials on offer, drinks, snacks, and readyto-eat foods account for the lion’s share of

2

sales. In the past, cup noodles, gimbap triangles, and small sachets of kimchi made up the typical convenience store meal, but a couple of years ago lunchbox meals hit the shelves and things haven’t been the same since. Convenience store chains compete with one another by producing their own brand of lunchboxes, developing ever more appealing recipes and packaging. At the GS25 where Lee works, it is these lunchboxes that account for the highest proportion of sales. Last year, the chain also launched its own coffee brand. A large advertisement for freshly ground Americano, 1,000 won a cup, is strategically placed outside the store.

I threw all the questions I had prepared at Lee in quick succession. Is a certain type of personality more suited to the work?

How do you learn to deal with the customers? Is there any particular knowhow for arranging products? Are there rules for how to put items into carrier bags? Who are the most difficult customers? Have you

ever encountered a petty thief? While preparing for this article, I read Sayaka Murata’s novel "Convenience Store People," which won the Akutagawa Prize, one of Japan’s most coveted literary awards, last year. In this semi-autobiographical novel, written from experience working at a convenience store for over 18 years, there is an entertaining account of the two-week training program for becoming a "convenience store person," or, as the author puts it, a “uniform creature.” For example, you should look the customer in the eye and smile when you greet them; your voice should be cheerful and high pitched; when someone purchases sanitary towels you should pack them in a paper bag; hot and cold foods should be bagged separately; and when you receive an order for fast food, the first thing you should do is disinfect your hands.

But, judging from Lee's response, it seems that things are very different in Korea.

“I didn’t really go through any special training. Of course it’s great if you can be cheerful, but I actually avoid looking customers in the eye. They don’t particularly like it when you make eye contact," he said. "It’s plenty just to scan the barcodes correctly and say the total price clearly.

There's no special knowhow for arranging the products, but there is one rule you have to follow: first in, first out. The items that come in first should be sold first; the store owner always emphasizes that I must follow this principle.”

In this area, there is a high concentration of studio flats which are mainly home to foreign workers. This means that many of the customers are from other countries and are looking to buy convenience food or daily necessities. Customers who have not yet learned to decipher Korean will sometimes ask for help in finding the products they are looking for. However, in the three years that Lee has been working at the store, there has only been one occasion KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 69

“I was sitting in the store on Lunar New Year’s morning when a man in his forties suddenly asked me, ‘Have you had a bowl of New Year’s rice cake soup?’ I couldn’t believe my ears. That was the first time anyone had ever shown any interest in me while I was standing at the register. They all just pay and leave without even looking at my face.

That’s more comfortable for me, too.”

As an increasing array of freshly prepared foods are being added to convenience store product lines, the clerks receive more frequent deliveries from refrigerated trucks.

70 KOREANA Spring 2017

when someone said anything to him that wasn’t related to a purchase. “I was sitting in the store on Lunar New Year’s morning when a man in his forties suddenly asked me, ‘Have you had a bowl of New Year’s rice cake soup?’ I couldn’t believe my ears," Lee recalled. "That was the first time anyone had ever shown any interest in me while I was standing at the register. They all just pay and leave without even looking at my face. That’s more comfortable for me, too."

To be fair, customers coming in to buy milk and toilet rolls, unshaven and dressed as though they’ve just woken up, or who come in late in the afternoon for a makeshift meal of triangle gimbap and cup noodles at one of the small plastic tables want nothing more from the convenience store clerk than disinterest. Rather than being a place where people meet, the convenience store is a place where people pass by each other mechanically, a place where one’s sense of self is irrelevant.

The clerks are not allowed to eat by the

register. But neither can they leave the store to have a meal. So, Lee stealthily lunches on cup noodles or some such food when there are no customers around.

“I did once catch an elementary school kid trying to steal ice cream, but there has never been a scary thief. Male customers usually address me casually, ‘Hey, student!’

That’s the nicer version. Generally it’s just ‘Oi, you!’ Then there are customers who use rough words and those who don’t just hand the money over but practically throw it at me. It’s a bit difficult to swallow sometimes, but it’s what comes with this line of work.

Rather than thinking about whether customers look down on me or not, I focus on how they react to the products. My ultimate goal is getting a job at GS Retail,” he said.

The person I spent the longest time talking to over a number of occasions, was a certain Mr. Park, a man in his early fifties working at a Seven Eleven along the main road near Dongdaemun (East Gate). But he resolutely refused to be photographed.

“It’s like a tiny prison cell. But one that you can get up and walk out of anytime.

This place faces east, so every morning I get to watch the sunrise. It changes a bit with the seasons, but when the sun rises I know it’s almost time for me to clock off,” he said.

His situation was completely different from Lee's. Under the condition of anonymity, I couldn’t help but include his story.

First off, for Park this is his main occupation. He works 12 hours a day. Instead of a rotation of three eight-hour shifts, the working day here consists of two shifts of 12 hours. Park and the store owner look after the store half a day each, every single day, and these fixed working hours are due to the owner's special consideration of Park’s situation.

“This is a workplace where I can eat and sleep without any great interference. I’m not just working longer hours to earn an extra 20,000 won; these are the hours that I need right now,” he said. Park, who starts work behind the counter at eight in the evening and finishes at eight in the morning, does not have a home. He parted with his family after a failed business enterprise.

Right from the outset he chose to work at a convenience store because he could spend the night behind the counter.

For Others, It’s Home When his shift is over he usually starts the day by washing his face and brushing his teeth in the building's public restroom.

On days when he’s particularly tired or wants to lie down, he will go to a jjimjilbang (Korean sauna) nearby. His target is to save 1.7 million won a month, which amounts to about 20 million won per year. If he keeps it up for five years, he will have 100 million won in the bank. He doesn’t drink or smoke. It has already been two and a half years since the convenience store became his universe, so he is now half way to achieving his goal.

“I’m indebted to each and every customer who comes in. With that in mind, I always greet people wholeheartedly... and there are a few customers who come in regularly because they appreciate that. A lot of regulars drop by even if it's just to buy a bottle of water," said Park. “The most important thing with people is not money, you know, it's feelings. That’s even more so for people who don’t have much else.”

Perhaps that’s why there are a number of customers who suggest they eat together when he finishes work or even some who bring him clothing left over from their market stalls. When he first started, he thought he had hit rock bottom, but when he got down here he said he realized it was actually a warm place to be.

Park’s daytime routine is not what you might expect for someone who spends the whole night behind the counter. He goes to sports dance classes at the local citizens’ center, where 14 hours of dance lessons a month costs only 20,000 won. He also frequents the local library. He has researched many different ways to spend the days productively without using any money. There

are times when he feels his life is fuller and more meaningful than when he was a businessman with loads of cash to throw around.

His thoughts on working in a convenience store are pretty much an outlook on life. “Apart from university student parttimers who are saving for their tuition out of an extraordinary sense of independence or because their families wouldn’t be able to get by otherwise, the rest of us could be considered the losers of society. But, if you don't care to brag in front of others, this isn’t such a bad line of work. Is it only corporate employees who earn a salary? I earn a salary, too. The wages that come into my bank account each month, that’s the fruit of heaven. I realized that after I lost everything," he said.

Park knew that the number of product lines in his store was exactly 852. For parttimers at convenience stores, it’s merely a question of following the rulebook.

But, looking around this store, it’s easy to see that the character of the clerk working there has a big influence on the atmosphere of the place. “There are loads of convenience stores around here, but ours is the most thoroughly cleaned and the bins are always in good order. I wouldn’t be able to stand it otherwise,” Park noted.

He said that there was no need to keep track of sales or balance the books because the register is programmed to do it automatically. The sales and stock totals appear on screen, so all he has to do is rotate shifts with the store owner. “It’s great if I sell a lot, but when the takings aren’t good, I do feel sorry, like it’s my fault.

I guess those are the only moments when it’s not so easy,” he remarked.

From there, Park closed with his concerns for the nation: “Individual people aren’t the problem. The national economy has to improve, but is it possible when the big conglomerates are siphoning off huge amounts of money to people in positions of power? Even someone like me, who works 12 hours a day for 70,000 won, knows that much.”

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 71

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

volunteers helP bridge the language gaP for defeCtors The TNKR Global Education Center is a private, nonprofit facility committed to helping North Korean defectors learn English. One-on-one lessons by native English-speaking volunteers help defectors gain a competitive edge and equal opportunities in South Korean society with its emphasis on English proficiency.

Kim Hak-soon Journalist; Visiting Professor, School of Media and Communication, Korea University Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

S

tatistical data show that the language gap between the two Koreas has grown by nearly 40 percent since the national division in the mid-1940s. It has been widened further by a deluge in South Korea of online slang words and odd abbreviations.

Many foreign words South Koreans use without a thought are very unfamiliar and bewildering to the defectors. In a 2014 survey by the Unification Ministry, 40 percent of respondents indicated that the plethora of unfamiliar foreign words in everyday use was one of the biggest difficulties defectors who settled in South Korea were experiencing. For example, a defector living in Seoul went to a laundry store displaying a sign, “Computer Cleaning” (meaning “computeraided cleaning”), to have his computer fixed.

Unique Operating System “English competency,” a hefty burden, has been added to the defectors’ list of difficulties. They want to advance in their studies and jobs by learning English. But most of them do not dare to even think of it because just surviving in their new home is a challenge.

The TNKR Global Education Center helps them get over those hurdles through a highly personalized teaching system that many South Korean families would willingly pay premium fees for if they could. TNKR is the abbreviation of “Teach North Korean Refugees”; 72 KOREANA Spring 2017

it’s a private, nonprofit organization that runs a facility (located at 180-8 Dokmak-ro, Mapo District, Seoul) that teaches North Korean defectors English for free. It was founded in March 2013 and is directed jointly by Casey Lartigue, an American, and Lee Eun-koo, a South Korean.

TNKR has a unique program and system of operating as a language teaching organization. They do not teach students themselves, but connect defectors who want to learn English with native English-speaking volunteers who want to teach English. Unlike private cram schools that teach students in classrooms under a preset curriculum, TNKR arranges for students to learn English with teachers one-on-one. Where, when, how, and what to teach depend on the students’ wishes. If they want other teaching styles, students can ask for a change of teachers.

Many students are so enthusiastic that they sign up with several teachers at once. It is very helpful for students to learn from multiple teachers because some are good at teaching spoken English, others at teaching grammar, and still others at giving inspiration to defectors, Lartigue said.

Students can choose teachers at regular matching sessions that are aimed at building mutual trust and increasing efficiency in studying. About 50 such sessions had been held until late 2016.

Those on a waiting list come for in-house tutoring sessions at the TNKR office before they are connected to teachers.

Some 250 defectors have learned or are currently learning English at TNKR. About 55 percent of them are undergraduate or graduate students who want to catch up in school or study abroad.

Some 30 percent are office workers, housewives, and job seekers.

According to Lartigue, those defectors who want to learn English to find better jobs and adapt to a new life in South Korea more easily are knocking on the TNKR office’s door. Some 470 volunteers have taught or are teaching here.

The day I visited the TNKR office, I heard that as many as 80 defectors were on the waiting list for matching sessions. Priority is given to orphans, formerly trafficked persons, and those under 25 years old. Those who have learned or are learning English at the center agree that the English education they have undergone here is very helpful to them in finding jobs and adapting to South Korean society.

“It seems that students are satisfied with the English education here because it’s a customer-focused program that gives students a choice,” said Lee. She keeps a journal of feedback received from students.

Though still early in its history, the track record of TNKR’s all-

Casey Lartigue (standing) and Lee Eun-koo (seated to his right), co-founders and directors of the TNKR Global Education Center for teaching English to North Korean defectors in South Korea, meet with volunteer teachers.

volunteer teaching program can be expected to be studded with many inspirational stories of students as well as teachers. The name Park Yeon-mi comes up as Lartigue speaks of their most unforgettable student. Park did not speak English well when he first met her in December 2012 before TNKR opened. Park then joined the TNKR program in late 2013. Beginning as a student of a re-matching program in January 2014, she studied hard for nearly 40 hours a week, learning from as many as 18 teachers, one-on-one for eight months. She had great enthusiasm for learning English and TNKR gave her a chance, Lartigue said.

Once a promotional ambassador for TNKR, Park is now studying at Columbia University in the United States.

Yang Che-rie, a student in her 30s, said, “Thank God, I now have the courage to express myself in English during classes at school.

I’m really grateful to the TNKR for helping us defectors adapt to South Korean society by undergoing substantive English education in a new environment and having a chance to build a human network.”

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 73

Students’ Enthusiasm Eom Yeong-nam, an editor and publisher in his 30s who learned English from teachers from Australia, Canada, the United States, and New Zealand, said, “I think I now have a useful tool: English proficiency. I hope more defectors will gain self-confidence at TNKR.” Volunteers come from several countries and are working in various kinds of jobs. Americans top the list, followed by those from other English-speaking countries like Britain, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. Their jobs in Korea range from university professor, schoolteacher, and cram school lecturer to graduate student and freelance writer. As TNKR volunteers they commit to perform the following duties as a minimum: they should teach for at least three months, more than twice a month, and more than 90 minutes per class.

Volunteers have various reasons why they are taking part in the TNKR program. The teachers fall into roughly three categories: those who want to understand North Korea and North Koreans; those who want to add their experience of teaching defectors to their résumé of volunteer work; and those who simply enjoy teaching. Others are teaching English here to experience something new and still others want to teach adults for a change, as a break from 74 KOREANA Spring 2017

teaching English to children.

Matthew McGawin, an American teacher in his 20s, proudly said that most students spoke accurately after their pronunciation and grammar were corrected. He pledged to teach better whenever he saw his students’ English improve.

Ryan Gardener is a British teacher who has taught English to six defectors. He notes that the strongest point of the TNKR program is its system that allows defectors to choose native English speakers from various countries to learn many things as well as the language. Furthermore, he said one of the important things is to let students learn English in different settings each time.

The TNKR program consists of two parts to help students improve their English. Track 1, the first step, helps students become familiar with the English language through actual use while learning basic English skills, grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation, and finding ways to study by themselves. In the process of communicating with native speakers, students will naturally learn how to overcome their fear of speaking English with foreigners. Currently, most students have reached this stage.

Track 2 is the step at which students cultivate their ability to express themselves formally in English, including public speaking.

It is a special program designed to improve their ability to do busi-

Some 250 defectors have learned or are currently learning English at the TNKR Global Education Center. About 55 percent of them are undergraduate or graduate students who want to catch up in school or study abroad. And 30 percent are office workers, housewives, and job seekers.

Students learn English in one-on-one sessions with native English-speaking volunteer teachers under the TNKR (Teach North Korean Refugees) program, a teaching approach that would be the envy of most families keen on English education of their children.

ness or give public speeches in English. At this stage, they learn how to write and give a speech or a presentation. English speech contests are also held regularly to help defectors overcome both stage fright and the fear of speaking in English in front of other people. The center tries to hold such contests twice a year, in February and August, if possible.

Other languages are also taught at the center. For example, it teaches Latin, which is often used in legal terms, to those students who want to become lawyers.

Private Donations After earning an MA in pedagogy from Harvard University, Lartigue taught English at Yonsei and Hanyang universities in the 1990s. When he revisited Korea in 2010, he learned about the dire reality in North Korea and began taking a deep interest in North Korean defectors. He was greatly shocked by the news about China’s repatriation of about 30 defectors to North Korea in March 2012. He helped recruit volunteers to join protests in front of the Chinese Embassy in Seoul. There, he met the legislator Park Sunyoung of the minor opposition Liberty Forward Party who had staged a hunger strike in front of the Chinese Embassy. He told her he wanted to get involved in helping North Korean refugees.

At the time, Rep. Park brought up the idea of establishing Mulmangcho (Forget-Me-Not) School, an alternative school for young defectors. Lartigue joined her program as a volunteer board member for international cooperation to help recruit English-speaking volunteer teachers for the school.

It was at Mulmangcho School that Casey Lartigue and Lee Eun-koo found each other in search of a practical way to help North Korean defectors. They readily agreed to work together towards their shared goal by using Lartigue’s network of English teachers and Lee’s network of defectors. The idea that took shape was to lay a stepping stone path for defectors by helping them acquire English language skills, an essential asset in South Korea’s job market as well as in society as a whole. For Lartigue, it was the natural thing to do: Each and every defector he had met asked him to teach them English and he knew that it would be difficult for them to find jobs in Korea unless they had a certain level of English proficiency.

Lee obtained an MA in North Korean studies from the University of North Korean Studies and another MA in international relations from the University of Sheffield in England.

She had worked as a researcher for about 10 years at the Database Center for North Korean Human Rights and at the Education Support Center for Young North Korean Defectors of the Korean Educational Development Institute, a government-funded education think tank. Concurrently working for Volunteering Korea, a civic group, she is a co-director of the TNKR program.

The program started only with a handful of students and volunteers, without even an office or a website. It is now widely known among defectors. These days, students who want to learn English can have lively communications with aspirant volunteer teachers via Facebook (https://www. facebook.com/TeachNorthKoreanRefugees), Twitter (@ TeachNKRefugees), or through the TNKR website (www. teachnorthkoreanrefugees.org).

The biggest difficulty is the effort’s limited finances. Over the past four years, TNKR has had to move to various places around Seoul, including Itaewon, because it was financially strapped. It has now rented a shabby house in a back alley which fits within the budget. This is, in fact, its first independent office since the TNKR program started.

Office expenses are borne by donations alone. Many teachers buy books for their students on their own or give donations. Impressed by such dedicated outpouring of free volunteer services, some students, too, donate what little money they have. Lartigue and Lee are also contributing their own money. Their eyes sparkling, they both said that they can never give up, no matter how hard their job may be, because they know how eager the defectors are to keep learning.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 75

Charles La Shure Professor, Department of Korean Language and Literature, Seoul National University Kim Hoo-ran Culture Editor, The Korea Herald

BooKS & More 76 KOREANA Spring 2017

Poetry of Paradox for a Long Road to Discovery “For Nirvana: 108 Zen Sijo Poems” By Cho Oh-hyun, Translated by Heinz Insu Fenkl, 118 pages, $25.00/£19.00, New York: Columbia University Press [2016]

In many ways, “For Nirvana: 108 Zen Sijo Poems” is a paradox. As pointed out by literary critic Kwon Young-min in the introduction, Musan Cho Oh-hyun’s poems are sijo in form.

Unlike the traditional lyric form of poetry, though, they are often narrative in nature so much that Kwon coined a new term to describe them: “story sijo.” Thus they are sijo, yet they are not sijo. Also, as the translator notes in the afterword, “Zen poetry is inherently ironic, as the basic tenet of Zen is antithetical to text.” That is, Zen Buddhism seeks enlightenment without recourse to words or texts, and thus it might seem odd to combine Zen with poetry. Finally, the book itself is paradoxical in its structure: The 108 poems are bounded by an introduction written by a critic whose occupation was judged by the poet himself to be a “useless discipline" and an afterword written by a translator who admits that the poems are “almost, by definition, impossible to translate.”

These multiple levels of paradox seem appropriate. The way to understanding these poems — an achievement that this reviewer can by no means lay claim to — is not straight, but serpentine. The penultimate poem, “My Lifelines,” hints at this: “poetry is woodgrain, knotted, / & Zen is wood’s grain, straight.” It is only through many twists and turns of the mind that progress can be made and the journey will only end when the seeker stops seeking.

When first faced with these poems, the initial instinct is to ask what they mean, to try to tease out the hidden kernels of wisdom and thus solve the riddles that the poems pose.

And, indeed, it appears there are portals leading into the inner sanctum of Musan’s poetic world. The series of 10 poems titled “Musan’s Ten Bulls” follows the Zen tradition of using 10 poems or paintings depicting the search for and taming of a wild bull as a metaphor for one’s progress toward enlightenment through meditation. Another series of poems written in the second person addresses the character of Bodhidharma, the famous patriarch of Zen in China. Yet another series of poems is titled “Speaking without speaking,” perhaps alluding to the Zen mistrust and simultaneous recognition of the necessity of language. This ambivalent attitude can be seen throughout the volume, such as in “Waves,” where the poet claims, “The 1,000 sutras, the 10,000 treatises, / all just waves blown in the wind,” or in the final work, where he announces: “These words I’ve spewed ‘til now — they’re all drivel.”

The impatient reader may at times be tempted to take the poet at his word here, for, as noted above, these portals and passages are not straightforward; the poems do not provide any easy answers. Instead, they function very much like Zen koan (or gong-an in Korean), which means that there are no “answers” and there is no final destination.

There is only a process of discovery. Patience here is a virtue, for the more time one spends with these poems, the more they seem to reveal, not merely about the Zen philosophy of the one who wrote them, but about the inner nature of the one who reads them as well. To simply read this collection of poems takes less than an hour. To gain all that might be gained from them would no doubt be the work of a lifetime.

And yet, as the poet says: “one lifetime / barely as much as a single step / go on, go on / just walking in place.”

Korean History for Young Readers “Letters from Korean History, I–V” By Park Eunbong, Translated by Ben Jackson, 1264 pages, 55,000 won, Seoul: Cum Libro [2016]

The five-volume history book, as suggested by the title, is written in the format of a series of some 70 letters. Each chapter starts with about three to four paragraphs of friendly chit-chat kind of writing that poses questions and invites the reader to join the author in discovering the answers and exploring history.

While it may seem like a daunting task for young readers to finish the entire series, the simple language and vocabulary make for a not-altogether-difficult read. Also helpful are the numerous illustrations, maps, and diagrams that accompany the texts. They are useful in understanding the various periods in history, as well as visualizing the lifestyles of respective periods.

The five volumes are titled “From prehistory to Unified Silla and Balhae,” “From the Later Three Kingdoms to Goryeo,” “Joseon from founding to later years,” “From late Joseon to the Daehan Empire,” and “From the Daehan Empire to the North-South rapprochement.” In these ambitious volumes, the author attempts to chronicle the history of what occurred on the Korean peninsula from the Paleolithic Age (circa 700,000 B.C.) to 2000 in one fell swoop.

Unless the reader is a young history buff, some of the chapters might be of little interest. Indeed, some of the details might not be

Traditional Instruments for Today’s Music “Mask Dance” By Black String, £17.50, Munich: ACT [2016]

Geomungo, a Korean six-string zither, is the star of “Mask Dance,” the latest album by the four-member band Black String.

The fact that the band is named Black String, a literal translation of the word geomungo, is indicative of the central role of the ancient instrument, dating back to the 7th century, in the band. Heo Yoonjeong (geomungo), Lee Aram (daegeum, transverse bamboo flute), Hwang Min-wang (janggu, double-headed drum), and Oh Jean (electric guitar) make up the four-piece band that primarily performs jazz.

While traditional musical instruments and modern day jazz at first seem counterintuitive, the pairing is actually an excellent one given the characteristics of Korean traditional music.

Traditional Korean music is noted for its freewheeling, improvisational style. Just think about pansori, a form of narrative singing accompanied by a drum, and its free-spirited improvisational character. In Korean folk music, although there are specific beat patterns, even a casual listener will notice that there is a lot of improvi-

easily appreciated when Korean words are presented in their Romanized forms.

Yet, because the series is written in a narrative style using easy vocabulary, reading about life in the Three Kingdoms period is made fun. The use of ancient murals, paintings, and artifacts to illustrate the lifestyle of the people of Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo make history come alive.

The book may be enjoyed as individual chapters. They are rich in storytelling and for the uninitiated, chapters that focus on historical figures make for an interesting reading on their own. For example, the story of Korea’s first Olympic medalist Sohn Kee-chung, the marathoner who won the gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, is told in the context of Japan’s colonial rule of Korea.

The author chose to end the book in the year 2000 with the topic of the “June 15 North-South Joint Declaration.” Hence the title of the fifth and final volume “From the Daehan Empire to North-South rapprochement.” It is a positive and forward-looking finale to a long journey of history of the Korean peninsula.

sation going on during a performance.

“Mask Dance” is a tour de force. Any preconceptions about Asian music will be dispelled at once. It is not the New Age-type of ethereal meditative music that many associate with Asian music.

With the geomungo functioning more as a percussion than a string instrument, “Mask Dance” on the whole is dark and powerful. The electric guitar lends a sharp metallic sound to the music for a slightly psychedelic mood. The thick silk strings of the geomungo are struck with a wooden stick to produce the characteristic deep timbre. It is a decidedly masculine sound: Indeed, the geomungo was known as the instrument of the seonbi, or literati.

How to define the music of Black String is entirely up to the listener. But one thing it should not be labeled as is “crossover music.” Black String’s music explores the realm where traditional Korean instruments and music are headed.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 77

ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

CRAZY FOR SAMGYEOPSAL

Soul Ho-joung Food Ingredients Columnist Shim Byung-woo Photographer

KOREANS’ LOVE FOR THREE-LAYERED PORK Mention pork for dinner and many Koreans immediately assume they’re being served samgyeopsal, grilled pork belly strips descriptively called “three-layer meat” in the vernacular. Samgyeopsal, cooked on a hot gridiron or on a special pan over a tabletop stove and eaten directly from the grill, is widely beloved for its savory taste.

78 KOREANA Spring 2017

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n 1992, the Korean government strictly banned cooking and camping outside of designated places in public parks through an amendment to Article 27 of the Natural Parks Act. In effect, this law prohibits cooking samgyeopsal on a portable gas burner and drinking soju outdoors in natural settings. The law was tightened because of concern that unrestricted human activities in the nation’s natural parks would pollute nature and increase the danger of forest fires. Before the law took effect, many people had enjoyed grilling samgyeopsal outdoors in nature without any restrictions at all.

Hometown of Samgyeopsal Without counting the head, pork meat is roughly divided into seven essential cuts for culinary use: shoulder, ribs, picnic, belly, loin, tenderloin, and ham. Samgyeopsal is the high-fat part of the belly with layers of fat and lean meat.

Although the source is not clear, samgyeopsal is said to have originated in Kaesong in the early 20th century. The people of Kaesong, noted for their business skills, must have innovated their feeding methods and alternately fed their pigs different kinds of feed so that layers of fat and lean flesh alternated in the belly.

The founder and owner of the Korean restaurant Yongsusan, Choe Sang-ok (born 1928) recalled the samgyeopsal of her hometown Kaesong, the royal capital of the Goryeo Dynasty (918–1392), which is now part of North Korea: “The butcher shops in Kaesong sold boiled samgyeopsal. The meat was clean and tasty. We could get the water boiled with samgyeopsal from the butcher to cook kimchi stew, which was a delicacy.”

The first record on samgyeopsal is to be found in the “Various Joseon Cuisine” (Joseon yori jebeop), published in 1931 by Bang Sin-yeong, a professor of home economics at Ewha Womans University. Folksy Korean names for pork belly meat from the book, such as “three-layer flesh,” “flesh in the belly,” and “three-story pig meat,” sound amusing as well as descriptive.

Pork Cutlets and Pork Rice Soup Although the samgyeopsal of Kaesong was tasty, Koreans have traditionally preferred beef to pork. Boar taint, the offensive odor or taste that can mar the meat of a male pig and Korean traditional medicine that often prohibits pork consumption were reasons for the preference. However, beef has always been much more expensive than pork, so pork has been the meat for the masses.

Amid the post-World War II economic boom, Japan started to import pork from Korea in 1973 to cope with its increasing meat consumption. They wanted mostly lean meat. There was thus a change in the Korean pork market; working-class people were able to buy and eat pork much more cheaply.

Hwang Gyo-ik, a food critic, explains that the Japanese imported loin and tenderloin cuts because pork cutlets were all the rage around the time. The unexpected remainder of the country’s growing meat production was sold cheaply in the domestic market, and the masses came to eat pork rice soup more often. Hwang infers that the rise of pork rice soup restaurants cooking with pork bones, intestines, and meat throughout the country was the result of such circumstances. The pork industry flourished, leading to the development of the processed meat industry producing hams, sausages, and bacon.

Pre-cut samgyeopsal is being grilled on a hot gridiron. Charcoal-grilled, the pork belly delicacy is more flavorful and less fatty than pan-fried samgyeopsal.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 79

The Evolution of Samgyeopsal It is not known how samgyeopsal became so popular as a grilled dish. One theory is that two restaurants, Ddalnejip (“Daughter’s Diner”) and Mansujip (“Mansu’s Diner”) in Cheongju, North Chungcheong Province, started grilling samgyeopsal, first over briquettes. This new dish quickly became a dinner favorite because of its great flavor.

At any rate, Korea’s livestock and meat processing industries suggest the samgyeopsal craze began in the 1980s. The cheap but tasty cuts of pork became popular as inexpensive portable gas burners became available. For company-sponsored employee outings and get-togethers, samgyeopsal became the indispensable centerpiece of the menu.

Over time, variations on samgyeopsal also evolved: sottukkeong samgyeopsal, grilled on the lid of a caldron; wine samgyeopsal, grilled wine-marinated meat; and recently, daepae samgyeopsal, grilled thinly sliced frozen meat.

Traditional Pork Dishes Connoisseurs of samgyeopsal consider the ogyeopsal (five-layered meat) of Jeju Island’s black pig as the best pork meat. Ogyeopsal, pork belly cuts with less fat but with the skin attached, has a chewy texture and is known as the tastiest and most expensive variety. People might think that this black pig is native to Jeju Island, but in truth they are eating pork of a different provenance.

The native small black pig with standing ears, a breed said to have been raised since the Three Kingdoms period, was designated Natural Monument No. 550 in 2015 after a strict evaluation. This means that the black pig is in danger of extinction. Currently, the Jeju Provincial Livestock Institute has custody of 216 of these historic pigs. Clearly, it would be a crime to eat them.

Other black pigs are available for consumption. These were developed from a domestic breeder pig crossbred with Landrace, Yorkshire, and Duroc by the Jeju Provincial Livestock Institute. Its meat has a good taste; in fact, it became a bestselling pork through a successful marketing strategy depicting the crossbred pig as native to Jeju, aided by good storytelling.

Except for the introduction of grilling as an innovative way of cooking samgyeopsal, Korea’s traditional meat dishes continue to be cooked in the old ways passed down through the 19th century. These include suyuk , boiled and cut beef or pork on a bed of greens over broth; pyeonyuk, boiled brisket stone-pressed into a terrine, served sliced with a chewy texture; pork stir-fried with various ingredients; and rice soup, kimchi stew, and red chili paste stew made with pork.

The pork dishes of Jeju are part of a distinctive island cuisine, cooked with ingredients

Korea’s livestock and meat processing industries suggest the samgyeopsal craze began in the 1980s. The cheap but tasty cuts of pork became popular as inexpensive portable gas burners became available.

80 KOREANA Spring 2017

from the sea. After giving birth, Jeju mothers are served a special seaweed soup cooked with pig’s feet. Momguk, a hearty soup made with gulfweed, plentiful in the sea, and boiled with pork, is a dish not to be found on the mainland.

Dongporou, Jamón, and Rahute China is probably the nation that loves pork more than any other in the world. In 2015, the Chinese ate 52 percent of the world’s pork. The Chinese call pork just “meat,” while referring to beef as “beef meat.” Chinese pork dishes number more than 1,500. The most famous is dongporou , ascribed to and named after Su Dongpo, the revered writer and poet of the 11th-century Song dynasty. The fatty pork cut similar to samgyeopsal is braised slowly in soy sauce and liquor. Because of the reddish color, it is also called hongshaorou (red-braised pork), hence it was a favorite dish of Mao Zedong.

Okinawa in Japan is a region so enamored of pork that locals say, “We eat every part of a pig except its squeal.” Chanpuru , a stir-fry dish made of pork and bitter balsam apple, and rahute , sweet pork belly long-boiled down with soy sauce and liquor like Chinese dongporou, are Okinawa’s two pork specialties.

The most expensive pork meat is probably the Cerdo Ibérico de Bellota of Spain.

Iberico, a free-range pig that thrives on mushrooms and acorns in the natural oak forests of mountainous western Spain and Portugal, has an excellent flavor. Jamón ibérico is Spain’s finest ham made of ibérico pig’s leg preserved in salt and air dried for three years. It is so special and precious that it can be used for a dowry.

Samgyeopsal Economics The surge of samgyeopsal consumption in Korea has led to higher prices; it is now three times more expensive than other pork cuts. As domestic supply is also unstable, pork belly meat is imported from Chile, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Spain every year. As people have become more health conscious, the consumption of leaner cuts like picnic, ham, and tenderloin has recently increased. But Koreans’ love of samgyeopsal won’t cool so easily.

Suyuk , tender pork boiled with various aromatic herbs and spices, then sliced thin and served on a plate with various fresh and prepared vegetables and condiments, is a traditional Korean dish that is in the spotlight anew these days as a health food. On the platter with suyuk are radish salad, green onion kimchi, skate in vinegar dressing, and julienned cucumber and pear; served alongside are small bowls of fermented shrimp, ssamjang dipping sauce (soybean paste seasoned with hot pepper paste and other ingredients), and thin-sliced garlic bites.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 81

LIFESTYLE

slide to power off More people are becoming aware that smartphones are consuming a significant amount of their time.

But it is not that easy to break out of the habit and lead a life free from the internet.

That is why there are camps and smartphone applications to help with digital fasting, a notion for the guilt-ridden modern consumer.

Kim dong-hwan Reporter, Digital News Desk, The Segye Times Shim Byung-woo Photographer

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nly 30 minutes to go before I board the London-bound plane. I am the type of person who incessantly checks the KakaoTalk group chat rooms on my smartphone even though I do not have much to say to my friends. I was a bit concerned whether I could survive with a “brick phone” because I did not sign up for international roaming.

“I can reach you through Kakao, right?”

The call had come from my boss before I went through security, and I had replied, “No!” Of course, I could check for incoming messages whenever I had access to Wi-fi, but I did not want to be bothered while I was away. Because if I did that, I would still be tethered to my digital device and not be able to enjoy absolute freedom.

Life Locked in a Digital World I do not remember when it began, but I started to leave my phone behind on my desk during lunch breaks. My three-year-old smartphone was getting heavy, and I decided it would be enough to have just my stomach sagging with food, not my pocket with my phone. Also, I am a firm believer in eye contact, during mealtimes at least. Being surrounded by smartphones and computers at work, I want to be free from them during lunch, and lunchtime does provide that liberty to a journalist like me. But I cannot count on it too much, because there will be dozens of missed calls waiting for me on my smartphone. One time, five missed calls that had come in one minute intervals were from the same person, a senior member of the team, asking me to have lunch with him if I did not have a lunch appointment.

Mr. Lee, age 32, commuting between Incheon and Seoul, starts his day by checking his phone.

He reads the overnight conversation threads in the group chat rooms, and logs in to Facebook to read the updates. It would be more precise to say that he feels obliged to read them.

When he comes to work, he turns on his computer and is automatically logged on to the PC version of the mobile messenger. He must check the group chat rooms for business, but also other rooms he shares with friends so as not to miss anything. Throughout the morning hours he is distracted by the conversations that pop up on the screen.

Much of the same happens in the afternoon.

He cannot let go of his smartphone even after

work. When he gets on the bus and the subway, his hand is tightly clutching his phone. Eight out of 10 commuters on the subway have earphones on and a smartphone in their hands. When he comes home, he listens to music on the phone, surfs the internet, and engages in social media. His day ends as he sets the alarm on his phone for the next day.

Let us turn our attention to Mrs. Choe, age 38, mother of a four-year-old son.

After her husband goes to work, she eats breakfast at around 8 o’clock. Her son is not up yet, so she can enjoy a leisurely morning, but she knows as soon as her son wakes she will not be able to get through the day without her phone. It may be her fault her son got hooked. She tried to make him stop crying once by showing him the popular animation character Pororo on her phone, and it did wonders. Since that day, Mrs. Choe has relied a bit too much on Pororo and her phone whenever she needs to calm her child down. The nanny smartphone wields its magic even onboard public transport. Whenever she shows him a video stream, he becomes quiet and behaves. She cannot let go of her phone because it has proven itself as a competent nanny.

One day, Mrs. Choe took her son to the ophthalmologist because he was rubbing his eyes too much, and the doctor told her that her son had poor vision. His eyesight became poor because he spent too much time staring into the small screen, and the doctor warned that he may have to wear glasses. The mother was heartbroken, imagining her young child, who wasn’t even in kindergarten, wearing glasses.

Apps for Digital Fasting The Ministry of Science, ICT and Future Planning together with the National Information Society Agency surveyed 18,500 smartphone and internet users between the ages of 3 and 59 for the 2015 status of overdependence on smartphones and the internet. “Overdependence” was defined as experiencing withdrawal symptoms due to excessive use of smartphones and failure to perform daily routines. According to the degree of overdependence, the users were classified into the “high-risk group” and “potential-risk group.” The survey found that 2.4 percent of the respondents belonged to the high-risk group and 13.8 percent to the potential-risk group. The same survey in 2011 showed KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 83

“I felt free at first, but in three days I felt like I was cut off from the rest of the world. It was frustrating not to be able to use the internet during commuting hours … I am going to approach it like a diet, not a fast, and try to limit the number of hours I use the smartphone.”

the percentages to be 1.2 percent and 7.2 percent, respectively, doubling in just four years.

Experts give out advice about how people must manage their smartphone addiction and people express their own desire to rectify their daily lives that are excessively smartphone-dependent. This has brought on a spate of bestselling books with “digital fast” or “digital detox” in their titles, youth camps for digital fasting, and smartphone apps which claim to cure smartphone addiction — using a smartphone.

When users’ feeble attempts at digital detox fail — in other words, when they feel deleting SNS (social networking services) and game apps on their phones is not enough — they can resort to tougher measures like using apps for digital fasting. These apps restrict the use of the smartphone for a preset amount of time, and some charge penalties for early termination of the lock.

A mobile program publisher promoted the following features of its application: usage monitoring, addiction index calculator, smartphone control using the timer function, and child protection by prespecifying usage. More interesting ones include an alarm that goes off when a certain app was used for too long and deactivating smartphone alarms or internet connection during certain hours, allowing the user to focus on offline activities. An application claiming more than 1 million downloads counts the number of times the smartphone screen was turned on. It can also track the total usage time of the smartphone as well as by each application.

I found many user reviews posted about the digital fast apps in Google Play Store, which say the users found the apps helpful because they realized how much time they were spending each day on their devices and could identify patterns of addiction. Some wished there were more powerful functions. I find it a bit absurd — why not just keep the smartphone somewhere far away and not look at it instead of using apps to keep one from using apps?

84 KOREANA Spring 2017

Easier Said than Done Freeing oneself from digital addiction is easier said than done. A higher-up at my workplace followed my lead and unplugged himself during lunch hours. Although he was tired of being tied to his smartphone, he was not brave enough to trade it for a phone without internet connectivity. Instead, he went cold turkey, albeit only for brief lunch breaks.

It did not last long. His phone was poking out of his pocket during lunch several days later.

“Are you serious? You cannot keep your word that long?”

“I used to read the internet news while I was waiting for my order, and it felt strange not being able to do that anymore.”

Ms. Hwang who is in her 30s and working for a PR agency confessed that she was embarrassed she ever said she would go on a digital fast. She traded down her phone to an older model, but switched back to a smartphone in a week because she felt frustrated not being able to use the mobile messenger and the internet.

She said, “I felt free at first, but in three days I felt like I was cut off from the rest of the world. It was frustrating not to be able to use the internet during commuting hours.” She advises against not using the smartphone at all for digital fasting. She added, “I am going to approach it like a diet, not a fast, and try to limit the number of hours I use the smartphone.”

My Short-lived Bravado I was free for the four days I was in London. I was not working, so I could afford to leave my phone off (well, I did turn on my phone to text my parents that I was well when I came back to my hotel where there was Wi-fi). I had my wristwatch to tell the time. I felt the trip and the digital fast plan went beautifully. I even wore a thin triumphant smile thinking I had won the fight against the smartphone. It was in Paris that problems emerged.

Friends try a group therapy tactic to break away though briefly from digital addiction, socializing during teatime with all their smartphones piled out of reach on one side of the table.

Before I left Seoul, I had searched the internet and written down places to eat in Paris. However, information in text only had its limitations for a traveler in a new town. My digital fast became a problem when access to real-time information became essential.

I remembered I had a screenshot of the map saved on my phone, and I turned on the “bricked” smartphone to show it to pedestrians to ask for directions. The locals thought they were looking at a Google map and they tried to enlarge it.

“What …?”

“Sorry, this is just an image. I can’t use the internet.”

I was supposed to meet with a Korean tourist staying in the same hotel at a Michelin three-star restaurant. We had decided to tour separately in the morning and meet up for lunch. When I finally arrived at the restaurant, my companion had given up waiting for me, ordered for himself, finished his meal, and was wiping the corner of his lips with a napkin.

“Why were you so late?”

“Why is it so hard to find my way here?”

It was past lunchtime. Hunger pangs had gone.

Pain in the legs and annoyance set in. I asked for the menu. The waiter told me they were taking no more orders because it was past 2:00 p.m. What? I checked my watch. It was six minutes past two. Late by a mere six minutes and I was robbed of a chance to eat in a Michelin three-star restaurant. We stepped outside to look for another place and this time I was lucky to find a decent restaurant quickly enough with the help of my companion’s smartphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, soon we will be landing at Incheon International Airport…”

In the middle of the captain’s announcement, I turned on my smartphone. I was happy to see the LTE antenna sign in the corner of the screen. There were many unchecked KakaoTalk messages.

“Now this is life!”

So long, digital fast!

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 85

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

CRITIqUE

SeaSoned Writer’S ClaSSy MelodraMa

Choi Jae-bong Reporter, The Hankyoreh

“The man in my story ultimately never confesses his love and therefore keeps his love alive by deferring it. Language is similar. Even when language refers to the beloved it always slips away and maintains a distance from the beloved.”

T

he title of this story comes from a famous Hong Kong movie, which in turn was derived from the traditional Chinese expression hua yang nian hua, which means “the most beautiful time of one’s life.” The subject matter, two unhappily married people falling hopelessly in love, and the outstanding performances by Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung, made it a movie that long remained in the minds of those who saw it. The original Chinese title was also the same by which the movie was known in Korea. However, when it was released with an English title, it was called “In the Mood for Love,” the title of a popular song from the 1930s which the director Wong Kar-wai heard while finishing post-production. Memories of the film may remind readers of the impossibility of extramarital love. Presumably Gu Hyo-seo took this into consideration when he was writing his story.

The two main characters in the story, 35-year-old Songju and Bong-han, four years her senior, fall prey to the dizzying challenges of extramarital love. Unlike in the movie, only Song-ju is married while Bong-han is still single. One year, in mid-February, Bong-han travels to Gwangyang, in southwestern Korea, on the pretext that he is going to see the plum trees in bloom, for which the village is famous.

The day before he leaves, he phones Song-ju, who is living in Gurye, near Gwangyang, to inform her of his arrival. They had studied in the same department in college and now

86 KOREANA Spring 2017

Song-ju is married and living in Gurye.

Things are rather complicated from the outset. Bonghan studied in the department of Korean language education, and through his readings in classical Korean literature he came to know about the beauty of “plum blossoms in the second month.” In Korea the months are known only by numbers in the sequence of both the solar and the lunar calendars, and the second lunar month, coming about a month after the second solar month (which in English is February) is the month for plum blossoms. No plum blossom blooms in February. His ridiculous misunderstanding might seem designed to help the development of the story. Yet when he phones before coming, he simply insists in a joking tone, “I’m going down because I want to see you, what other reason do I need?”

As the story advances, their earlier history gradually emerges; in college, Bong-han had an obsessive crush on Song-ju. At its worst, it came to a point where, by his own admission, “his body had become a complete host to Songju.” Still, they were unable to hit it off, mainly a result of his extreme timidity and hesitancy. Essentially, as he would later admit, “one hesitation after another had brought it about.”

Even after her marriage, Song-ju had occasionally phoned him to complain about life for no particular reason.

In the story this is said to have provided “a space,” a word seeming to suggest that a possibility had not been com-

pletely closed off, that reasons for hope remained. This forms the background for Bong-han’s decision to go down south to see Song-ju, using the plum blossoms as a pretext.

This is a story which has to be read following the grain of a delicate heart. It walks a fine line in telling the story of a man and a woman who, while loving each other, cannot and must not reveal their love. The fine line refers not only to the game of temptation and rejection between them but also to their inner struggles as they subtly control the emergence and suppression of desire. The two characters never reveal their feelings openly to each other, but depend on a rhetoric of circumlocution and irony, metaphor and paradox. As a result, if we say that one of them is “A,” there is a great likelihood of that also being “not A.” As readers watch the two responding to each other using jokes and evasions, hiding their real feelings, they feel not only a sharp tension but even pain, a heartache. There being no way they can see plum blossoms which are not in bloom, they naturally fail to see them, but instead they see plumblossom-like patterns on the rocks in the orchard. The two of them observe the patterns on the rocks, then look at each other as if making a promise and, although it only lasts for a brief moment, their gaze is deeper and far more intense than ever before.

“Even though there’s no plum blossom, your laughter makes the world brighter.”

“Shall we have an affair? You’re unmarried . . .”

Laughter befitting a joke follows, but soon their eyes meet warmly for a second time. Bong-han’s remark, “I came in February and saw plum blossoms!” and Song-ju’s response, “We can come at any time and still see plum blossoms,” both link back to the story’s original title, suggesting that their love still exists as a potentiality. So, will their love belatedly bring them together? The conclusion chosen by the author is not so simple.

Gu Hyo-seo is a prolific writer whose writings range widely and deftly with many different themes and topics. During the 30 years since he was first recognized in 1987, he has published more than 30 volumes including 20 novels, 11 collections of novellas and short stories, two collections of short stories, and two volumes of prose, as well as a volume of fiction for children. This short story is a summary reflection of his achievements. In April 2016, he published a melodramatic novel, “When the Morning Star Touches My Brow.” On that occasion, meeting journalists, he said, “Personally I like melodramatic movies and plays, but this is the first time I have produced a melodramatic novel.” It might be difficult to categorize “In the Mood for Love” as a melodrama, but there can be no doubt that it is a work that displays to the full the writer’s skill in depicting the feelings and relationship of two people in love.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 87

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