Koreana Autumn 2018 (English) by The Korea Foundation

AUTUMN 2018

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS

SPECIAL FEATURE

PRELUDE TO PEACE

Movie Images of North-South Relations A Journey to Reconciliation through Pop Music New Turning Point for Sports Exchange The Road to Legendary Mountains

ISSN 1016-0744

VOL. 32 NO. 3

Inter-Korean DÃ©tente in Popular Culture

Prelude to Peace

IMAGE OF KOREA

Returning Home for Chuseok Kim Hwa-young

Literary Critic; Member of the National Academy of Arts

“T

he stream of people going home for the holiday is becoming longer and longer. The traffic congestion on major expressways across the country is not expected to start easing until 1 a.m. tomorrow.” This type of traffic update is heard in news broadcasts every year when Chuseok, the Korean harvest moon festival, begins. It is one of three national holidays when Korea departs from the Gregorian calendar, the other two being the Lunar New Year and Buddha’s Birthday. Each year, these holidays occur on different days on the Gregorian calendar, and the Lunar New Year and Chuseok herald a stampede back to hometowns. Chuseok falls on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month. That is September 24 this year, and with the addition of the preceding weekend and two “lieu” days, the holiday period lasts five days. The autumn respite is a time to enjoy the abundance of harvested grains and fruits and to give thanks to parents and ancestors. The Korean term for this annual homecoming is gwiseong, meaning “to return to one’s parental home to pay respects.” It is an expression of longing for hometown and putting family and regional bonds into action. The Chuseok exodus became a social phenomenon around 1945, after Korea’s liberation from Japanese occupation. At first it was largely a “student homecoming,” as students returned from Seoul and other cities for the school holidays. Industrialization in the 1960s and the accompanying migration to cities laid conditions for a mass movement home on national holidays. Back then, trains were almost the only available long-distance travel option. Huge crowds descended on Seoul Station to buy tickets home. Trains heading to the provinces bulged with passengers three times their normal capacity, recalling wartime trains packed with refugees. In the 1970s, expressways were built, adding cars and buses to the din of the migratory surge. By the 1990s, as car buying became more and more prevalent, severe highway congestion became a fixture. Now, the desire to avoid the rush and maximize family time together has given rise to “reverse homecoming,” with parents traveling to Seoul to see their children. Some young people avoid the homecoming rush altogether by traveling overseas. But as long as there are people who yearn for a little bit of comfort and joy in the arms of their parents and the familiarity of their hometowns, the scramble on national holidays will continue.

Editor’s Letter

PUBLISHER

Lee Sihyung

A Rough Voyage to Peace

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Kang Young-pil

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Lee Kyong-hee

The Korean peninsula once again seemed sailing toward peace and unity. The April 27 summit between the leaders of the two Koreas gave rise to hopes for a permanent end to the long hostility and confrontation, which has caused immense pain and losses at many levels and segments of society on both sides of the armistice line. The special feature of this issue, “Prelude to Peace: Inter-Korean Détente in Popular Culture,” was planned amid that hopeful mood. At the same time, the seven decades of fierce conflict and enmity have yielded considerable distrust and doubt across South Korean society. Many suspected the apparent amity would turn out to be fleeting and the leaders’ rhetoric lead nowhere. Indeed, the voyage to peace has proved rough — again. The core issue of denuclearization remains tricky amidst a strategic tug-of-war between multiple stakeholders as well as North Korea’s maneuvering. Fortunately, however, no party involved in the daunting process seems to believe the momentum for dialogue and negotiation has dissipated. Regardless of the progress on the diplomatic front, our feature stories look back at the aspirations and despairs derived from the political division of the peninsula, as well as some of the hard-earned achievements, experienced by the public through popular culture. The stories are sincere and insightful accounts of knowledgeable authors. At this juncture, I would like to draw our readers’ attention to the tragedy suffered by the nation’s arts and culture communities due to ideological conflict. Numerous artists and writers encountered ruinous fates amid the chaotic circumstances of division and war. The traumatic aftermaths still linger and may be worthwhile subjects to be explored in our future issues.

EDITORIAL BOARD

Han Kyung-koo

Benjamin Joinau

Jung Duk-hyun

Kim Hwa-young

Kim Young-na

Koh Mi-seok

Charles La Shure

Song Hye-jin

Song Young-man

Lee Kyong-hee Editor-in-Chief

Yoon Se-young

COPY EDITOR

Matthias Lehmann

ASSOCIATE EDITOR

Ji Geun-hwa

ASSISTANT EDITORS

Cho Yoon-jung

Ted Chan

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Kim Sam

EDITORS

Park Do-geun, Noh Yoon-young

ART DIRECTOR

Kim Do-yoon

DESIGNERS

Kim Eun-hye, Kim Nam-hyung,

Yeob Lan-kyeong

LAYOUT & DESIGN

Kim’s Communication Associates

44 Yanghwa-ro 7-gil, Mapo-gu

Seoul 04035, Korea

www.gegd.co.kr

Tel: 82-2-335-4741

Fax: 82-2-335-4743

TRANSLATORS

Chung Myung-je

Hwang Sun-ae

Min Eun-young

Park Hyun-ah

Suh Jung-ah

SUBSCRIPTION/CIRCULATION Price per issue in Korea 6,000 won Elsewhere US$9 Please refer to page 104 of Koreana for specific subscription rates.

PRINTED IN AUTUMN 2018 Samsung Moonwha Printing Co.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Autumn 2018

10 Achasan-ro 11-gil, Seongdong-gu, Seoul 04796, Korea Tel: 82-2-468-0361/5 © The Korea Foundation 2018 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the

Published quarterly by THE KOREA FOUNDATION 55 Sinjung-ro, Seogwipo-si, Jeju-do 63565, Korea http://www.koreana.or.kr

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, A collage of images symbolizing reconciliation on the divided Korean peninsula from sports, cinema and pop music: see Special Feature on pp. 4–33.

August 8, 1987), is also published in Arabic, Chinese, French, German, Indonesian, Japanese, Russian, and Spanish.

SPECIAL FEATURE

Prelude to Peace: Inter-Korean Détente in Popular Culture

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Movie Images of North-South Relations

New Turning Point for Sports Exchange

Jung Duk-hyun

Jeong Yoon-soo

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

A Journey to Reconciliation through Pop Music

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

The Road to Legendary Mountains Eun Hee-kyung

O Gi-hyeon

FOCUS

ON THE ROAD

Ondol Becomes National Cultural Heritage

Storied Homes in the Alleys of Seongbuk-dong

Ham Seong-ho

Lee Chang-guy

INTERVIEW

Capturing Memories of a Vanishing Past Chung Jae-suk

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

Pyongyang Cold Noodles: A Taste of Unity

80 ENTERTAINMENT Recasting of Daughters-in-Law Jung Duk-hyun

ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

As Autumn Deepens, Crab Meat Grows Sweeter Jeong Jae-hoon

Kim Hak-soon

GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

74 BOOKS & MORE

Hopes for Traditional Songs That Everyone Can Enjoy

‘How to Read Eastern Art’

U Seung-yeon

The Art of Deciphering Seemingly Irrational Paintings

Breaking New Ground in the Musical Market Won Jong-won

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

‘Immigrant Wives Want Equal, Self-Reliant Lives’ Choi Sung-jin

DIY Interior Designing, a Happy Pastime Seong Jeong-a

A Fresh Glimpse of a Fascinating Author

‘Unsuk Chin: 3 Concertos’

Choi Jae-bong

‘Sunset: A Ch’ae Manshik Reader’ ART REVIEW

86 LIFESTYLE

Chin Un-suk’s Ingenuity Shines in Multi-Award Winning Album Charles La Shure, Ryu Tae-hyung

76 AN ORDINARY DAY No Rest for a ‘Silver Student’ Kim Heung-sook

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

What’s the Medicine She Really Needs? A History of Medicine Oh Hyun-jong

SPECIAL FEATURE 1

Prelude to Peace: Inter-Korean Détente in Popular Culture

“Shiri” (1999), directed by Kang Je-gyu © Kang Je-gyu Films

“Secretly Greatly” (2013), directed by Jang Cheol-soo

Movie Images of North-South Relations “Taegukgi: The Brotherhood of War” (2004), directed by Kang Je-gyu © Kang Je-gyu Films

4 KOREANA Autumn 2018

“Welcome to Dongmakgol” (2005), directed by Park Kwang-hyun

“Joint Security Area” (2000), directed by Park Chan-wook © Myung Films

The South Korean government’s policy toward inter-Korean relations has vacillated since a truce halted the Korean War 65 years ago. Nothing has reflected the continuing recalibrations more palpably — and at times proactively — than popular culture, especially movies. Jung Duk-hyun Pop Culture Critic

“The Berlin File” (2012), directed by Ryoo Seung-hwan © Filmmaker R & K, CJ ENM

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 5

“Steel Rain” (2017), directed by Yang Woo-suk

he history of Korean movies can be divided into the years before and after “Shiri.” As the first mega production of the Korean film industry, it set records in budget allocation (3.1 billion won) and viewers (5.82 million nationwide, including 2.45 million in Seoul). Before the 1999 record setter, the only other movie that had attracted a million viewers in Seoul was the musical drama “Sopyonje,” released in 1993. The success of “Shiri” showed that there was an appetite for homegrown blockbusters. It ignited the production of Hollywood-style big-budget movies in Korea and transformed local moviemaking into a fast-growing industry. Why was “Shiri” such a huge commercial success? In a nutshell, it was because of its bold exploration of changing relations between the two Koreas. New Themes for a New Start Shiri (also spelled “swiri”) refers to a fish that swims in fresh waters connecting the two Koreas. The movie is an action thriller about the pursuit of North Korean sleeper agents who have terrorized South Korea for six years. The most formidable member of the team is a female assassin who disguises herself and falls in love with her primary adversary. In the climax, the two Koreas are engaged in sports diplomacy; a football match is held with the leaders of both sides present. The sleepers, determined to shatter the mood of recon-

6 KOREANA Autumn 2018

ciliation, attempt to blow up the stadium. In a deadly gun battle that ends the movie, love between the assassin and her misled pursuer is confirmed even as they point their guns at each other. “Shiri” thus offered an alternative view of North Koreans: fellow Koreans, not simply the enemy. Dreams about ending the Cold War stepped closer to reality in the following year, when South Korean President Kim Dae-jung traveled to the North to meet his counterpart, Kim Jong-il. It was the first inter-Korean summit since the division of the country in 1945. The icebreaker in 2000 heralded radical shifts in the diplomatic and political climate. Just three months later, “Joint Security Area” (or “JSA,” also known as Panmunjom) hit movie theaters, drawing 2.51 million viewers in Seoul alone. The movie evidently benefited from the afterglow of the historic summit. It revolved around a shooting incident between South and North Korean guards at Panmunjom, a symbol of the standoff between the two Koreas. Investigators are stunned to discover that secret communication and friendly encounters had occurred before the shooting. The mood in South Korea had changed since the pro-democracy struggle of June 1987 and the inauguration of the country’s first civil government in 1993. Personal freedoms could at last be truly enjoyed. Nevertheless, the 1990s did not see South Koreans’ attitudes toward North Korea change appreciably. Conservatives advocated vigilance and a hardline approach. Progressives championed bridges built on coopera-

“Operation Chromite” (2016), directed by John H. Lee

tion and trust. The entertainment industry, always mindful of the anti-communist National Security Act of 1948, continued to practice self-censorship. “Shiri” approached the inter-Korean issue indirectly through embedded killer agents and a love story thrown in. “Joint Security Area” was even more radical, straightforwardly portraying camaraderie between soldiers positioned to kill each other at a moment’s notice. Director Park Chan-wook said at the time, “I was prepared to be arrested because of this movie.” Fortunately, the dramatic realization of the inter-Korean summit shortly before its release set the stage for an impassioned response. Genre Expansion After 2000, Korean studios turned to the Korean War for their next blockbusters. The emphasis shifted from anti-communist jabs and displays of firepower to characters’ emotions, ideas and relationships. A series of box office hits ensued. The political backdrop was the administration of President Roh Moo-hyun, a liberal politician who inherited the “Sunshine Policy” of cooperation and reconciliation with the North from his predecessor and mentor, Kim Dae-jung. In 2003, “Silmido” attracted a whopping 11 million viewers, opening the era of the so-called “ten million sellers” for Korea’s burgeoning film industry. Based on true events, the critically acclaimed movie highlighted divisions over how

1. Operatives from the South and North put aside their ideologies to jointly stop nuclear war amid a coup attempt in North Korea. 2. A team of spies gathers intelligence on North Korean defenses before the Incheon Landing, an amphibious assault by U.N. Forces in September 1950, which reversed the tide of the Korean War.

inter-Korean relations should be handled. A unit of social outcasts, including criminals, was formed in April 1968 to assassinate North Korean leader Kim Il-sung. The project was in response to a failed North Korean attempt earlier that year to assassinate the South Korean president at his residence. The group, named Unit 684, underwent brutal training on Silmi Island, off the coast of Incheon. But the mission was cancelled as relations between the two Koreas improved. In August 1971, the unit members killed their guards, fled the island and hijacked a bus to Seoul. Most of them were killed in a firefight with army soldiers. “Silmido” portrayed the unit members as pawns in the sharp division of opinions on North Korea policy within the government. Prior to the release of the film, the general public was unaware of Unit 684. The next year, “Taegukgi: The Brotherhood of War” broke the box office record of “Silmido,” tallying nearly 12 million admissions. Through two brothers the movie depicted how a South Korean family was destroyed by the tragedy

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 7

After 2000, Korean studios turned to the Korean War for their next blockbusters. The emphasis shifted from anticommunist jabs and displays of firepower to characters’ emotions, ideas and relationships. “Silmido” (2003), directed by Kang Woo-suk © Cinema Service

of war. Hardened and disillusioned, the older brother crosses over to the North Korean army. The brothers end up pointing their weapons at each other. In contrast to earlier films where North Korean soldiers were always depicted as “commies,” this movie attempted to portray them as ordinary young men just like South Korean soldiers, and indeed as brothers. The message succeeded. Audiences wept. The 2005 film “Welcome to Dongmakgol” took a humanist approach to war. It revolved around South and North Korean soldiers and a U.S. pilot who end up in a mountain village named Dongmakgol, so isolated that the inhabitants don’t even know there’s a war going on. After accidentally destroying the villagers’ food stockpile, the soldiers feel compelled to help them survive the winter. In the process, hatred recedes and the soldiers begin to treat each other as friends rather than foes. The movie was applauded for its theme and originality. It proved that even a comic fantasy could touch upon the traumatic subject and impress viewers. It broke a quasi-taboo. Sweeping Commercialization Fast forward to 2010 and the political environment had changed with conservative Lee Myung-bak as president. Lee was a hardliner against the North, which had continued its nuclear arms development. The “Sunshine Policy” was shelved. Movies about the two Koreas downplayed reconciliation and prioritized ticket sales. “A Better Tomorrow,” screened in 2010, was modeled on the 1986 Hong Kong classic of the same title directed by John Woo. The remake was titled “Mujeokja” in Korean, meaning a person no one can beat as well as a person with no country. The gangster drama toyed with the preconception and fantasy that all North Korean defectors are killing machines.

8 KOREANA Autumn 2018

“71: Into the Fire” exemplified the commercialization of Korean War movies. The subject was the Battle of the Nakdong River, one of the bloodiest battles of the war and a frequent theme of past anti-communist movies. Though not cut from the anti-communist genre, the movie was not anti-war either. It could be best described as a thoroughly commercial war spectacle. The only movie that touched on the inter-Korean issue in a genuine way during Lee’s tenure was “The Front Line.” It depicted control of a strategic hill repeatedly being lost and regained by South and North Korean forces. The back-andforth assaults with short-lived success underlined the futility and recklessness of war. Secret agents were the stars of 2013 movies with a North Korean theme. It was the first year of President Park Geun-hye, another conservative. A softened approach to the North was not expected from the daughter of Park Chung-hee, the South’s president at the height of the Cold War. “The Berlin File” and “Secretly Greatly” enjoyed commercial success, reaping 7.2 million and 6.96 million viewers, respectively. “The Berlin File” is the story of a showdown between North Korean spies and South Korean operatives working in Berlin. “Secretly Greatly” is a comedy featuring a motley group of good-looking young spies from the North. Forgotten by the North, the spies become superheroes in the South. Based on a highly successful webtoon, the movie indicated how young South Koreans today can even imagine North Korean spies as handsome heartthrobs. Subsequent movies dealing with North-South relations remained commercially orientated, adhering to genre blueprints. In these movies, North Korean soldiers were indeed depicted as “killing machines.” A notable feature was a conservative tilt, though not quite anti-communist fare. Chief among

“The Front Line” (2011), directed by Jang Hoon © TPS Company

them were “Northern Limit Line” released in 2015 and “Operation Chromite” in 2016. Based on a real naval battle between North and South Korea in June 2002 off Yeonpyeong Island in the West Sea, “Northern Limit Line” hit six million admissions. A controversy over government control of content preceded production as it was widely expected that the film would adopt a conservative slant. The result was proof that even ideology could be commercialized. Soldiers went to see the movie in large groups and the number of screens, 667 on the opening day, increased to 1,013 within the first five days. “Operation Chromite” depicted the bold gamble to land U.S. troops in Incheon during the Korean War to cut invading North Korean forces into half. In one scene, a North Korean army officer points his weapon at his family members because they do not share his ideological view. He is portrayed as the epitome of evil. In contrast, U.S. General Douglas MacArthur is treated as a god-like being. Rather than the misery of war the movie focused on catharsis for the victors. Owing obviously to the commercialization of ideology and the spectacle of war, the movie attracted seven million viewers. Cinematic Imagination and Reality The 2017 film “The Fortress” took audiences back to the second Manchu Invasion, or Byeongja Horan, in 1636. Released amid rising tensions over North Korea’s nuclear missile tests, the polarized sentiment exhibited centuries ago underscored the angst of the present day. Set in Namhan Mountain Fortress where the court of Joseon took refuge, the film revolved around the fierce debate between Kim Sang-heon, leader of the faction arguing for battle against the Qing invaders, and Choe Myeong-gil, leader of

“Northern Limit Line” (2015), directed by Kim Hak-soon © Rosetta Cinema

1. Based on real events, this movie tells the story of a unit of misfits trained to kill North Korean leader Kim Il-sung. It was the first Korean movie to attract more than 10 million viewers. 2. One of the more insightful movies during the hardline Lee Myung-bak administration, it depicts the futility and recklessness of war through the last battle before the Korea War armistice. 3. Reflecting the hardline view of conservatives, this film describes the naval battle between North and South Korea at their de facto maritime border in June 2002.

the faction advocating peaceful settlement. Their arguments mirrored the opposing views of the conservatives and progressives on North-South relations. At the end of 2017, months after President Park Geun-hye was impeached on corruption charges and replaced by progressive Moon Jae-in, “Steel Rain” hit theaters. Koreans were hopeful at the time, anticipating a thaw in inter-Korean relations under President Moon. Nearly 4.5 million tickets were sold. The heroes of the film are two agents from the South and North who realize that tragedy is caused not by threats from the enemy state but by the ambitions of those who exploit national division for power. They lay aside their respective ideologies and team up to stop nuclear war. Audiences were taken not so much by the visual spectacle but the humanism shown by the two agents. When the changes in movies dealing with inter-Korean relations are traced, there emerges an alignment with the North Korea policy pursued by successive governments. The confrontation and cooperation explored by movies has reflected the different approaches of conservative and progressive administrations. In turn the views and values highlighted on the silver screen have impacted South Koreans’ attitudes toward North Korea — how it should be perceived and handled.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 9

“The Namesake” (2017), directed by Choi Jong-goo and Son Byeong-jo

Indie Movies on North Korean Defectors The virtue of independent movies is their honest handling of subjects that are ignored in commercial offerings. A handful of indie movies about North Korean defectors delve into the problems that they face when attempting to assimilate in capitalist South Korea.

Released at the end of 2017, “The Namesake” features two women who have the same name but pronounce it differently because of linguistic differences between the two Koreas. Ryeon-hui is a scarred soul, having lost her daughter during their es-

is pregnant but does not know who the father is. The poster for the movie says, “A woman who fled her home; A woman who fled her country,” likening the fate of North Korean defectors to the fate of South Korean women living in a patriarchal society.

cape from North Korea. She fled because it was too hard to survive there but realizes that life in South Korean society is by no means easy. Ryeon-

Camaraderie in Isolation

hui ekes out a living by working part-time at a convenience store. There,

Ryeon-hui catches Yeon-hui trying to steal a triangle-shaped gimbap

she must endure customers and co-workers looking down on her — a

(a wedge of rice wrapped in seaweed) from the store. That first encoun-

typical experience of North Korean defectors in the South.

ter leads to a new friendship just before Yeon-hui gives birth, and Ryeon-

Yeon-hui’s life is difficult, too. Her escape was from home, to get away from her violent father. She finds the world to be a cold place. She

10 KOREANA Autumn 2018

hui finally begins to free herself from recurring anguish over losing her child.

The movie shows how two women meet in different states of iso-

Living day to day pasting posters on walls, Seung-cheol has scant

lation and form a bond to overcome their problems. Through their en-

hope for a better life. Exposed to verbal and physical abuse on a daily ba-

counter, it also overlays the issue of North Korean defectors with gender

sis, his life in South Korea remains a perilous survival test. His only modi-

issues that have recently come to the fore around the world.

cum of relief is the church, where all are considered the children of God,

“Myung-hee,” which caused a minor sensation when it was en-

and an abandoned puppy, whose lot in life is much like his own.

tered in the Mise-en-scène Short Film Festival in 2014, takes a different

Kim Man-cheol, a North Korean who escaped to the South with his

approach to the subject by following the daily life of a North Korean de-

family on a small boat in 1987, said at a press conference soon after his

fector in documentary style. Common to almost all defector movies is a

arrival that he had sailed toward “a warm country in the South.” But no

description of a horrific escape and risky journey to the South. However,

such warm country welcomes Seung-cheol; awaiting him is a gritty reality

this movie simply shows a woman who has become part of South Kore-

and a tireless struggle for survival.

an society. The film opens with a fairly commonplace scene, an exercise class. Myung-hee, dragged there by a friend, meets and befriends Su-jin and soon begins to go to her clothing store every day to help. She neither asks nor expects to be paid. For Myung-hee, not being compensated for her labor is not an issue. “In the North, we had to go outside and crush stones in the middle of winter,” she says, regarding her work at the shop as a simple act of friendship. But as others see it, she has no concept of economics. Myung-hee begins to see things differently when her friends ask, “Are you Su-jin’s slave?” The highlight comes when Myung-hee finally blows up in front of her friends: “I risked my life to come here, but I didn’t come to be treated like this by you.” This forthright statement uncloaks the tacit disdain and

1. “The Namesake” juxtaposes the realities faced by two women, a North Korean defector struggling to settle in the South and a South Korean woman suffering under patriarchal conventions. 2. “Myung-hee” depicts the conflict between a North Korean defector and people around her, arising from differences in their way of thinking and concepts of economics. 3. Winner of many international film awards, “The Journals of Musan” sheds light on the plight of North Korean defectors from a neorealist perspective. 2

pity with which North Korean defectors are treated in the South.

International Response Another notable film is “The Journals of Musan,” which won 16 awards at various international film festivals. These include the Tiger Award and International Federation of Film Critics Award at the International Film Festival Rotterdam, the Best Feature Film Award at the Andrey Tarkovsky International Film Festival in Russia and the Best First Feature Film Award at the Toronto Reel Asian International Film Festival. In ex-

“Myung-hee” (2014), directed by Kim Tae-hun

plaining its unanimous vote for “The Journals of Musan,” the Toronto jury

lauded the protagonist’s honest and inspiring spirit of survival and the

way the raw but moving story revealed a North Korean refugee’s struggle to find his way in a new environment. The international accolades garnered by “The Journals of Musan” can be attributed to its neorealist view of the world. While ostensibly recording the daily struggle for survival waged by Jeon Seung-cheol, a defector from Musan, North Hamgyong Province, the film sheds more light on the reality faced by him. In doing so, it illuminates the hardships of those living on the fringes of South Korean society because they are poor or have no assets. Musan is the name of the protagonist’s hometown, but musan in Korean also means “propertyless.”

“The Journals of Musan” (2010), directed by Park Jung-bum © Secondwind Film

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 11

SPECIAL FEATURE 2

Prelude to Peace: Inter-Korean DĂŠtente in Popular Culture

ÂŠ The Hankyoreh

A Journey to Reconciliation through Pop Music North and South Korea had their first musical exchange some 30 years ago, and popular music in particular entered the scene around 20 years ago. For the two Koreas with different ideologies and political systems, an encounter through music means more than just cultural exchange; it is an effort to restore their identity as one nation by promoting reconciliation and peace. O Gi-hyeon Producer, Seoul Broadcasting System (SBS)

12 KOREANA Autumn 2018

n February 8, 2018, the day before the opening ceremony of the PyeongChang Winter Olympics, stormy sea winds calmed down in Gangneung, a city on the east coast hosting the indoor Olympic events, and in the afternoon, the temperature rose to 6 degrees Celsius. That day, a concert by the Samjiyon Orchestra, part of the North Korean delegation that had come to celebrate the Winter Olympics, was scheduled at the Gangneung Arts Center. The ensemble of over 140 members was newly organized to bring together the greatest instrumentalists, singers and dancers from the existing Samjiyon Band, Moranbong Band and State Symphony Orchestra. Though the weather had grown milder, the people gathered for the show could not relax until the curtain eventually went up. Just a few months earlier, war had seemed imminent on the Korean peninsula. Some South Korean media outlets nicknamed the orchestra’s leader Hyon Song-wol “the nuke girl” in parody of the famed North Korean revolutionary opera, “The Flower Girl,” predicting that the concert would prove to be yet another piece of propaganda. However, the tension that filled the hall eased as soon as the concert began with the song “Nice to Meet You.” The audience greeted the heartfelt performance, featuring songs appealing to universal emotions rather than political ideologies, with enthusiastic applause. A Deluge of Southern Songs The first North Korean musical ensemble to perform in the South in 16 years had made thorough preparations. The most notable part was the audio mixing, carried out by two sound engineers who had brought along their own mixing consoles. The smooth mixing and fine balance between the vocals and instruments impressed the South Korean staff recording the show for TV. The lighting was excellent, too. The spotlights pinpointed the major players with such precision that at times, it almost looked unnatural. The troupe’s uniforms and hairstyles were a bit outdated, reflecting the collectivism of the North stressing unity and conformity. However, for almost two hours, the instrumentalists rarely glanced at their scores while playing numerous tunes, ranging from classical to popular music, again demonstrating their diligent preparation.

At the Samjiyon Orchestra concert held on February 11, 2018, at the National Theater of Korea in Seoul, Seohyun (fourth from left) from Girls’ Generation sings with North Korean performers. Part of the North’s official delegation to the PyeongChang Winter Olympics, the band gave another concert in Gangneung, the host of the indoor events, on February 8.

The orchestra played 13 South Korean songs. Two of them were protest songs well known in the North as well, while the remaining 11 popular songs were free of any political message. The songs frequently mentioned the words “love,” “tears” and “farewell.” In other words, they carried “the yellow wind of capitalism,” often denounced by the North Korean authorities. Then why bear the burden of performing those prohibited songs? By catering to the sensibilities and tastes of the South Korean audience, the musicians were obviously trying to promote a better understanding of different lives and thoughts and pull down the emotional wall between the two sides. Moreover, the repertoire reflected the influence of South Korean artists who had performed in the North — intermittently since 1999. Some of the songs presented this time had been performed before in Pyongyang: “Farewell” by Patti Kim in 1999; “The Maze of Love” by Choi Jin-hee in 1999 and 2002; and “To J” by Lee Sun-hee in 2003. Catalyst of Exchange Musical exchanges between the two Koreas date back to 1985, when they agreed to hold concerts in each other’s capital in September of that year to coincide with the first-ever reunions of families separated by the Korean War. Each side sent a delegation of 50 artists, but their performances were not received well on either side: the South Korean concert, mostly presenting traditional court music and dance, was deemed “feudalistic and decadent” by North Koreans, whose concert in turn was considered “rigidly uniform and undermining tradition” in the South. A few more events followed, alternately held in Pyongyang and Seoul, barely keeping the exchange going. It was not until 1999 that pop concerts were held in front of large audiences. On December 5 that year, the Seoul Broadcasting System (SBS) held the “Peace and Friendship Concert 2000” at the Ponghwa Art Theatre in Pyongyang. It was a joint performance with Roger Clinton, the brother of then U.S. President Bill Clinton. Later, on December 22, the Munhwa Broadcasting Corporation (MBC) held the “National Unification Concert” at the same venue. The SBS concert, the first cultural event in the North organized by a South Korean broadcaster, was held amid a mood of détente under the “Sunshine Policy” of the administration of late South Korean President Kim Dae-jung. Featuring first-generation K-pop groups, including Sechs Kies and Fin. K.L., the concert shed light on socio-cultural differences by showcasing South Korean pop culture trends. In contrast, the MBC concert appealed to the cultural homogeneity of the two Koreas by presenting traditional folk songs and popular songs from the colonial period, as well as popular contemporary numbers.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 13

Cross-border cultural exchanges have continued in spite of difficulties, mainly through popular music concerts, with South Korean artists visiting the North more frequently than vice versa. In 2002, MBC held events titled “Lee Mi-ja: A Special Concert” on September 27 and “Oh! Reunified Korea” the next day, both at the East Pyongyang Grand Theatre. At the latter event, rock singer Yoon Do-hyun and his band stunned the North Korean audience by singing the timeless folk song “Arirang” in a shockingly free style. On August 11, 2003, the Korea Broadcasting System (KBS) presented the “Pyongyang Singing Contest” in Moranbong Park. The long-standing South Korean music show, launched in 1972, makes it a rule to put the name of each location at the end of its title — e.g. “National Singing Contest in Pyongyang” — but agreed to change the title in compliance with the North’s claim that “the name Pyongyang, the heartland of the revolution, should not come at the end.” At the show, some 20 contestants, ranging from 12 to 77 years of age, demonstrated their singing abilities. In October 2003, SBS held the “Unification Concert Celebrating the Opening of Ryugyong Chung Ju-yung Gymnasium.” To celebrate the inauguration of the indoor sporting arena, built jointly by the Hyundai Group and the North Korean government, a group of 1,100 South Koreans, including performers and observers, crossed the armistice line to visit Pyongyang. The concert was the first musical event ever staged at a gymnasium in the North. At the same venue, SBS hosted a concert

by famous South Korean singer Cho Yong-pil in August 2005. Though planned at the North’s request, the concert could only be staged a year later after being postponed seven times amid turbulent political circumstances, triggered by the South Korean government’s refusal to allow its citizens to visit the North on the 10th anniversary of Kim Il-sung’s death. Cross-border cultural exchanges have continued in spite of difficulties, mainly through popular music concerts, with South Korean artists visiting the North more frequently than vice versa. Looking back, the trajectory has mostly been characterized by concerts in the North, hosted by the South’s broadcasting companies. This is due to several factors, such as the North’s internal conditions making it difficult for its artists to visit the South; the virtue of popular music creating emotional empathy more easily than other performing arts genres; and the relative advantage of broadcasting companies in organizing concerts on a grand scale, which require a large cadre of skilled staff and enormous funds. Emergence of the Moranbong Band Cultural exchanges between the two Koreas with their different political systems have had notable influences on both societies. The latest concert by the Samjiyon Orchestra has seemingly gone some way to mitigating the North’s bellig-

1. The Yoon Do-hyun Band performs at the North-South joint concert “We Are One,” held April 3, 2018, at the Ryugyong Chung Ju-yung Gymnasium in Pyongyang. The band had also participated in the 2002 concert “Oh! Reunified Korea” organized by MBC at the East Pyongyang Grand Theatre.

14 KOREANA Autumn 2018

2. Pyongyang citizens sing and cheer at the “Peace Concert of South Korea’s Artistic Delegation in Hopes of Reconciliation and Cooperation: Spring is Around the Corner,” held April 1, 2018, at the East Pyongyang Grand Theatre.

erent image and raising awareness of peace and unity among the public in the South. However, it is not easy to estimate the repercussions the other way around as the North’s media are typically reticent about Southern visitors and their activities. Nothing can be surmised from audience responses either, since North Korean people cannot show an obvious liking for South Korean pop songs. Indirectly, however, some outcomes have become apparent in performances of the North Korean girl group Moranbong Band that was assembled in early 2012 under the direction of Kim Jong-un, chairman of the North’s State Affairs Commission. Composed of about 20 female singers and instrumentalists, the band has become a focus of national and international interest for their stylish outfits and unrestrained dance moves, as well as their gorgeous looks. The band seems to show the North’s willingness to change and brighten its image at home and abroad. Notably, they usually perform in large gymnasiums. North Korea once had the fixed idea that arts and culture events should take place in a theater and sporting events in a gymnasium, and its officials had vehemently opposed the idea of the South presenting pop music shows in a gymnasium in Pyongyang. However, after witnessing the success of concerts in gymnasiums, they began to follow suit, and the Moranbong Band now holds most of its concerts in gymnasiums that can accommodate large audiences and diverse stage designs.

It is also worth noting that the band started using jibs, or camera cranes, that are commonly used to film large-scale stage performances or sports events. A jib was first introduced during the Ryugyong Chung Ju-yung Gymnasium concert in 2003, when a South Korean broadcasting company presented it to the North. Ever since, jibs have played a central role in filming cultural events in the North, and as another outcome of exchanges with the South, stage flames and paper confetti were adopted to create special effects. After the Samjiyon Orchestra’s concert in Gangneung, a group of the South’s artists paid a return visit to Pyongyang in April. A historic event coming 13 years after Cho Yong-pil’s 2005 concert, it was entitled “Peace Concert of South Korea’s Artistic Delegation in Hopes of Reconciliation and Cooperation,” with the subtitle “Spring is Around the Corner.” Since the division of the peninsula, the two Koreas have waged a relentless arms race to consolidate their respective systems. Thus, peace remains remote and the economic burden has grown ever heavier. Recently, voices have grown louder to cease the endless competition and instead pursue mutual prosperity through understanding and cooperation. Arts and cultural exchanges are undoubtedly very effective to promote amity and goodwill. Although a few concerts cannot tear down decadesold walls of distrust and enmity, over time continued efforts will surely bring the spring of reconciliation closer.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 15

K-Pop Lands in North Korea BTS, also known as Bangtan Boys, topped the Billboard 200 chart in June this year with their third album “Love Yourself: Tear.” It was the first time in 12 years that a non-English album took the number one spot on Billboard’s main album chart. As K-pop spreads around the world, it is also eliciting responses from the closed society of North Korea. Kang Dong-wan Professor, Dong-A University; Director, Hana Center Busan

After North Korean soldier Oh Chong-song defected last year by

South Korean pop hits are allegedly enjoyed almost simultaneously

crossing the border in Panmunjom, suffering five gunshot wounds in the

in the North as large quantities of DVDs and USB drives containing K-pop

process, he amazed everyone by saying that he liked the South Korean

content are smuggled into the country from China. For example, when

idol group Girls’ Generation. Subsequently, when the New York Times

Psy’s “Gangnam Style” swept through the world in 2012, it quickly be-

released an article in spring this year, covering concerts by South Korean

came popular in North Korea, too.

musicians in Pyongyang and focusing on the girl group Red Velvet, the headline read: “Can North Korea Handle a K-Pop Invasion?”

Control vs. Dissemination

The North Korean government cracks down on the circulation and

USB drives, called “stick-type memory card” in the North, are widely

viewing of videos from the South for fear that its people might be “cor-

used for playing South Korean films and songs. Memory sticks and SD

rupted by decadent capitalist fads.” Nevertheless, South Korean videos

cards are much sought after as they are convenient to carry and easy to

are now popular merchandise in the North and widely disseminated

hide. These days, MP5 media devices for viewing high-resolution videos

in spite of government bans. Not only music videos but also movie

also make their way into the country through China. Since an MP5 player

soundtracks and TV dramas are circulated clandestinely.

uses a micro SD card, even smaller than a USB drive, it has an increased © Yonhap News Agency

16 KOREANA Autumn 2018

1. BTS (Bangtan Boys), who topped the Billboard 200 chart last June with their third full-length album “Love Yourself: Tear,” are known to be popular among young North Koreans. 2. Invited to the Pyongyang concert last April, Red Velvet performed “Red Flavor” and “Bad Boy” for North Korean audiences.

storage capacity and is easier still to evade crackdowns.

For this new generation, K-pop may be a catalyst for passive non-

The dissemination of MP5 players has enabled North Korean youths

conformity. While earlier generations, indoctrinated to possess the “spirit

to watch K-pop videos with greater ease. No longer confined to surrepti-

of human bullets and bombs,” are loyal to the government, group solidar-

tious listening, they can now closely observe the singers’ faces, gestures,

ity is weaker among young people. Undaunted by tightening restrictions

fashion and hairstyles, experiencing a culture shock even more deeply.

and crackdowns on South Korean pop culture content, they boldly keep watching these videos because, among other reasons, singing along and

Culture Shock North Korea has a long tradition of exploiting music to strengthen its

dancing to K-pop gives one a bit of superiority over peers. Some even regard those who can sing and dance to the songs as “enlightened.”

system. Rallying for ideological warfare through music, it claims, “A single song can take the place of ten million troops.” Growing up in such a social

The Marketplace Generation

milieu, young North Koreans fall for K-pop because the songs deal with

Under these circumstances, the authorities are compelled to ac-

universal human emotions — like Ahn Jae-wook’s “Friend,” known to be

cept, at least to some extent, the cultural change and resistance among

the most popular South Korean pop song in the North — rather than ide-

youths. Therefore, instead of relying on unconditional bans and controls,

ology and propaganda. Many defectors agree that North Korean songs

they have come up with a new genre of socialist music.

are mostly political propaganda or glorification of its leaders while those of the South are honest expressions of human emotions.

The North Korean government’s policy to satisfy the “higher standards of the people” indicates the intention to embrace the changing de-

The spread of K-pop in the North may partly be attributed to wid-

mands of its people by providing them with new creative works. A good

ening inter-generational gaps as well as deepening class division. In the

example is the Moranbong Band, founded under Kim Jong-un’s initiative.

North, youths are often called the “marketplace (changmadang) genera-

Its members adopt fashion and hairstyles entirely different from those

tion.” The severe economic difficulties of the mid-to-late 1990s debilitated

usually sported by North Korean women, and their songs and dance

the country’s welfare system that provided free education, health care

moves bring South Korean girl groups to mind.

and rationed necessities, which the authorities had loudly promoted

Strict government controls on K-pop and other elements of foreign

internally and externally. The “marketplace generation” refers to young

culture have not stopped the new generation from accessing them, and

people born around that time, who have barely experienced socialist

any changes arising among the young may have a significant impact on

welfare benefits. Compared to older generations, they tend to be more

the future of the North’s system. That is why K-pop’s influence on North

resistant to government controls.

Korean society is worth watching.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 17

SPECIAL FEATURE 3

Prelude to Peace: Inter-Korean DĂŠtente in Popular Culture

New Turning Point for Sports Exchange Sports have played a vital role in creating a conciliatory mood on the divided peninsula with the two Koreas fielding unified teams and marching together under one flag at international sporting events. More recently, renewed efforts to build peace indicate that inter-Korean sports exchanges will likely gain new momentum. Jeong Yoon-soo Sports Critic; Professor, Graduate School of Culture, Sungkonghoe University

South Korean Hyun Jung-hwa (right) and North Korean Li Bun-hui play as a team at the 41st World Table Tennis Championships, held in April 1991 in Chiba, Japan. They defeated China 3:2 to win the womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s doubles event. It was the first international sports event since national division in which athletes from the two Koreas competed together.

18 KOREANA Autumn 2018

Â© Yonhap News Agency

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 19

n 1936, marathoner Sohn Kee-chung (1912–2002) ran at the 11th Summer Olympics in Berlin with the Japanese flag emblazoned on his uniform and won the gold medal. Born in Sinuiju, today’s North Korea, Sohn worked for a company based in Dandong, China when he was 16. Every day he would run the 20-plus li (approx. 8 km) across the Yalu River from Sinuiju to Dandong. Kim Yong-sik (1910–1985), a celebrated football player, coach and manager of South Korea’s national team, was born in Sinchon, Hwanghae Province in present-day North Korea. Both athletes came to Seoul around the same time and attended Bosung College, which is now Korea University. National Division and War The stories of the two sports heroes tell us that seven decades ago, traveling between the southern and northern regions of Korea was as natural as traveling between Birmingham and London, or Chicago and New York. However, this changed after territorial division and the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950. At the turn of the 20th century, Korea was undergoing

the first wave of industrialization and urbanization amid the influx of Western culture introduced through Japan. By 1897, a six-hole golf course had been built in Wonsan, a major port and industrial city along the east coast in what is now North Korea, and factories had their own football teams. In Incheon, a port city near Seoul, many sports clubs, including football, baseball, basketball and volleyball clubs, sprouted up as it developed into a modern industrial city. Among the major cities in Korea, Pyongyang and Gyeongseong (Seoul’s name during the colonial period) had the best teams and biggest fan bases. Pyongyang, which accepted Western culture early on through China and displayed continental influences, and Gyeongseong, which as the hub of Korea was abundant in human and material resources, became archrivals, especially in football. Matches between the two cities were dubbed “Gyeongpyong games.” These derbies, like any other between rival cities, were exciting events. Up until 1946, right after the nation’s liberation from Japanese rule, home and away Gyeongpyong games and other regularly scheduled matches continued to be held. Exchanges between the two rival teams became more active with the trans-

20 KOREANA Autumn 2018

fer of Gyeongseong’s franchise player Kim Yong-sik to the Pyongyang team. If not for the ensuing national division and war, perhaps today we would still see player transfers between Seoul and Pyongyang, and avid fans traveling between the two cities to support their team in away games. Sadly, we have not seen such interactions for the past 70 years. However, despite the ongoing political and military tensions on the peninsula, inter-Korean sports exchanges and cooperation have never completely ceased. Such exchanges first resumed in 1964, when at the request of the International Olympic Committee, the two sides met to discuss the formation of a unified team for the Summer Olympics in Tokyo, although the talks ended without substantive results. Inter-Korean talks on sports exchanges were conducted 13 more times until the late 1980s, but all to no avail. Competition and Cooperation With progress stalled, the two Koreas competed against each other at several major sporting events. At the eighth FIFA World Cup held in England in 1966, the North Korean national team “Chollima,” its name derived from the mythical winged

1. Basketball players and coaches from the two Koreas enter the Ryugyong Chung Ju-yung Gymnasium in Pyongyang for a game on July 4, 2018, one of four in two days. The series was the first basketball matchup between North and South Korea since 2003. 2. South and North Korean players circle the field holding the Unification Flag after a “unification football match” on September 7, 2002, at Seoul World Cup Stadium. The match, the first inter-Korean friendship competition since 1990, ended in a scoreless draw.

horse, stunned the world by advancing to the quarterfinals. At a time when sports were perceived as an extension of the political rivalry between the two Koreas, this unexpected feat provoked the South to set up a football club under the umbrella of the Central Intelligence Agency in 1967. Its sole goal was beating the North, not scoring a win in the World Cup or the Asian Cup. As most of the best players were in the military back then, the agency had no difficulty in recruiting talent from the army, marines and air force. The team received all-out support from the government. In 1969 alone, they spent 105 days in Europe for off-season training. The manager of this football club during its overseas training was none other than the aforementioned Kim Yong-sik, the star player born in what is now North Korea. The club’s youngest striker was Lee Hoe-taik, who would serve as manager of the national team at the 14th World Cup in Italy in 1990. Lee visited Pyongyang for the “South-North unification match” held on October 11, 1990, as an advisor to the Southern team. There he was reunited with his father for the first time in 40 years, with the help of Park Doo-ik, the North Korean hero at the 1966 England World Cup. Having met at international matches, the pair had previously formed a friendship. Lee’s father went over to the North following the outbreak of the Korean War when Lee was just four years old. The day following the dramatic reunion was Lee’s birthday; his father prepared a birthday meal for him. At international sporting events where the two Koreas met for a symbolic face-off, there have been a number of such incidences fraught with heartache and tears. At the 1964 Summer Olympics in Tokyo, Shin Keum-dan, a North Korean track-andfield athlete and world record holder in the women’s 400 and 800 meters, was reunited with her father, Shin Mun-jun, who was living in the South, after 14 years apart. The heartrending reunion lasted only a few minutes, arousing deep public sympathy. It even inspired a popular song. At the 1978 Asian Games in Bangkok, the North and South Korean men’s football teams met in the grand final. The game went into overtime and ended in a goalless draw with the two sides sharing the gold. Yet a bitter scene unfolded at the medal ceremony. Kim Ho-kon, the South’s captain, allowed his Northern counterpart Kim Jong-min to go up on the podium ahead of him. But when Kim Ho-kon followed to take his place, the North’s captain refused to make room for him. The North’s goalie Kim Gwang-il even pushed him off when he tried to squeeze his way onto the podium. During the 1960s and 1970s, the governments of both sides used not only sports but overall inter-Korean issues as a means to strengthen and prolong their dictatorial rule. The 1980s saw both sides competitively exhibiting the supremacy

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 21

Despite the ongoing political and military tensions on the peninsula, inter-Korean sports exchanges and cooperation have never completely ceased. of their respective regimes, exploiting sports exchanges as a tool to manifest their legitimacy at home and abroad, as well as enhance their international images. Politics and Sports Inter-Korean sports exchanges began to deliver tangible results in the 1990s. The Roh Tae-woo administration in the South launched the foreign policy initiative “Nordpolitik” in tandem with global post-Cold War trends, stressing inter-Korean exchange, especially in sports. In October 1990, the two Koreas held two “unification football matches,” one in Pyongyang and one in Seoul. The South’s midfielder Kim Joo-sung, who played in the match at the Rungrado 1st of May Stadium in Pyongyang, recalled the event in an interview, saying, “I was impressed by citizens of Pyongyang carrying us on their shoulders over some one kilometer from the Sunan International Airport. It was touching, though shocking.” Such cross-border sports exchanges had a positive impact on inter-Korean relations. At the fifth high-level talks held on December 13, 1991, the two sides signed the “Agreement on Reconciliation, Non-Aggression, Exchanges and Cooperation between South and North Korea.” Also known as the “Inter-Korean Basic Agreement,” it was a landmark accord that continues to exert a positive influence on inter-Korean dialogue and negotiations to this day. Building on the conciliatory mood, the two Koreas fielded a unified team at the 1991 World Table Tennis Championships held in Chiba, Japan. South Korea’s Hyun Jung-hwa and North Korea’s Li Bun-hui teamed up to defeat the defending champion China, led by Deng Yaping, 3 to 2 and win the gold medal in the women’s team event. The dramatic story of their victory was later made into a movie. In June the same year, the two Koreas formed a combined men’s football team for the FIFA World Youth Championship, held in Portugal, and advanced into the quarterfinals. But sports exchanges between the two Koreas, just when they seemed to be taking off in earnest, came to a halt in the wake of Kim Il-sung’s death in 1994 and North Korea’s severe economic hardship. Inter-Korean sports cooperation picked up again when South Korean President Kim Dae-jung and North Korean leader Kim Jong-il met for a historic summit in Pyongyang in June

22 KOREANA Autumn 2018

1. The two Koreas’ unified women’s hockey team plays at the 2018 PyeongChang Winter Olympics, drawing the world’s attention. Foreign news agencies commented the team, though defeated, “made history” and “achieved a victory for peace.” 2. The two Koreas march together under the Unification Flag at the opening ceremony of the PyeongChang Winter Olympics on February 9, 2018. South Korea fielded 145 athletes in 15 disciplines, while North Korea sent 22 athletes in five disciplines.

2000, which resulted in the “June 15 South-North Joint Declaration.” On September 15 that year, athletes of the two Koreas paraded together for the first time at the opening ceremony of the Summer Olympics in Sydney. They did so again at the Busan Asian Games in 2002, the Aomori Asian Winter Games and the Daegu Summer Universiade in 2003, and the Athens Summer Olympics in 2004. In September 2002, the South and North Korean football teams held another “unification match” at the Seoul World Cup Stadium. After the game, Choi Tae-uk from the South and Ri Kang-in from the North exchanged their jerseys. Although FIFA advised against jersey-swapping, citing hygiene concerns, the two exchanged their boots as well as their jerseys as a symbolic gesture of “one nation.” Rekindled Hopes for Peace Since 2011, North Korea has set out to transform itself into a sporting powerhouse, with a particular focus on football. Culture and sports have become top policy priorities as the regime pushes forward with its agenda of building a “civilized socialist state.” In 2015, Kim Jong-un traveled to the airport to wel-

come the women’s football team returning from the EAFF E-1 Football Championship and congratulate them on defending their title. He has also been zealously committed to building large-scale sports facilities, such as the Rungrado 1st of May Stadium, Yanggakdo Stadium, Pyongyang Golf Course, and Masikryong and Samjiyon ski resorts. At the Asian Cup and Inter-Club Weightlifting Championships held in Pyongyang in 2013, South Korea’s national flag was hoisted and its national anthem played for the first time on North Korean soil. Policy shifts in North Korea under Kim Jong-un paved the way for members of its power elite to visit the South to attend the 2014 Asian Games in Incheon. The North also dispatched a large delegation of athletes and cheerleaders, as well as forming a joint women’s hockey team, to the PyeongChang Winter Olympics. On July 4 this year, the two Koreas held a friendly basketball game in Pyongyang. Talks are also underway to revive the Gyeongpyong football matches between the two capitals. Amid a growing mood for dialogue and efforts toward peace-building, cross-border exchanges in sports are expected to gain further momentum.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 23

‘We Are One!’ In February this year, North Korea dispatched a squad of 229 cheerleaders to the PyeongChang Winter Olympics as part of its official delegation. With more than 10 times the number of the North’s 22 athletes, the all-female squad cheered for both Koreas. Ahead of the Olympics, the North sent a troupe of some 140 top-class musicians, singers and dancers to stage two performances in Seoul and Gangneung. Kim Young-rok Reporter, Sports Chosun

North Korean cheerleaders grab the global spotlight as much for

squad has traveled to South Korea, following the 2002 Asian Games in

their looks as for the volatile situation on the peninsula and the enigmatic

Busan, the 2003 Summer Universiade in Daegu and the 2005 Asian Ath-

nature of the regime in Pyongyang. As a key component of the North’s

letics Championships in Incheon.

“charm offensive,” they can serve to ease tension and deliver a public display of peace.

The dispatch of cheer squads to overseas sporting events is also of major interest in North Korea. The members are given the rare oppor-

As expected, North Korea’s formidable team of cheerleaders at the

tunity to travel overseas and, at times, the chance to move up the social

PyeongChang Winter Olympics received enormous attention not only

ladder. So it comes as no surprise that competition for a spot on the

within South Korea but worldwide as well. The cheerleaders attracted

team is fierce. Members are selected largely from students in performing

huge crowds everywhere they went, be it sports arenas or tourist spots;

arts schools in Pyongyang based on strict criteria including appearance,

their every move was covered by the media.

family background and loyalty. It was rumored that the dispatch of cheerleaders to the 2014 Incheon Asian Games was cancelled due to ex-

Fourth Visit

cessive competition to join the squad.

Of course, North Korea has previously sent cheerleaders to major

There is a common saying in Korea, namnam bugnyeo. It means,

sporting events hosted in Asia; this is the fourth time the North’s cheer

“Men from southern regions are more handsome and women from

24 KOREANA Autumn 2018

northern regions are more beautiful.” Perhaps that’s why the frenzy sur-

certainly would not pierce holes into it.

rounding the North Korean cheerleaders has at times catapulted certain

Prior to this, at a warm-up match of the inter-Korean women’s ice

members to stardom. Ri Yu-gyong, captain of the cheering team that

hockey team there was an issue concerning the Korean peninsula flag

came in 2002, and the youngest member Chae Bong-i enjoyed immense

showing Dokdo, a group of islets that has been a point of ongoing con-

popularity and even had their own online fan clubs. Team member Cho

tention between Korea and Japan. At the protest of the Japanese govern-

Myong-ae even starred in a TV commercial with South Korean pop star

ment, the IOC urged that Dokdo be removed from the flag at the Winter

Lee Hyori.

Olympics. South Korea complied, and at the opening ceremony, athletes

Ri Sol-ju, the first lady of North Korea, has received the greatest

from the two Koreas marched behind the Unification Flag without the

spotlight of any of the former cheerleaders. When she first visited the

islets. However, the North protested and, throughout the games, the

South for an inter-Korean Red Cross youth event in 2003, people raved

cheerleaders waved the Unification Flag showing Dokdo along with their

about her beauty. Thereafter, she attended the North-South meeting of

national flag.

teachers at Mt. Kumgang in 2004 and was included as a member of the

In the past, the visit of a North Korean cheerleading team was in it-

cheerleading team for the 2005 Asian Athletics Championships. At the

self big news. During their first visit in 2002, thousands flocked to the har-

time, Ri said in an interview, “My dream is to perform in an arts troupe.”

bor to see the passenger ferry where the cheer squad was staying. On

She went on to join the Moranbong Band and later married Kim Jong-un,

their latest visit, the first in 13 years, the North Korean cheerleading team

reportedly around 2011–2012.

was again the center of attention at every event they attended. They

Not all the buzz surrounding the North Korean cheerleaders has

cheered and danced in perfect synchronization, shouting slogans such as

been positive. There was one incident during the 2003 Summer Universi-

“We are one!” and “Let us unite!” and singing folk songs familiar to peo-

ade concerning a banner with the image of Kim Jong-il’s face. While they

ple from both sides. However, they seemed utterly uninterested when

were traveling on a bus, the cheer squad saw the banner of their “dear

South Korean pop music filled the arena. Likewise, they were completely

leader” getting wet in the rain. They burst into tears and cried, “Our great

indifferent when other countries were competing, and left the stadium

general’s face is getting wet. We cannot leave it like this.” The banner had

immediately after matches involving the Korean teams were over.

to be removed immediately.

South Korean spectators also showed somewhat different reactions compared to the past. Some commented that the North Korean cheer-

Popularity and Controversy

leaders seemed like “an isolated island” or “machines” and that they ap-

At the start of the PyeongChang Winter Olympics, the North Korean

peared to be “trapped in their own little world.” The North’s nuclear prov-

cheerleading team unwittingly landed themselves in controversy over

ocations that continued up until a few months before the Olympics and

their use of so-called “Kim Il-sung face masks.” The masks were used as

controversy surrounding the last-minute formation of a unified women’s

props while cheering to a North Korean pop song, inviting heavy criticism

hockey team had evidently soured public sentiment.

from South Korean conservative groups. They contend© Yonhap News Agency

ed that the masks resembling the face of the young Kim Il-sung were being used for propaganda. Both the South

Korean government and North Korean officials denied the allegation, saying that the image was of a handsome man, most probably a famous North Korean actor. They

said that North Koreans would not dare to make a mask bearing the image of their “supreme leader,” and most

1. South Korean spectators welcome the North Korean cheerleading squad at the PyeongChang Winter Olympics. The cheerleaders attracted big crowds both inside and outside the Olympic venues. 2. North Korean cheerleaders sing and shout encouragement at a women’s track event. They drew attention with perfectly synchronized movements and cheers.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 25

SPECIAL FEATURE 4

Prelude to Peace: Inter-Korean DÃ©tente in Popular Culture

The Road to Legendary Mountains 26 KOREANA Autumn 2018

South Korean tourists take pictures by Chonji, the crater lake on top of Mt. Paektu. Straddling the border between North Korea’s Ryanggang Province and China’s Jilin Province, Mt. Paektu is the highest mountain in the Baekdu Daegan mountain range which runs 1,400 kilometers southward along the peninsula. Currently, South Koreans can only visit the mountain via China. © Yonhap News Agency

Koreans have always been attracted to Mt. Paektu and Mt. Kumgang for more than their exceptional scenic beauty; the two mountains have special historical, cultural and artistic significance to the nation. For South Koreans, especially, these mountains in the North are objects of yearning as well as grieving. Eun Hee-kyung Novelist

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 27

was born and raised in the southern half of a divided country, where I received intense anti-communist education. North Korea, I was taught, was ruled by a puppet regime, with labor camps and rampant poverty. School exams frequently included questions about the North’s Chollima Movement, which forced the people to work without ceasing, just like the eponymous horse that gallops 1,000 li (approx. 400 km) in a single day, and the “one in five households” system, under which every five families had one member of the Workers’ Party assigned to monitor their daily lives. Every so often, newspapers reported an armed guerilla invasion, and students were sent in large groups to exhibitions to look at the grenades, daggers and other weapons that had been confiscated from the guerillas. Anti-Communist Education In music class, however, we would sing, “Let’s go to Mt. Kumgang with its 12,000 peaks. How beautiful and marvelous they are.” And in our Korean textbook, we read an essay on travel to the same mountain, “The Endless Delight of the Mountain” (Sanjeong muhan), and imagined the beauty of its woods, waterfalls, clouds, fog and rocks. As the landscape completely changes with the seasons, we were told, the mountain has four different names: Kumgang (also spelled Geumgang), meaning “diamond,” is its name for spring, when all 12,000 peaks are clad with fresh green leaves and flowers, sparkling like a diamond. There is no less interest in Mt. Paektu. Above all, it is mentioned at the beginning of the Korean national anthem: “Until the day Mt. Paektu is worn away and the East Sea runs dry, God protect and bless our beloved country.” With the Kaema Plateau encircling the summit like a woman’s flared skirt, the mountain has preserved the mystery of primeval forests. Its name Paektu (also spelled Baekdu; meaning “white head”) is derived from the appearance of the summit area covered with white pumice deposits. With the majestic crags and the caldera lake Chonji (“heaven lake”), known to be the deepest of its kind in the world, the mountain has evoked the expansive spirit of the Korean nation. However, it seemed only to exist symbolically as “the nation’s spiritual sanctuary,” further abstracted by the tantalizing awareness that we could no longer visit it. Nevertheless, history progressed, opening new doors to these hidden places. In 2002, I finally set foot on Mt. Kumgang, in a picturesque valley flanked by craggy hills. And several years later, I was on top of Mt. Paektu looking at the waters of Chonji. The beginning of said history might be the Hyundai Group founder Chung Ju-yung’s visit to North Korea leading a herd

28 KOREANA Autumn 2018

of cattle. Born in the North, Chung came south at the age of 17 after stealing the money his father earned from selling his cow to start a business, which has grown to the conglomerate of today. In 1998, the then 83-year-old tycoon negotiated with the North and staged his homecoming to promote peace on the divided peninsula. He crossed the Demilitarized Zone through the border village of Panmunjom, leading a convoy of trucks carrying 500 head of cattle, which he said was repayment of the money he had stolen from his father. In November that year, the Hyundai Group launched a tourism business enabling South Korean citizens to travel to Mt. Kumgang. Two years later, then South Korean President Kim Dae-jung and Kim Jong-il, chairman of the DPRK National Defense Commission, met in Pyongyang and adopted the “June 15 Joint Declaration.” The “Sunshine Policy” of President Kim Dae-jung continued to thaw the long frozen relationship between the two Koreas. One of the notable outcomes was the decision for North Korean athletes and cheerleading squad to participate in the 2002 Busan Asian Games — for the first time since the division of the country. Coincidentally, it was the same year the FIFA World Cup was to be held in the South. Thus it was planned that a group of representatives from the cultural, artistic and athletic sectors would conduct a “sunrise-viewing ceremony to pray for the success of the World Cup and the Asian Games.” As schoolchildren, my generation had been mobilized to so many public events that even as an adult, repulsion was always my first response to any kind of government-initiated event. But to think that we would go to Mt. Kumgang! Frankly, when I was invited to the event, I was truly glad that I had become a novelist. Unfamiliar But Graceful Scenery What was that gentle thrill that coursed through me when I first set foot on North Korean soil? What about the awkward delight I felt conversing with the first North Korean I had ever met? And what was the faint but invigorating energy that enveloped me on a solitary walk along the valley of Mt. Kumgang? As a hiking enthusiast, I have climbed many mountains in and outside of South Korea, but the “diamond mountain” was like no other. The beauty was unfamiliar yet it seemed I had longed for it. Some members of the group complained that the propaganda slogans engraved on the rocks here and there ruined the landscape. Others found fault with the stiffness with which North Koreans treated us. But in the evening, when we looked at the faraway peaks while soaking in steamy hot springs, or at the gentle curves of the coastline stretching beautifully along the Haekumgang (“sea diamond”) area, all those ill feelings were forgotten. And then there was the hearty laughter of the

local people who loved to joke around, the savory bog bilberry liquor and Taedonggang Beer. My second chance to visit North Korea came three years later in 2005, when the Korean Writers’ Convention was held at Mt. Paektu. It was a historic event bringing together 200 Korean writers from both Koreas and overseas for the first time. Although it was a tough undertaking from the outset, our wish to get together with our own people was just as strong. Before departure, I went to a neighborhood pharmacy to prepare a small gift as the coordinators had suggested. The pharmacist was curious as to why I would need so much household medicine at one time. On learning that it would be taken to North Korea as a present, she gave me several times more than what I intended to buy and refused to take any money. “I hope everyone stays healthy and that we will all meet each other one day,” she said. In less than an hour after the Air Koryo flight took off from Seoul, we landed at the Sunan International Airport in Pyong-

A mountain with splendid scenery that changes every season, Mt. Kumgang was mostly inaccessible for South Koreans after territorial division in 1948. A cross-border tour program was launched in 1998 to enable South Koreans to visit the mountain by a sea route, but it was discontinued in 2004. Overland travel started in 2003 but stopped in 2008.

yang. It was a laughably short trip compared with my previous journey to Mt. Kumgang by sea, when I had been seasick all night. Crossing the Border Generally speaking, writers do not excel at group activities. Moreover, it was a gathering of individuals who had led disparate lives under different political systems, and what we wished to show each other was not the same as what we wished each other would see. Above all, the difference in values was a constant source of tension, conflict and misunderstanding. For instance, the South Koreans who trained their cameras on rural

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 29

scenery reminding them of their home villages in the 1970s had done so out of nostalgia, but it was a grave discourtesy to the North Koreans, for whom proving the superiority of their system was a matter of self-respect. On more than a few occasions, however, we were reminded of our shared roots. At the dinner table, when a North Korean writer called lettuce “buru,” a South Korean writer from Jeju Island was pleasantly surprised to find that what he had believed to be Jeju dialect was actually a standard word in the North. The conversation then turned to the linguistic homogeneity of the two Koreas. Although we had been divided for 60 years with little exchange, we had no trouble conversing with each other, except when words of foreign origin were used. Mt. Paektu in Dawn Light The Korean Writers’ Convention was scheduled at daybreak so that we could watch the rising sun from the top of Mt. Paektu. The bus carrying us departed the lodge halfway up the hillside in the predawn darkness. Most of us were asleep in the bus after a night of drinking, celebrating our friendship and the last night of the journey. It seemed that I was the only one awake. At the prospect of presiding over the ceremony on the summit, I was too nervous to be sleepy. But thanks to my wakefulness, I saw an unforgettable scene unfolding before my eyes — the beauty of the primordial forests waking up in the crepuscular light. Around the bend, the white birch woods gave way to a copse of larch trees, among whose scaled trunks bloomed all sorts of flowers in full glory. The water was crystal clear and the dark rocks created odd silhouettes here and there. Finally, we reached the summit and stood on Changgunbong (“general peak”) when the magnificent sun rose above the blue waters of Chonji. There, writers from the North and the South recited poems

and called out slogans together, and had our pictures taken with arms around each other’s shoulders. Later, an essay about the event recalled that a writer from the South had said, “Quietly remove the ugly barbed wire,” to which a writer from the North responded by saying, “When people unite in mind, even the heavens give in.” The optimistic atmosphere persisted. In the following year, the June 15 Commemorative Association of North and South Korean Writers was inaugurated in a ceremony held at Mt. Kumgang. There was also the “Literary Night at Mt. Kumgang,” where the writers from both sides met once again. Overland tours were operating to the mountain, so this time we did not have to suffer from seasickness. We took a bus and crossed the border to the North along the east coast. Once again, we had grains, vegetables, meat and drinks produced in the North. We exchanged jokes about whose books among ours would be more popular with North Koreans if the nation was reunited someday. We also encouraged each other, saying that for us writers of a minority language, reunification would be the only way to expand readership. In 2008, a literary magazine carrying the works of North and South Korean writers was published: “Reunified Literature” (Tongil munhak), a bulletin for the June 15 Commemorative Association, containing 33 works including short stories, poetry, essays and critiques. Fortunate enough to have my short story among them, I was able to obtain a copy of the magazine, 1. In 1998, Chung Ju-yung, honorary chairman of the Hyundai Group, initiated non-governmental exchanges and economic cooperation between North and South Korea by crossing the armistice line to visit the North, delivering 1,001 head of cattle over two visits. 2. South Korean writers take a group photograph to commemorate the 2005 Korean Writers‘ Convention held in North Korea. The gathering was made possible by a reconciliatory mood created by the “June 15 Joint Declaration” adopted at the first inter-Korean summit in 2000.

2 © Son Min-ho

30 KOREANA Autumn 2018

What was that gentle thrill that coursed through me when I first set foot on North Korean soil? What about the awkward delight I felt conversing with the first North Korean I had ever met? And what was the faint but invigorating energy that enveloped me on a solitary walk along the valley of Mt. Kumgang? which had finally seen the light of day after many complications. I put it on my bookshelf next to the anthology of a North Korean poet that I had received as a gift in Pyongyang. As the author of books that have been translated into multiple languages, I have often had the chance to meet foreign readers at international book fairs and literary events. That was one thing, but it was quite another to think about my books being read by North Koreans. But later in the same year, North-South relations rapidly cooled, partly due to an accident involving a South Korean tourist to Mt. Kumgang. Taking an early morning walk, she wandered into a North Korean military area and was shot by a sentry. The Mt. Kumgang tour program, which had steadily grown to attract more than a million visitors by 2005, was immediately discontinued. For the next ten years, the government of the South did not talk with the North. In the tense atmosphere, the tour program was often criticized for having financially benefited the enemy state. In the end, however, the door was reopened. In April this year, an inter-Korean summit was held at Panmunjom. The leaders of North and South Korea strolled to the footbridge on the border and sat on benches where they talked privately for 30 minutes. The stroll was broadcast live, but we could hear nothing but birds singing. On the following day, one news outlet attempted to use lip reading to eavesdrop on their conversation. Another report, which pleased me even more, explained the region’s ecosystem, identifying the call of each bird. I don’t believe I was alone in imagining the birds were chirping to herald an era of peace. On my bookshelf, there are two photography collections showcasing the North Korean landscape. One is “The Mountains and Rivers of North Korea” by Hiroji Kubota, a Magnum photographer, containing photographs taken in 1979 for the Japanese magazine “Sekai.” Kubota was the fourth Japanese national ever allowed to climb the mountains of North Korea. In the book’s epilogue, he wrote: “Mt. Paektu, the epitome of a majestic continental mountain, and Mt. Kumgang, an icon of Asia itself — I was overwhelmed by the vitality and grandeur of Mother Nature manifested by the two mountains.”

The book was published in 1988 by the Hankyoreh, a progressive daily newspaper established that year with donations from the general public. Publishing such a book required a measure of courage at the time when the Cold War was still going on and South Korea was under military dictatorship. Readers were excited about the book, and I did not hesitate to buy a copy for 30,000 won, which was enough to buy 300 packets of ramyeon noodles at the time. The Post-Division History Another photography collection on my bookshelf is “Mt. Paektu,” published in 1982 by DPRK Pictorial in Pyongyang. I bought it when I attended the Korean Writers’ Convention. Unlike the pictures taken by Kubota, who had to work with time and permission constraints, this book features all the subtle changes of the four seasons, and the richly detailed photographs are more personal and varied. Although the level of artistry is far lower, I am as much enamored with the people’s lives captured in the photographs as with the scenery itself. In North Korea, Mt. Paektu is held dear as a jewel of natural beauty, but its historical value as a site of independence struggles is just as important. Once home to a secret camp of the Korean People’s Revolutionary Army, the mountain has many memorial statues, towers and steles as well as preserved sites of the guerrillas’ homes and camps. Over the decades since Korea was divided, the mountain has evolved as a sacred place symbolizing the North Korean people’s own modern history — a history that is different from that of the South. Unless we understand this, we may not be prepared to enter that land. These days, I make a lot of travel plans with my friends. We promise that if the railway is connected to run through the North-South border, and then to Russia and Europe, we’ll go visit these places in the same order, from Seoul to Pyongyang, Vladivostok, Moscow, and then to Paris. We say, why take an airplane when we can travel by train? And I want to go back to Mt. Paektu as well, not via China but directly by railway. I know, of course, that it will take a lot of time and understanding for the long-severed lines to be reconnected. But surely we can wait. Can’t we?

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 31

Tours for Peace and Reconciliation The Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) is a strip of land approximately 4 km wide and 250 km long running on either side of the Military Demarcation Line (MDL), dividing the Korean peninsula. As the Korean War culminated in an armistice, the then frontier line was settled as the border, and the village of Panmunjom, where the agreement was signed, became the Joint Security Area and the one and only passage between the two Koreas. Today, Panmunjom and the truce facilities on the border attract almost three million annual visitors from in and outside of the country. Ham Kwang-bok Director, Korea DMZ Institute

In his book “This Kind of War,” American historian and columnist

The two leaders strolling on the border footbridge was a dramatic

Theodore R. Fehrenbach describes the moment the DMZ was created in

scene that captivated audiences around the world. That day, they walked

the ceasefire agreement signed at Panmunjom on July 27, 1953, as fol-

side by side, the blue footbridge vivid against the bright green woods,

lows: “At 10:01 they signed the first of eighteen documents prepared by

and sat at a small wooden table at one end. During the live broadcast of

each side. It took them twelve minutes to sign them all. Then, each man

the meeting, not a word was heard, nor was there any background mu-

got up and left the building, without speaking.”

sic. There was only the sonorant cries of thrushes and the vibrant replies

The DMZ is the Cold War’s last frontier. This land of tragedy, which

of grey-headed woodpeckers.

seemed destined to remain a symbol of division, has suddenly begun to speak of peace. This April in Panmunjom, the place of armistice and the

Four Keywords

perpetuated division of Korea, South Korean President Moon Jae-in and

The significance of the DMZ can be understood from four major

Chairman of the DPRK State Affairs Commission Kim Jong-un signed the

aspects. First, it is an ecological treasure trove born from the Cold War. In

“Panmunjom Declaration for Peace, Prosperity and Unification of the

spite of the destructive war and the long military confrontation, nature

Korean Peninsula” and promised to work together to bring peace to the

has found a way to recover and sustain itself. According to statistics re-

region.

leased by the National Institute of Ecology in June 2018, the DMZ is home 1

32 KOREANA Autumn 2018

to 5,929 species of wildlife, including 101 endangered ones. Yet, it was not by human hands that the battlefields reverted to healthy forests. Secondly, the DMZ is a living war museum. When the plain across the Imjin River “moved” just before the Chinese army launched a major offensive during the Korean War, the British soldiers who fought here must have been painfully reminded of a scene from “Macbeth,” where the protagonist is warned to prepare for war if the forest moves. After all, the DMZ is an epic war documentary filled with the memories of 63 nations who took part in the war in many ways. The DMZ is also the birthplace of a special border culture. In the nearby villages to the north of the Civilian Control Line, the residents coexist with nature, practicing ecological morality by feeding migratory birds and reaping the rewards in the form of bird-watching tourism. Here, too, the old die, the young love, and children are born.

2 © Gyeonggi Tourism Organization Goseong Observatory

NORTHERN LIMIT LINE

2km

MILITARY DEMARCATION LINE (MDL)

2km

DMZ

SOUTHERN LIMIT LINE

Cheorwon Peace Observatory

Bridges, Symbolic and Real The fourth key to understanding Panmunjom is its bridges. Imme-

Yeolsoe Observatory

diately after the ceasefire agreement, the Neutral Nations Supervisory

Taepung Observatory

Commission built a wooden bridge on the marsh along the MDL to the

seems to be the first step in that direction. Four centuries earlier, in 1592, King Seonjo of Joseon was fleeing northward, pursued by Japanese soldiers who had invaded through the southern coast and were advancing farther inland. When the king arrived at the small village only to find the flooded river impassable, the villagers took down their gates made of wooden panels (neolmun) and formed a bridge across the river for the king. From then on, the village was

Hwacheon Observatory Seungni Observatory

Dora Observatory

byproduct of the Cold War, the small footbridge has now become a symmake the DMZ a peace belt, and the two leaders’ walk on the footbridge

Eulji Observatory

PANMUNJOM

east of Panmunjom to shorten the path between the conference halls. A bol of peace. The “April 27 Panmunjom Declaration” includes a promise to

East Sea

Odusan Observatory Yellow Sea

Aegibong Observatory

Ganghwa Observatory

1. A group of North Koreans visit Panmunjom, the only passage in the DMZ. South Koreans who want to visit the truce village through socalled “security tourism” must apply at least 60 days in advance at the National Intelligence Service. Only groups are eligible. 2. With a pristine ecosystem preserved over decades, the areas around the DMZ bear the scars of the Korean War, reminding visitors of the bitter reality of a divided nation.

called Neolmun-ri (meaning the “panel gate village”) until the name was changed to Panmunjom, based on the Chinese characters of the same meaning, as the Chinese delegates proposed during the ceasefire talks. Moreover, there was once a symbolic bridge across the Military

500 cattle in a convoy of trucks, laying down what is probably the most spectacular “bridge of peace” since division.

Demarcation Line. In November 1984, Vasily Yakovlevich Matujok, a tour guide for the Soviet Embassy in Pyongyang, sought asylum after cross-

Steps Toward Peace

ing the MDL, running between the buildings where the Military Armistice

Recently, “security tourism” has attracted a growing number of

Commission was holding a conference. Another southbound crossing

tourists from Korea and abroad to visit Panmunjom and the DMZ area.

occurred in November 2017, when a North Korean soldier defected by

Yet access remains restricted. Visitors must go through a security check

running across the line, wounded by gunshots from the North.

to enter the area and move along a predetermined course; they can visit

In June 1994, former U.S. President Jimmy Carter visited North Korea

only during the daytime, led by a guide, and are not supposed to take

through Panmunjom to intervene in the first North Korean nuclear crisis.

photographs without permission. In spite of all the restrictions, many

A few years later, the founder of the Hyundai Group Chung Ju-yung vis-

people head for Panmunjom to experience its unique Cold War legacy, a

ited the North twice, in June and October 1998, each time with a gift of

historic site where they can ponder the meaning of war and peace.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 33

FOCUS

34 KOREANA Autumn 2018

Ondol

Becomes National Cultural Heritage A floor heating system exemplifying the traditional fire-handling skills of Koreans, ondol has profoundly influenced their lifestyle. Today, the household habits shaped many centuries ago by the unique heating method continue in certain forms. This is why ondol is recognized as a “national intangible cultural property.” Ham Seong-ho Poet and Architect

A guest room of the old clan head house of Jang Heung-hyo (1564–1633, pen name Gyeongdang), a Confucian scholar of the mid-Joseon Dynasty, in Andong, North Gyeongsang Province. The floor of an ondol room is usually given a glossy finish with soybean oil after thick hanji (traditional paper) is pasted on clay covering. The furniture is placed farthest from the fire. © Ahn Hong-beom

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 35

he earliest forms of ondol on the Korean peninsula date back to the Neolithic Period. The underfloor heating system encouraged Koreans to sit and lie on the floor. All household activities — eating, reading, interacting and sleeping — were done at floor level, and to accommodate the activities, various short-legged tables emerged. Fittingly, the starting point of a home ondol was the kitchen. It became an especially meaningful part of Korean homes. Besides providing nourishment and warmth to the family, the kitchen contained an altar to serve the gods overseeing their welfare, as well as a place of purification. Many middle-aged Koreans share similar experiences tethered to the heated floors: warming up from the winter cold; putting a rice bowl on the warmest spot on the floor; and reserving the hotspot for the oldest family members and guests. These habits are less frequently seen today as modern houses and apartments are furnished with Western-style tables, chairs and beds. But even the modernized versions of the traditional heating system facilitate the floor-level activities of previous generations. The way of living born from ondol remains present throughout the country. That is why it was recognized as a “national intangible cultural property” by the Cultural Heritage Administration in April this year.

36 KOREANA Autumn 2018

Today, practically every Korean home has a modernized version of ondol, while the traditional heating system is difficult to find. Its main component was the agung-i, a firebox or stove. It was placed beneath floor level, adjoining the kitchen, and functioned more like a furnace to produce radiant heating from a system of flues running under the floor. The complicated structure and function, of course, was quite different from fireplaces.

Agung-i and Fireplace A fireplace directly heats the room air, a convection heating system. However, the warm air rises and the fire in the fireplace burns oxygen in the room, making the air stuffy. Before the advent of the chimney around the 13th and 14th century in Europe, windows had to be opened to change the air, which wasted the generated heat. Traditional Chinese houses in most areas lacked any special heating system to handle cold weather. There was hardly any reason to make a fire except for cooking and the houses lacked a chimney. The room where the fire was lit had a high ceiling and a roof consisting of logs about 10 centimeters wide with roof tiles on top of them. Smoke gathered under the high ceiling and disappeared between the roof tiles, along with the warm air. Japanese traditional houses with tatami floor mats

also lacked a chimney. In the traditional ondol system, the heat from the firebox warms the floor, which, in turn, warms the room air. The radiant heating method has higher thermal efficiency than convection heating produced by a fireplace. Radiant heat easily warms a large space and delivers a relatively even distribution of the room’s temperature. It also does not pick up and circulate dust, as occurs with convection air currents. Radiant heating can be found elsewhere in the world. Smoke houses in Finland and pechka, the Russian brick stove, are examples. A heating system similar to ondol is the kang, which spread from Hebei Province to the northeastern region of China. The kang is confined to only a part of a room, usually the size of a large bed. Compared to other radiant and convection heating systems, the most conspicuous difference is that the traditional Korean ondol system produced no smoke in the room. Structure and Principle In heating a room from the outside, the traditional ondol system is quite unique. Much is required for the system to function properly: the heat has to be collected and sent deep under the floor from the firebox without being lost. At the same time, smoke has to be removed without allowing it to seep up through the floor.

Besides the agung-i, the other primary components of the ondol system are the gorae and the gaejari at the entrance to the chimney. The gorae are underfloor flues that transfer the heat, warming the floor and carrying the smoke to the chimney. Each flue is about 20 centimeters wide. It usually is built by laying straight lines of bricks on their sides askew toward the chimney. With the brick walls between flues as support fixtures, stone plates some 5 to 8 centimeters thick cover the whole floor and then the stone plates are coated with a solid layer of mud. These stone plates are called the gudeul. The entry to the flues is beside the firebox so flames extend horizontally when the fuel is lit, and the heat enters the underfloor network of flues with the smoke, which is channeled to the chimney. Although the fire’s passages are well organized, some heat can escape because the firebox is open to the kitchen, which facilitates cooking. 1. In Korean traditional houses, the kitchen adjoins the main room. Hot air from the kitchen’s agung-i (firebox or stove) flows into the flues under the floor to warm the room. 2. To ensure even heat distribution, proper placement of underfloor flues (gorae) and stone floor plates (gudeul) are of utmost importance. The flues are typically made of bricks stacked in straight lines or in a fan-shaped pattern. The stone plates usually are thicker near the firebox and thinner farther away.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 37

1 © Cultural Heritage Administration

The ondol system is excellent at preserving heat. Once a fire is made in the evening, the room keeps the warmth until the next morning. If the stone floor plates are well laid, only about six logs are needed to keep the warmth for three days. For a meditation room in Chilbul Temple on Mt. Jiri, about half a ton of logs can be burned at once, with the fire keeping the floor and walls of the room warm for up to a hundred days. The room is noted for its “double ondol system” and cross-shaped floor with a raised meditation platform at each corner. As such, an ondol system can keep heat for a long time, even with only a little fuel, but when a fire goes out and the structure cools, cold air goes through the firebox and the chimney, moistening the flues. If the flues remain moist for a long time, the heat is not easily rekindled, requiring more fuel. To prevent this problem, a crock called gaejari (meaning “dog’s spot”) is positioned near the chimney to catch the moisture collecting inside the flues. The moisture gathered in the crock is evaporated by the heat when the fire enters the flues again. That is why a fire is lit in the morning and evening during the summer rainy season, to dry not only the room but also the

38 KOREANA Autumn 2018

humid air under the floor. Indeed, in the past, a pet dog sometimes went into the pit near the firebox to escape the winter cold. Of course, the dog risked being awakened by the lick of the morning fire. Therefore, anyone who made fire in the morning first checked that the firebox was empty by striking the inside with a stick. Hot-Water Heating One of the reasons why ondol culture was designated a national intangible cultural asset is that the traditional ondol is fast disappearing. Today, most Korean houses have replaced ondol with a water boiler and pipes laid under the floor to heat the rooms. In a large apartment complex, hundreds or thousands of homes are heated through a centralized hot-water heating system. Famed American architect Frank Lloyd Wright first used hot water pipes for underfloor heating in the early 20th century. The master of modern architecture encountered the Korean ondol in Tokyo during the winter of 1914. Baron Okura Kihachiro, a renowned entrepreneur, had

Convection

Conduct

Radiation

Ashes

“We were soon warm and happy again — kneeling there on the floor, an indescribable warmth. No heating was visible nor was it felt directly as such. It was really a matter not of heating at all but an affair of climate.”

1. The old home of Sim Ho-taek, a wealthy man who used the pen name Songso, in Cheongsong County, North Gyeongsang Province. Built around 1880, it is a typical house of the noble class of the late Joseon period. Each room connected to the agung-i is heated, but the open, wooden-floored hall is not. 2. When a fire is lit in the firebox, the hot air and smoke moves into the underfloor flues. The room is warmed by convection heat through the floor while the smoke disperses through the chimney.

commissioned Wright to design the Imperial Hotel. One day, when the architect was shivering from the cold, Okura introduced him to a “Korean room.” It was part of Jaseondang, the former residence of the Korean crown prince, which was moved from Gyeongbok Palace in Seoul. Traditional Korean houses are constructed by dovetailing lumber together and therefore are relatively easy to disassemble and rebuild. Wright recalled his experience as follows: “The climate seemed to have changed. No, it wasn’t the coffee; it was spring. We were soon warm and happy again — kneeling there on the floor, an indescribable warmth. No heating was visible nor was it felt directly as such. It was really a matter not of heating at all but an affair of climate.” (‘Gravity Heat’ from “Frank Lloyd Wright: An Autobiography,” 1943 revised edition) Wright straightened winding electrical radiators and laid them under the floors of the Imperial Hotel. That was the beginning of hot-water underfloor heating, and Wright applied this system to other buildings thereafter. A traditional ondol room is also a “healing space.” The

smoke-free, radiant heating helps to prevent diseases of the bronchial tubes such as sinus infections and pneumonia. It is also effective in easing neuralgia and arthritic pain. Usually, a cold sufferer can get relief by lying on a warm floor and covering up to induce sweating; nasal congestion is alleviated. The same procedure also helps lower a fever. After an exhausting day, simply sleeping in an ondol room makes one feel light and invigorated the next morning. An ondol room is also quite effective for postnatal care. Healing Space These results are explained by the fact that the far-infrared rays radiated from the stones and mud when the room is heated permeate our body and have an effect of therapeutic hyperthermia. Direct heat touching the skin rather than the heat in the air helps blood circulation, and the far-infrared rays increase the body’s level of immunity and help the body recover its self-healing power. This is why scientific experiments and efforts continue to combine these health effects of ondol with modern heating systems.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 39

INTERVIEW

Capturing Memories of a Vanishing Past 40 KOREANA Autumn 2018

“Je Family Store” (2018). Pen and acrylic ink on paper, 75 × 135.5 cm.

Lee Me-Kyeoung is enthralled by things that are fading away. For the past 20 years, she has traveled all over the country in search of old corner stores that have become symbolic places of decline and extinction. With fine, delicate pen strokes, she captures the age-old stories of the charming mom-and-pop stores and the people who have spent their lives around them. Chung Jae-suk Senior Culture Reporter, The JoongAng Ilbo Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 41

ee Me-Kyeoung has a little bump on the side of her right middle finger, a reminder of her years spent holding a pen more than 10 hours a day and drawing thousands, or even tens of thousands of lines. Every morning, when she steps into her atelier, she becomes a “laborer” with the pen as her tool. Whish, whoosh; the sound of the nib passing over the paper invigorates her. Her days flow in harmony with the repetitive strokes of her pen. “You can’t create pen and ink drawings with a half-hearted effort,” said Lee. “Brushstrokes cannot compare with the texture created by the multiple layers of ultra-thin, delicate pen lines. I combine 28 acrylic ink colors and draw as if I’m layering the different colors. This way, the color underneath emerges brightly and clearly. The colors become solid without appearing too thick, much like the unaffected charm of the corner stores weathered and worn by the times. So, in a way, the subject matter and form are in perfect harmony.” Lee studied Western painting at Hongik University when German Neo-expressionism was the dominant trend in the art world. There were days when she stayed all night at the school’s art room; one of those nights, she produced four large paintings. It was by chance that she switched to pen and ink painting, an art form which calls for meticulous detail. In summer 1997, she was pregnant with her second child while raising a baby just over two years old when she left Seoul to live in the nearby city of Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province. It was there that she saw the corner store that seemed to have been waiting for her all along. Subject for Life’s Work “The first spring after I had my second child, I was spending my days sitting in front of the canvas again with a pen, drawing random things that came to mind, searching for a new beginning,” Lee recalled. “One beautiful day when cherry blossom petals were falling like snow, I made a trip to the corner store. I hadn’t been there in a long while, and the place seemed unfamiliar and at the same time quaintly charming. The reddish-brown slate roof displayed subtle changes in color depending on the time of day, and even the word ‘beverages’ in red letters written on the window in a slapdash manner seemed stylish.” She returned home and waited until her children were asleep before she started drawing. She was elated, her heart fluttering with excitement; emotions she hadn’t felt in a long time. The constant pressure of having to draw something had weighed heavily on her, and suddenly she felt liberated from the distress and anxiety. She had finally found the subject that tugged at her heartstrings — that would be her life’s work. “That’s it. This is what art is,” she realized. She slowly and

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patiently waited for that “perfect” store that would captivate her heart. This is why during the first 10 years she managed to produce no more than 15 pieces. Whenever she hears of a corner store that still retains its authentic old charm, she immediately goes to see it. Once is not enough. She wishes to fully capture the store’s charm as it changes between night and day, and from season to season. Even though she takes dozens of photographs, there is always a detail that she misses. There is a huge difference between simply observing the store with your eyes and cherishing it in your heart. As word has spread that she draws small neighborhood stores, many people have come to her with information about a mom-and-pop store somewhere. A few years ago, she received a text message from an acquaintance that said, “Ms. Lee, Yusim Store in our neighborhood is closing down soon. You should come quickly and take pictures if you haven’t already done so.” “I had been to the store a couple of times and knew the owner, an old lady over 80,” Lee recollected. “I thought she had finally decided to close the business after running it for over 50 years. It was so sad to think yet another old store in Seoul would fade into history. I felt a part of me crumble inside.” There have been stores that were damaged, changed, or replaced by a new establishment even before she finished her drawing. She oftentimes would go to a store she had heard about, only to find it had already closed down. Lamenting the demise of the small neighborhood stores, Lee said, “It is sad to think how much we are sacrificing in the name of growth and development.” “Looking at the collection of my corner store drawings produced over the past 20 years, I see how the structure of the buildings, the shape of the roof and materials vary by region,” said Lee. “When I come across an old store, I have the habit of picturing what it would have looked like when it first opened. For example, slate roofs were introduced in the early 1970s as a result of the Saemaul (New Community) Movement. I have even come across Japanese-style wooden houses with high roofs that were built during the Japanese rule. It would be interesting just to compare the different roofs in my drawings. They suggest the importance of preserving and restoring the past and putting a check on the rampant practice of doing away with the old and replacing it with the new.” The quaint little stores and their owners — the discoveries of her nationwide search — continue to live on in her drawings. Since no one knows if or when they will return, her slowTo create the texture of a pen and ink drawing, thousands, or even tens of thousands of fine pen lines are layered on top of each other. Lee Me-kyeoung spends more than 10 hours a day working on her drawings, causing chronic pain in her right middle finger.

“I want to share the stories tucked away in my memory with others and reminisce together.” KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 43

ly and scrupulously created artworks are, in effect, an archive that bears testimony to the times. Memories for Everyone “Some people ask why I’m fixated on things that are disappearing from our lives, why I’m wrapped up in nostalgia,” said Lee. “But I want to share the stories tucked away in my memory with others and reminisce together. All I’m suggesting is that we be more aware of what is around us and not miss the opportunity to appreciate the small, simple things that have been a part of our lives. A friendly neighborhood store, a mother’s warm embrace, sewing baskets, old dishes — I want to depict in my drawings those things that evoke tender feelings and tell common stories of ordinary lives.” Corner stores are not simply a plain building to Lee. They each have their own character, just like people. She still remembers a nameless store she happened upon when she visited Ttangkkeut (“land’s end”) Village in Haenam at the southernmost point of the Korean peninsula. “I was climbing an uphill road next to Mireuk Temple along Highway 806 when I spotted the store. I could tell at a glance that it was a place with a long

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history, appearing as though it had witnessed the many joys and sorrows of the times,” she recalled. Sitting desolately under the dusky evening sky, the store embodied the images of all the corner stores Lee had searched for across the country and documented. As darkness began to descend and the sky turned a deep purplish blue, the dense trees standing at the back emerged like a folding screen revealing their stately presence, and the store unveiled its true character. “The glow of the streetlamp standing next to the store and the yellowish light flowing out through the windows appeared like the bright eyes of a saint radiating warmth. There was a poignant beauty about the mysterious atmosphere created by the shadows of the night and the glowing lamplight that is particular to old rundown shops. It was the epitome of the motif of my works,” said Lee. Lee’s corner store drawings invariably include a tree. She depicts them in various forms and shapes depending on the region and season, so that they are in harmony with the subject matter. Just as every person has a family, a corner store needs to have at least one tree, she thinks. Time stands still in her drawings, but the trees continue to grow. The older the shop, the

larger the tree, standing next to each other like good friends. “Ten years ago I visited Seokchi Store in Gunsan, North Jeolla Province. It was the archetype of corner stores and looked as if it might have leapt out of one of my drawings,” said Lee. “There were two large trees standing on the left side of the store that created an odd harmony. With the appearance of a Taoist immortal, the gray-haired shopkeeper told me the story of his 40 years with the store. There was something deeply moving about a person’s lifelong dedication to a single pursuit. Later I heard that the store closed a few years after my visit. Only the two chestnut trees remained standing. Like family, they will remember the store and its owner, and pass along their stories.” A Slow, Full Life In March 2017, BBC News introduced 10 works by Lee in an article titled “The Charm of South Korea’s Disappearing Convenience Stores.” She was also invited to exhibit her works at the Tokyo International Art Fair this May. Lee’s heartwarming drawings of mom-and-pop stores — originally intended for domestic audiences — have garnered the attention of glob-

1. “Pungnyeon Supermarket” (2017). Pen and acrylic ink on paper, 35 × 35 cm. 2. “Winter in Sancheok” (2017). Pen and acrylic ink on paper, 80 × 80 cm.

al art dealers and art lovers. Her book titled “Fond Childhood Memories of the Corner Store,” which features 80 of her drawings and the stories behind them, has been immensely popular. It was published in France and Taiwan in June and a Japanese translation is on its way. Lee’s solo exhibition is slated for October in Seoul. “Exhibitions are by no means easy because the drawings take so much time and work. It requires stamina and energy, which is why I have to pace myself and take care of my health. I intend to take it easy next year and relax a little,” she said. In the meanwhile, she has a lot of work on her hands. She hopes to organize her 200 or so corner store drawings that are scattered here and there, and has plans to start drawing old bookstores. But she said she has no intention of rushing and added, “Live a slow, full life — that’s the life wisdom pen and ink art has taught me.”

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GUARDIAN OF HERITAGE

Hopes for Traditional Songs That Everyone Can Enjoy Gasa are traditional Korean poetic songs handed down mostly in the form of scores. Therefore, the first performance of the complete cycle of 12 gasa in 1997 was a groundbreaking event. The singer was Lee Jun-ah, who has devoted herself to the classical vocal music for over 50 years. U Seung-yeon Freelance Writer Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Lee Jun-ah, who has devoted herself to traditional Korean vocal music for a half century, says that a profound understanding of all human feelings is necessary to express the lyrics properly. In March this year, she was designated holder of Intangible Cultural Property in the art of singing gasa, traditional poetic songs.

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nfamiliar melodies floated around her childhood home. Lee Jun-ah was always busy, not playing outside with her friends but learning the words of ancient poems. Back then, she would hover around her grandfather, picking up fragments of the seemingly illegible lyrics and moving her body to the gentle, slow tunes that he would sing all day, sometimes with his guests. She liked it as much as playing outside. Recollecting her childhood, Lee says, “My grandfather, who was a public official, loved singing the poetic songs, sijo, and regularly attended singing sessions. When I was about six years old, his elderly friends from the singing club, sijobang, used to come to our house and take turns singing.” Her mother served tea, and she sat there watching them. With time, she learned the songs and began to sing in front of the guests. “I

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loved the praises they gave me. And the pocket money, too,” she says. Her Grandfather’s Consolation The guests were amazed; the child could sing the old songs that contained difficult words. They wondered who had taught her. She had no proper teacher, though. She just repeated the melodies that she had heard for so long, and memorized the words whose meaning she did not know. If anything served as her teacher, it would have been her own talent and her grandfather’s passion for music. He adored his talented granddaughter, but was strict when training her. Being just a child, she simply reasoned that he loved those songs so much that he wanted her to sing them well. Sometimes she wanted to go out to play, but she followed his rigorous training because his compliments

made her happy. Years had passed when she realized that her grandfather’s preoccupation with her training “had something to do with the violin.” “My grandfather, who loved violin music, raised his eldest son to be a violinist,” Lee says. “I heard that my uncle was an excellent musician. He even formed a trio with cellist Jeon Bong-cho, who later became dean of the College of Music at Seoul National University, and pianist Yun I-sang, the world-renowned composer who went into exile in Germany in the 1970s.” She came to know that her uncle was in North Korea. They said he was abducted during the Korean War, devastating her grandfather, so the mere sound of the violin greatly saddened him. Lee also learned to play the instrument briefly in her childhood, but her grandfather prevented her from carrying on with it. Eventually, his passion for music found another outlet in sijo singing. Her uncle was violinist Lee Gye-seong, who went over to the North during the war and later served as concertmaster of the State Symphony Orchestra there for many years. After all, the sijo songs consoled her family who experienced Korea’s tragic modern history. They also changed the course of life for the young Lee Jun-ah. Dream of Her Own Recognizing her talent, Lee’s grandfather searched for a competent teacher. Then, a family acquaintance introduced her to Yi Ju-hwan (1909–1972), who had served as first director of the National Traditional Music Institute, the predecessor of the National Gugak Center. Under the virtuoso singer and teacher, Lee set out on a long, painstaking journey of serious music study. However, life did not go as planned. Yi passed away a few years later, leaving her at a loss for how to continue her study. In the meantime, she started to participate in monthly concerts of the Korean Jeongak Institute, which specializes in traditional court music. Although the concerts were just given once a month, they were a great burden for an elementary school child who was too young to develop a grand plan for her future. Even at her age, she already took music for granted just like the air, but she had no big dreams about using her musical talent in any way. She was just happy to see others

On the gasa scores, the lyrics are written in verse form in the upper part and the pitch and rhythm of each syllable in the grid in the lower part. Of the 12 gasa pieces surviving today, all but three are in sextuple time.

enjoy her singing. Lee goes on with her recollections: “When things didn’t go as planned, I refused to study music altogether. I entered a regular middle school and focused on schoolwork for three years, just like other kids. I considered going to a regular high school and then major in something other than music at university. Then my grandfather stood firm in his objections. He must have had some foresight. In the end, I decided to enter the Gugak National High School.” Shortly after Lee entered high school, a teacher who would open her eyes to a new world sought her out — Yi Yang-gyo. With the new teacher, she finally committed herself to learning jeongga, which means “proper songs.” She also came to realize, however vaguely, the significance of what she was doing, and began thinking about how to help revive the genre. Only when she was initiated into the sub-genre of gasa did she finally start to pursue her own dream. The Final Choice The Gugak National High School introduces jeongga on its website, roughly as follows: “Jeongga, meaning ‘proper songs,’ are a genre of traditional Korean vocal music, sung and enjoyed by the literati of the Joseon Dynasty. It is divided into gagok, sijo and gasa. Unlike pansori and minyo (folk songs), which plainly deal with all sorts of human emotions, this elegant vocal genre is characterized by a rigorous control of emotions. Gagok are the most relaxing in tempo and most refined among them, with poetry and music tastefully blended to create a peaceful and profound realm of art. With a five-line structure, gagok were the songs of professional singers accompanied by a small-scale orchestra, while sijo, based on three-line poems, were so widespread that amateurs could sing them to the rhythm of their hands slapping their knees. Lastly, gasa have long verses and are sung to set rhythms.” Unlike pansori and minyo, relatively well known to the public, jeongga expressing the lofty spirit of Confucian scholars, or seonbi, were, and still are, a major that few students choose. Lee Jun-ah was no exception, for she entered high school to major in the geomungo, a traditional Korean zither. Later, when she entered Chugye University for the Arts and then graduate school at Ewha Womans University, it seemed that she had no choice but to continue majoring in the instrument. But things changed, though gradually, while she was pursuing her undergraduate and graduate studies. Gasa were different from the songs she had long been singing. There was something special and demanding about them. She also found it hard to empathize with the unfamiliar ancient Chinese tales alluded to in the songs. For example,

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“I’ve done research on the 12 gasa songs, appreciating the beauty and uniqueness of each, and refined my performance of them for 40 years. Doing so, I realized that the universe is ruled by yin and yang, just as there is no joy without sadness.”

“White Seagull Song” (Baekgu-sa) describes a man rambling in nature appreciating the spring scenery, after being abandoned by the king and ousted from public service; and “Mt. Suyang Song” (Suyangsan-ga) is about a man disheartened as his plan for a leisurely outing to eat and drink under the moonlight was thwarted by wind and snow. The themes of those songs, in a word, were quite removed from the teenage sensibility of a high school girl. To embrace the new genre not just with her voice but also with all her heart, it was essential to understand and empathize with the content of the songs. So began Lee’s research into the songs, which continued through high school and university, and into her years as a training assistant for her teacher, who was a “living human treasure.” Lee’s studies were enlightening. “You should sing a certain song in a major key, as brightly as the sun in May; another song ruefully like a minor-key song in Western music; yet another song merrily and cheerfully like folk songs; and still another in a big-hearted way,” she says. “I’ve done research on the 12 gasa songs, appreciating the beauty and uniqueness of each, and refined my performance of them for 40 years. Doing so, I realized that the universe is ruled by yin and yang, just as there is no joy without sadness.” With an insight into human life gained by singing these contemplative songs for decades, Lee presents matchless performances, which have been described as “more potent and profound” than those of other artists with the same repertoire. Her recitals have been particularly successful overseas. During a concert tour last spring around Europe — Hamburg and Munich in Germany and Brussels in Belgium — audiences who were hearing these ancient Korean songs for the first time enthusiastically called for encores.

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It has been four decades since Lee first learned to sing gasa at the age of 17. In that time she has worked for the National Gugak Center for 35 years, initially as a member of its court music orchestra, then as an advisory committee member, and currently as concertmaster. All these long years, gasa have been a part of her life. Therefore, being the designated holder of a cultural property [Gasa: Important Intangible Cultural Property No. 41] is a recognition by the state and society that she earned with her lifelong dedication, rather than a mere mark of honor or authority. Full Cycle Performed “Nobody had ever performed all 12 gasa pieces on stage, so I decided to give it a try. My efforts came to fruition in 1997, when I held the first-ever recital of the complete gasa cycle.

Congratulations and words of encouragement arrived from everywhere,” Lee says. Her songs were released in an album of four CDs in 2008. In 1997, she also participated in the First International Music Festival “Sharq Taronalari” (Melodies of the East) in Samarkand, hosted by the government of Uzbekistan and sponsored by UNESCO. “Since gagok were inscribed on UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2010, efforts to perform and pass on the songs have been greatly stimulated,” Lee says. “I hope the same will happen with gasa, with more people taking active interest in them, studying them, and looking for ways to have them more widely enjoyed.” Lee Jun-ah has appeared in numerous concerts both in Korea and abroad to promote traditional Korean vocal music.

Lee Jun-ah sings the “Plum Blossom Song” with her students. She currently teaches around 50 students to transmit the tradition of gasa singing.

She has been so busy performing that she has had no time to get sick. Her designation as a state-recognized master in the art of gasa has given her tremendous responsibilities. “Strangely, gasa is a genre relatively better understood abroad than in Korea,” she says. “We have to try harder to make the songs more familiar to our people. Professional musicians in various fields could learn them for collaborative concerts, and other people for cultural enjoyment and mental health. I will also do my part by ensuring that everybody has access to these elegant, meaningful songs.”

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ART REVIEW

Breaking New Ground in the Musical Market 52 KOREANA Autumn 2018

A scene from the musical “The Man Who Laughs,” which premiered in July this year to mark the Seoul Arts Center’s 30th anniversary. The musical adaptation of Victor Hugo’s novel by the same name took EMK Musical Company five years to make, with composer Frank Wildhorn and director Robert Johanson on board. The book had been made into a movie in 1928 and 2012, and there is also the 2016 British-made musical “The Grinning Man.” © EMK Musical Company

The success of a local musical adaptation of Victor Hugo’s novel “The Man Who Laughs” is significant. A seamless collaboration of a star cast and skilled production staff, backed by bold investment, this latest hit on Korea’s thriving musical scene presents new possibilities. It asks whether Korea can grow to be a hotbed of creativity instead of simply importing foreign productions. Won Jong-won Musical Critic; Professor of Journalism and Communications, Soonchunhyang University

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usicals are a genre suited for so-called “multiple uses of a single source” The plot is carried through songs and drama performed live on stage, powerfully engaging the audience and bringing the original work back to life. That is why musicals often take for their motif old familiar songs, classic movies, or famous novels and poems. Some prominent examples include “Mamma Mia,” featuring the music of Abba; “The Producers,” adapted from the movie of the same title to initiate a musical comedy boom; and “The Phantom of the Opera” and “Cats,” based respectively on a novel by Gaston Leroux and the poems of T. S. Eliot. These musicals have each given their source material fresh life through theater. Another Classic is Reborn “The Man Who Laughs,” which premiered in July at Seoul Arts Center to commemorate its 30th anniversary, is another remarkable musical with 1

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a similar background. An avid moviegoer would instantly be reminded by this musical of the 2012 French movie “L’Homme qui rit” directed by JeanPierre Ameris and starring Gerard Depardieu, which itself was a remake of a 1928 film by the same title that was based on the novel by Victor Hugo. “Birth of the Joker from the movie Batman” was the tagline aptly used for the promotion of the latest musical version. It appropriated the Joker from the movie to emphasize the birth of a character whose face was mutilated to wear a permanent grin. The novel is set in 17th-century England, and historical records of the era mention how the nobles disfigured the faces of their servants and mocked them. The novel represents the pathos of ordinary people who had to keep smiling even as they lamented their distorted, unjust society. As such, the novel exposed historical injustice; Hugo said that he could not have written a greater novel than this. The musical “The Man Who Laughs” is signifi-

cant in that it shows both the present and future of the domestic musical industry. EMK Musical Company, which previously produced such hits as “Hamlet,” “Mozart!” and “Elisabeth,” has invested 17.5 billion won and five years in creating this latest work. Most of the company’s previous productions, as illustrated by their titles, were adaptations of foreign works — largely with a European historical background — which had enjoyed commercial success in the Czech Republic, Austria, or Japan, among other countries. It seems this new approach from the company was based on more than just its business acumen. EMK’s effort to create globally competitive content deserves applause as it taps Korea’s potential to grow as a production base for original musicals, instead of remaining a mere consumer of overseas works. As its script and score have already been exported to Japan on a limited license base, “The Man Who Laughs” is raising expectations for its market potential. Impressive Stage Craft Discussion of its industry prospects aside, “The Man Who Laughs” is worthy of praise for its visual spectacle alone. The flawless stage transitions are accentuated by sophisticated visual effects. Korean musicals have matured enough to demonstrate such stunning feats as chandeliers falling and helicopters landing. Truly impressive is the work of the stage designer, who executed many elaborate effects in the previous production, “Mata Hari,” and again enlivens the stage with excitement and imagination. The hideous smile of the protagonist Gwynplaine

1. A scene from Act 1 where the actors sing “Step Right Up.” The musical features talented actors deftly portraying the mountebank Ursus and the blind girl Dea, among others. 2. Promotional poster for “The Man Who Laughs.” The lead role of Gwynplaine, whose face was disfigured at an early age, was shared by singer Park Hyo-shin, K-pop group EXO member Suho, and musical actor Park Kang-hyun.

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EMK’s effort to create globally competitive content deserves applause as it taps Korea’s potential to grow as a production base for original musicals, instead of remaining a mere consumer of overseas works.

appears not only on the actor’s face but on stage curtains and settings as well. And every time the iconic quote, “The paradise of the rich is built on the hell of the poor,” is conveyed in the songs, images or stage settings, the audience is painfully reminded of the cruel irony of the tragedy hidden beneath the splendor of the time. The message still resonates today. No doubt the cast is one of the production’s great attractions. Singer Park Hyo-shin, Suho from the boy band EXO and musical actor Park Kang-hyun, who take turns playing the role of Gwynplaine, are all huge box office draws. Park Hyo-shin has successfully branched out from pop music to musicals as one of the most bankable stars on the scene. His previous show “The Phantom of the Opera” was a sold-out hit. In “The Man Who Laughs,” Park plays an original character for the first time. As the show ends and the curtain call begins, the enraptured audience erupts, with loud cheers and cries more akin to a packed pop concert. Suho, the leader of EXO, offers a skillful performance, as expected of a K-pop star who majored in theater at Korea National University of Arts. Park Kang-hyun received wide attention following his appearance on the popular TV audition show “Phantom Singer.” As a professional musical actor, he outshines the other two in terms of theatrical perfor-

Gwynplaine and Dea sing “Angels in the Tree.” Costume designer Gregory A. Poplyk researched the attire of the times while adding modern touches to bring more color to the individual characters.

mance. Yet for all of their differences, the three lead actors and those who play Ursus, Dea and other characters exude a wonderful chemistry. Great Teamwork The production team is also worthy of note. It brings together composer Frank Wildhorn of “Jekyll and Hyde,” “Monte Cristo” and “Scarlet Pimpernel”; lyricist Jack Murphy of “Mozart!” and “Rebecca”; and director Robert Johanson who is famed for a number of musical masterpieces. Having already worked on numerous productions in Korea, they make a marvelous team, and their collaboration with the local crew also seems to have gone smoothly. Music director Kim Moon-jung, and the lighting, sound and stage designers are all remarkable artists who add their respective prowess to further refine the production. Victor Hugo’s novels “Les Misérables” and “Notre-Dame de Paris” were already made into musicals that became worldwide hits. Such works are called “novelcals” in Korea. Musicals based on novels have proven to be a formula for success, as seen with “Oliver!,” “A Tale of Two Cities” and “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens, as well as “Jekyll and Hyde,” “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” “Matilda,” “Hamlet” and “Romeo and Juliet.” Of course after watching such musicals, more than a few people are inspired to return to the original works. Amid the phenomenal growth of the Korean musical industry, “The Man Who Laughs” is drawing keen attention for its potential to break new ground on the world stage. Seeing the impact the production has on the musical market promises to be a show in and of itself.

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IN LOVE WITH KOREA

‘Immigrant Wives Want Equal, Self-Reliant Lives’ Iresha Perera leads Talk to Me, a non-profit civic organization that assists people who are disadvantaged and discriminated against, regardless of nationality. Talk to Me aims to attain equal treatment and opportunities for them, and Perera’s primary tool is her effort to maximize the potential benefits of immigrant wives’ artistic talents. Choi Sung-jin Executive Editor, Korea Biomedical Review Ha Ji-kwon Photographer

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ver 300,000 immigrant wives currently live in Korea. International marriages are particularly prevalent in rural areas where one-fourth of all new marriages are between Korean husbands and immigrant wives. Most Koreans simply regard these women as foreigners who speak Korean awkwardly or, in some rare cases, fluently. But they should be viewed differently. Most immigrant wives are now naturalized Korean citizens forming the pillars of the country’s multicultural families, which count around 800,000 members. They sacrificed nearly everything — their nationalities, jobs and even families — to become the wives of Korean men and have children with them. Therefore, it may be said they are experiencing discrimination as a consequence of falling in love with Korea. Their voices will grow increasingly louder as time goes on. Currently, Korea has over two million foreign-born residents, and the number of multicultural family members is expected to reach one million by 2020. Adapt and Lead Iresha Perera arrived in 1999 to work at a textile company in Seoul. Her plan was to gain experience in fashion design and leave Korea three months later. But the young Sri Lankan woman’s diligence and cheerfulness charmed her landlady, who subsequently introduced her to her son. Two years later they were married. “That’s how I settled in Korea. I must have been blinded by love,” explains Iresha, who asked me to address her by her given name. Unfortunately, encounters with prejudice and discrimination soon quashed her marital bliss. Feeling overwhelmed by Koreans’ xenophobia, she returned to Sri Lanka.

The Monika Doll is one of the main endeavors of Talk to Me, a self-help organization of married immigrant women led by Iresha Perera. Anyone may visit the organization’s office and make the doll, which is sold to fund Talk to Me activities.

Before long, her husband persuaded her to return to Korea, but when she did, she was determined to try a new approach. She soon established friendships with her neighbors in Anyang, a satellite city south of Seoul, especially with the elderly. “My elderly neighbors took a liking to me, and I could learn Korean fast by mingling with them,” she says. “That made my adjustment to Korean life far easier than before.” She formed a small volunteer group for her neighborhood and has been a longtime member of the residents’ autonomy committee in Anyang. Iresha has become a national figure, too. For the past eight years, she has led Talk to Me, an association of immigrant wives. Starting in 2006 with fewer than 10 immigrant wives from Seoul and its satellite cities, it now has some 4,000 online and 500 offline members, making it the largest such organization in Korea. “The organization’s name reflects its members’ wishes: come to us and begin a conversation with us,” Iresha says. “It is a self-help group comprised of women from different countries, including China, Japan, the Philippines, Russia, Thailand, Vietnam and Sri Lanka. We help immigrant wives adapt to life in Korea.” If Iresha is not at the Talk to Me office in the heart of Seoul, she is frequently at TV and radio stations, either as a host or panelist, which helps to raise her national profile. Self-Help Endeavors Visitors to Talk to Me are enchanted by a broad array of “Monika Dolls,” one of the organization’s three main endeavors. “Monika” has a dual meaning. The dolls’ name suggests the international roots of their creators, and it sounds similar to the Korean word meonikka, meaning “because it is far away.” Talk to Me has produced over 7,000 Monika dolls, each with a different color and shape. “No two are the same,” Iresha says, adding that their appearances symbolize “unity amid diversity.” Sales revenue from the dolls goes to the organization’s activities. “Monika dolls symbolize our intention to make the most of our cultural talents by using recycled materials,” Iresha says. “Anyone interested, foreigners or Koreans, can join us and make a doll simply by visiting us.” She adds that she and her colleagues at the association would like Koreans, both government officials and ordinary citizens, to regard them not as objects of sympathy

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“ Like many other immigrant wives, I will be buried in Korea after I die. What we want is to be regarded and treated as Koreans.”

or people in need of one-sided support but as “equals who can help others and be helped by others.” Another of Talk to Me’s primary activities is “Multicultural Lunch,” a catering business offering a broad international menu. The proceeds support the association’s activities and extra food is used to provide free meals to elderly Koreans living alone. The third important endeavor is the “Visiting Aunts’ Countries” program. Groups of volunteers visit children and schools in other countries to support them. A few years ago, for example, Talk to Me members and students of Ulsan University visited an elementary school in Sri Lanka and repaired its facilities and playgrounds. They have since maintained contact with the school’s students to encourage them to work hard to realize their dreams. Iresha stresses that immigrant wives are no longer

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“aliens waiting for society’s support.” They are strong individuals who take care of their families, speak fluent Korean, and are passionate about their work. However, they are still faced with prejudices and discrimination, she says, because many Koreans assume they married Korean men to escape poverty. Shattering Stereotypes “It might have been true in the past but not anymore,” Iresha says, emphasizing that many financially independent immigrant wives can be found in the Seoul metropolitan area. “We are tax-paying Korean citizens, not foreigners who may be discriminated against and excluded. Sometimes, media outlets report about politicians or business magnates donating large sums of money or facilities for immigrants. But these contributions are often not distributed properly, or fail to benefit

the most vulnerable. Such misguided welfare only ends up hurting immigrant wives and adversely affecting their views of Korean society. We may be minorities but we are never the socially weak.” One of the biggest obstacles that these women face is getting jobs. “Employers are reluctant to hire us not because of our abilities but because of our skin colors. Sometimes, we volunteer free services at soup kitchens over the phone and the organizers welcome us. Upon our arrival, however, it’s not uncommon that we are turned away.” Iresha knows firsthand about the employment hurdles. She still has not realized her dream that brought her to Korea 19 years ago — designing clothes. She particularly regrets the lack of educational support for ethnic minorities. “People from China, Vietnam and Thailand have a relatively good command of Korean but those from other countries, such as Sri Lanka, Myanmar and Bangladesh, are generally poor at Korean,” she says. “This is a huge problem because most of our problems stem from a lack of communication.” Policy Ineffectiveness Iresha also has a lot to say about the Korean government’s multicultural policies, which have a reputation for being cursory and ineffective. “When the Seoul Metropolitan Government talks about multiculturalism, it mainly means spreading Korean culture to foreigners, especially people from less developed countries. I hope Koreans will become more open-minded and willing to accept other Asian cultures besides Chinese and Japanese culture.” The intolerant mindset of Koreans, as Iresha sees it, will have a negative impact on Korea, especially given its rapidly aging population. She advises Koreans to adopt a more positive attitude and accept cultural differences, if for no other reason than to overcome the looming demographic crisis caused by decades of low birthrates.

Iresha Perera prepares mandu dumplings with other Talk to Me members and their children. They regularly visit the elderly who live alone and serve them free meals.

“Like many other immigrant wives, I will be buried in Korea after I die. What we want is to be regarded and treated as Koreans,” Iresha says. Conceding that first-generation immigrants had tolerated discrimination against them, she adamantly cautions, “The second-generation immigrants, or the children of multicultural families, will not stand for it.” Her appeals resonate loudly. Although the government is now paying more attention to children of mixed parentage, experts point out that Korea’s immigration policy is still a failure. Multiple studies have shown that as many as 70 percent of children of mixed parentage are forced to give up on their dreams due to their linguistic disadvantages and social discrimination. Some bicultural couples have reportedly given up forming a family altogether because they do not want their children to be subjected to the same sufferings they experienced. Iresha hopes the Korean government will take better care of immigrant wives and their children, especially since many of the women are much younger than their husbands. “In the future, many of these women will have to become the breadwinners of their families,” she says. Personal Plan Asked about her own plans, Iresha says that she will continue her efforts until multicultural families in Korea, especially their children, receive a far better treatment. “What we are doing is mostly for our children,” she says. Iresha and her husband have two children. Her husband is engaged in an interior design business. Iresha eloquently expressed her determination to do everything she can to improve the lives of immigrant wives, naturalized Koreans and guest workers, for that matter. Asked about whether she would enter politics if given an opportunity, she says “yes,” but not if political parties invite her simply for cosmetic purposes. Iresha points out that Jasmine Lee, the Philippine-born immigrant wife who became a member of Korea’s National Assembly, was not given sufficient opportunities to accomplish her agenda. Despite her hectic schedule, Iresha is compelled to take care of her household almost single-handedly. That explains why she was reluctant to give this interview after work or on a weekend. “I only sleep a few hours a day. But I try to do all household chores myself as far as circumstances allow,” she says. Iresha’s mother-in-law, her one-time landlady, should probably consider herself lucky.

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ON THE ROAD

Storied Homes in the Alleys of

Seongbuk-dong

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The name Seongbuk-dong means “neighborhood north of the city wall.” Formed just outside the northeast section of the Seoul wall in the 18th to the 19th century during the Joseon Dynasty, the area today abounds with cultural sites and is a popular tourist destination dotted with modern luxury houses and traditional homes.

Nestled along the northern section of the Seoul City Wall, at the foot of Mt. Bugak, Seongbuk-dong attracted many acclaimed writers and artists during the colonial period (1910–1945) when Seoul expanded beyond its ancient wall. The old homes of these renowned figures echo the troubled fate of their owners. Lee Chang-guy Poet and Literary Critic Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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city never stands still. It constantly changes to accommodate the lifestyle and values of its residents. That is why a city is always new. And that is why even the most current travel guide is soon rendered out of date. Open a city map and a visitor finds expansive squares connected by wide roads with branches of alleys and lanes. People who have spent a tiring day at work or those who have spent the day holding pickets and raising their voices in protest, tinged with some regrets perhaps, leave the squares and head off on the quiet uphill roads home, where there await family and rest. At one house on the corner, the original owner long gone, I wander round the little garden and think again about the life and thoughts of the man who built and once lived in the house. Although it lay just outside the old Seoul City Wall (Hanyang Doseong), Seongbuk-dong was as thick with trees as mountain valleys just a century ago. No more than 70 houses occupied the area. They included holiday villas of wealthy noblemen and thatched homes of poor commoners. But now the area’s population approaches 20,000. “Main Street” in Seongbuk-dong generally refers to the

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three-kilometer thoroughfare from Hansung University subway station (Line 4) to the traditional banquet house Samcheonggak. While walking around inspecting the spruced-up shop fronts that face mountains in the distance, I notice that the road gradually narrows and steepens. This is because the byway was built over Seongbuk Stream, which flows down from Mt. Bugak. So, imagine water flowing under your feet, spilling over rocks and running down the valley. The road is much like those in any other neighborhood of Seoul, but banners hang here and there announcing all sorts of cultural events. In addition, there are several sign boards that make you stop in your tracks. They commemorate and boast about historic figures. Then I become aware of groups of tourists following a guide holding a small flag. Like other districts,

The writer Yi Tae-jun dismantled his family home in Cheorwon and reassembled it in Seongbuk-dong, where he spent around 10 years working. The place, named “Suyeon Sanbang” (Mountain Studio of Long-lasting Inkstone) is now a traditional tea house operated by Yi’s relatives.

Seongbuk-dong is developing and promoting tourist attractions that trace its history and culture. The City Wall and Peach Blossoms The main tourism asset of Seongbuk-dong is the Seoul City Wall. When King Taejo, founder of the Joseon Dynasty (1392– 1910), moved the nation’s capital to Hanyang (today’s Seoul) and built Gyeongbok Palace, the wall was constructed along the ridges of four mountains to repel invasions. The wall, stretching 18.6 km, combined the features of both mountain and flat land fortresses. It enclosed royal palaces and administrative offices as well as markets and residential areas. The perimeter was accessible to everyone, as indicated by the following account: “In spring and summer, the people of Hanyang circle the entire city wall, admiring the surrounding scenery. It is a walk that takes from morning to night to complete.” The foundation of the wall remains largely intact. Seongbuk-dong lies along a four-kilometer stretch, between Mt. Bugak and Mt. Nakta, at the highest point of the serpentine structure. Walking along the steep path beside the wall affords a spectacular view of modern buildings set against old stone ram-

parts and downtown Seoul spread below. The locals say Malbawi (Horse Rock) in Waryong Park provides the best view. Professional photographers prefer the section between Sukjeongmun (Gate of Solemn Rule), the main north gate of the city, and Changuimun (Gate of Spreading Righteousness), the small northwestern gate. The wall was planned with a lack of foresight. Within 30 years, the population inside the walls had grown so rapidly that the state tried to disperse the population by establishing new residential areas within 10 li (approx. 4 km) outside the walls, starting with the expanse outside the east gate, Dongdaemun. Even then, Seongbuk-dong, thanks to its deep valleys and dense woods, was an exception. People did not really start to move into the area until Bukdun, the northern division of Eoyeongcheong, the royal guards command, was permanently stationed there in 1766 to reinforce the defense of the capital. Houses began to appear along the Seongbuk Stream and non-military newcomers were given jobs handling and supplying dry goods. To supplement their income, they planted peach trees around their homes. Fields were also formed in hopes of creating a self-sufficient food supply, though the soil was not

Sites to Visit in Seongbuk-dong

Seoul

Gilsang Temple

Samcheonggak (restaurant)

Sukjeongmun (gate)

Suyeon Sanbang (tea house) Seongbuk Museum of Art

Nosi Sanbang (no longer exists) Simujang Bukjeong Village (memorial house)

Samcheong Tunnel

Kansong Art Museum Seonjam Museum

Seoul City Wall

Waryong Park

Hansung Univ. Station (Line 4) Hyehwamun (gate)

Gilsang Temple

Bukjeong Village

Kansong Art Museum

Seonjam Museum

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well suited for agriculture. Some 20 years passed when Chae Je-gong (1720–1799), first state councilor, today’s prime minister, of the late Joseon period, happened to take a walk around the area. He wrote the following description: “Whenever I stopped to rest on my walk, I looked down and saw the houses of the village scattered around the foot of the mountain. Most of them were surrounded by a border of peach trees and every now and again, a window or the edge of the eaves peeped through the peach blossoms. The people of the city, whether they be officials or ordinary men, were so enraptured by the sight that they lost all track of time.” Soon enough, Bukdun had become covered in peach blossoms. Around this time, royalty, powerful members of the literati class and wealthy individuals began to build villas in Seongbuk-dong. Western-style houses were added during the Japanese occupation. Today, in the same vein, luxurious homes of corporate titans lace the area. In 1933, the magazine Samcheolli (“three thousand li,” symbolizing Korean territory; one li equals approx. 400 meters) described the booming population of Seongbuk-dong. Its beau-

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tiful scenery and clean air were magnets, and artists and writers were especially smitten by the atmosphere. Among the people mentioned in the magazine’s article, “The Literati Village of Seongbuk-dong,” was novelist Yi Tae-jun (also spelled Lee Taejun; 1904–?). Though a new writer who had just turned 30, Yi was already famous for his lucid prose. Mountain Studios Yi was among the new arrivals in 1933. He had married in 1930 and relocated to Seongbuk-dong from Cheorwon, Gangwon Province, some 80 km north of Seoul. The move entailed far more than packing up belongings. Lee dismantled his uncle’s home and rebuilt it in Seongbuk-dong, blending in features that were unconventional at the time. Observing the skills of the venerable carpenters who undertook this task, Lee wrote, “Although it may be a sichejip, in the hands of these people I am glad to see that there is little that is slapdash about it.” Here sichejip, meaning a “trendy house,” referred to a traditional house (hanok) remodeled to suit more modern times. There was no distinction between male and

female quarters. Doors were covered with glass rather than paper, and a bathroom was beside the hall rather than outside far away from the house. Yet the house retained traditional external elements such as the tiled roof, eaves, rafters and railings. The main feature of a “modern hanok” was to have the raised verandah serve as living quarters for both the husband and wife. In his novel “The Keyword” (Hwadu), Choi In-hoon (1936–2018) described Yi’s home: “It is a south-facing house, ㄱ-shaped [ㄱ is a letter in the Korean alphabet] with an elevated verandah at one end. On the southern side of the verandah is a wooden board carved with the name “Munhyangnu” (Pavilion of Hearing Fragrance). When looking at the facade of the house, the verandah is at the right-hand end, while the horizontal part of the ㄱ-shaped structure comprises the daecheong [wood-floored hall] and the bedrooms. The stepping stone leads up to the toetmaru [narrow wooden verandah leading to the interior] facing an interior closed off with latticed doors covered with glass. The hall would have been warm in winter.” Every morning, Yi Tae-jun would start the day by walk-

ing outside with his toothpaste and toothbrush and brushing his teeth while staring at the upward and downward angles of the city wall and the mountain ridges beyond. Of this daily ritual he wrote, “While brushing my teeth, sometimes I would fall under the delusion that I was cleaning the gaps between the rocks of the wall, startling myself.” Today, the wall can no longer be seen from the garden. Tall pines and buildings block the view. Named Suyeon Sanbang (“Mountain Studio of Long-lasting Inkstone”), the house is now a traditional tea house operated by Yi’s relatives. In the lowest part of the garden is the home’s old well. A little further up the hill from Yi’s house is Simujang (Ox Searching House), where the monk and poet Han Yongun (1879–1944) lived from 1933, after his release from prison, until his death. And by the entrance of an alley leading up to Han’s house is where Park Tae-won (1909–1986), a novelist with an eccentric hairstyle, lived for three years, beginning in 1948. With Yi’s help, Park published the novel “A Day in the Life of Novelist Kubo” as a newspaper serial. It attracted considerable attention with its road-movie style, unique at the time. But Park had overextended himself when he built his pre-

1. The poet monk Han Yong-un lived at this house after his imprisonment for pro-independence activities. Supporters built the house, named Simujang (Ox Searching House), for him in 1933, when he was released. The house was purportedly built with a northern orientation to avoid facing the Japanese government-general building. Han died in 1944, a year before Korea’s liberation from Japanese rule. 2. Bukjeong Village, where Simujang is located, is called the “last moon village under heaven.” A moon village, or daldongne in Korean, refers to “a neighborhood so high up it is near the moon” and generally denotes a poorer area. The steep, narrow alleyways are lined with small, old houses.

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vious home, and the ensuing financial difficulties forced him to sell his house. He moved to Seongbuk-dong and settled in a thatched-roof house surrounded by a bush clover fence that he had received in lieu of royalties. Across from the site of Park’s home, there is a hermitage named Suworam and the Hyundai Villa complex. Between them once stood Nosi Sanbang (“Mountain Studio with Old Persimmon Trees”), the home of painter and essayist Kim Yong-jun (1904–1967). Kim was a friend of Yi Tae-jun, having met him as a student in Japan. He moved to Seongbuk-dong in 1934, practically dragging along his wife. In his writings, Kim recalled how his wife had “protested fiercely” against the move to a place “where a rickshaw could not even come to the front door and pheasants and wolves occasionally came down the mountain to the back of the house.” He confessed that his motivation to move to Seongbuk-dong was because he “truly loved a handful of old persimmon trees.” Yi named Kim’s house Nosi Sanbang. Kim lived in the house for around ten years and then sold it to a young painter

whom he favored, Kim Whanki (1913–1974). Thus, he parted from what he called the “sparse trees and magpie nests, the bush clover fence and strange-looking rocks, the white snow and warm sunlight” that were “the only friends to adorn winter here at the house of old persimmon trees.” Kim Yong-jun explained why he left his house in an essay titled “Thoughts on Selling Off My Home” (Yukjang hugi). But perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he passed on the house to Kim Whanki. While reminiscing about their friendship, the elder Kim wrote that his life in the house was “a chunk of illusion.” Indeed, no trace of the house remains today. A Chunk of Illusion Now it seems time to reveal the background to my old prejudice. Of the protagonist in his novel “Before and After Liberation,” Yi wrote, “Hyeon truly wanted to live. Or rather than wanting to live, he wanted to endure. Let’s believe in the victory of the Allied Forces. Let’s believe in the laws of justice and history. If the laws of justice and history betray humani-

While reminiscing about their friendship, the elder Kim wrote that his life in the house was “a chunk of illusion.” Indeed, no trace of the house remains today. © Whanki Museum, Whanki Foundation

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ty, it won’t be too late to despair then. Hyeon did not sell his house. In Europe, the Second Front had yet to begin, and though the Japanese soldiers were still at Rabaul in the Pacific, he calculated that it would all end in three years at the most. So, borrowing as much money as he could on his house, he left Seoul.” Yi built his Seongbuk-dong house two years after the so-called Manchurian (or Mukden) Incident, an event staged by Japan to give itself a pretext for invading Manchuria, the opening salvo of its march across Asia. The incident was also over 20 years into the Japanese occupation of Korea, and armed resistance of Koreans against Japanese rule was at its peak. To speed up the modernization of the capital, the city government of Gyeongseong (name of Seoul during the Japanese occupation) published an urban planning report in 1928. The report predicted that the area including today’s Gangbuk and Seongbuk districts would develop into the city center thanks to the Gyeongwon (Seoul-Wonsan) rail line linking the southern 2 and northern parts of the country. The rail line went through Yi’s hometown of Cheorwon. When Seongbuk-dong was incorporated into Gyeongseong, rumors circulated that roads would be laid from Hyehwamun (small northeast gate of the city) to Seongbuk-dong and Donam-dong. Real estate agents, anticipating a jump in land prices, pounced on Seongbuk-dong. At the time, Yi was the culture editor at a daily newspaper, the Joseon Jungang Ilbo. He was probably conflicted by the disharmony between his ideals and reality. Yi would have wanted to believe that by maintaining his peaceful daily life in the lovely little house, he would eventually be able to witness the laws of justice and history prevailing. As a writer, he would have pledged to inquire uncompromisingly into the lives of those at the bottom. They were unable to change society but humble human love permeated their lives. Yi would have also vowed to examine the beauty of country towns and other things of the past. He would have felt that enduring the indignities of life inside a country under colonial rule was harder than the more conspicuous role of fighting overseas. Otherwise, as Choi In-hoon said, “One could not stay inside a country occupied by the enemy.” Departures Like the protagonist in his novel, Yi did not sell his house before leaving for his hometown in 1943. After liberation in 1945, Seoul dissolved into chaos. Irrationality reigned. None of Yi’s decisions could heal his internal wounds or guarantee his dreams for the country after liberation. In 1946, Yi and his fam-

1. “Suhyang Sanbang” (1944) by Kim Yong-jun. Ink and light color on paper, 24 x 32 cm. This painting was done by the writer and artist Kim Yong-jun for the painter Kim Whanki and his wife. Kim sold his house to Kim Whanki, who renamed it “Suhyang Sanbang” (Mountain Studio of Tree Fragrance), taking a syllable each from his pen name Suhwa and his wife’s name Kim Hyang-an. The house no longer exists but is remembered in many stories. 2. This family photo of Yi Tae-jun still hangs inside Suyeon Sanbang. The family is standing in the garden. Social turmoil engulfed Korea after liberation and Yi, in deep despair, crossed over to North Korea in 1946.

ily unexpectedly left their Seongbuk-dong home and crossed over to North Korea. Later, Kim Yong-jun and Park Tae-won followed. The conflict between ideals and reality that these writers faced in the North are only known through fragmented records and a few testimonies. No serious research has been carried out from the perspective of literary history. Moon Gwang-hun, a scholar of German literature, wrote a long essay on his contemplations of a photo of Yi and his family, titled “A Poetic Moment of Happiness,” in which he said: “Here is an old photograph. It is a photo of the writer Yi Tae-jun with his wife, two sons and three daughters... This scene may be the image that best demonstrates what happiness means to people, how happiness comes to our lives, how it comes and how it disappears.” I look at the spot where Yi and his family stood to pose for the photo. Though the original owner is no longer here, the flowers in the garden bloom regardless.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 69

TALES OF TWO KOREAS

Pyongyang Cold Noodles A Taste of Unity After the leaders of the two Koreas had a dinner of cold noodles (naengmyeon) at their April summit, South Koreans flocked to restaurants serving the iconic dish. Attention focused on the authentic Pyongyang recipe. Dongmu Bapsang (“Comrade’s Table” or “Friend’s Table”), owned by a North Korean defector who has the very recipe used for the summit dinner, emerged as a culinary hotspot. Kim Hak-soon Visiting Professor, School of Media and Communication, Korea University

great beneficiary of the inter-Korean summit on April 27, despite all its fanfare, turned out to be Pyongyang naengmyeon. The meeting was the first of its kind in 11 years. But with no major breakthrough in North Korea’s denuclearization reported, South Koreans’ interest turned to what was eaten rather than what was said. After South Korean President Moon Jae-in and North Korean leader Kim Jong-un dined on the cold noodles, long lines immediately formed at the most well-known South Korean restaurants featuring the dish, which became the top searched keyword online. In the three days after the summit, sales at Seoul restaurants specializing in Pyongyang naengmyeon exceeded that of the previous week by more than 80 percent, according to one credit card company. Kim said a chef from Okryu-gwan, the best restaurant in the North Korean capital, prepared the naengmyeon. That turned the spotlight to Dongmu Bapsang owned by Yun Jong-cheol, a former trainee at the North Korean restaurant who defected to the South in 2000. Food critics and a TV show about gourmet dining had already noted the small, unassuming restaurant run by Yun and his wife. Yet it was the summit that turned the restaurant into an overnight sensation, with media and word of mouth assuring diners that Dongmu Bapsang duplicates Okryu-gwan’s Pyongyang-style naengmyeon. Customers stood in line for more than

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an hour at lunchtime. I met Yun at his restaurant, which stands on a side street near Hapjeong subway station, in Mapo District, Seoul, just north of the Han River. The restaurant was still bustling long after the lunch crush. “My restaurant was busy with customers before. But their number soared after the summit. Even Japanese and Philippine TV crews, as well as TV crews here, want to make reports on my restaurant,” Yun said. The Menu, Common to Royal Yun tries to recreate the taste of Okryu-gwan in his menu, but he is mindful of South Koreans’ palate and makes adjustments accordingly. Little seasoning is required in recipes that he has developed. His array of dishes offered includes everyday fare such as duck bulgogi, fermented pollack, glutinous rice sundae (Korean blood sausage), potato dumplings and corn noodles. But the menu also has elaborate dishes that appeared on the table of royals. Such delicacies must be ordered in advance. There is also a variety of North Korean-style kimchi to be relished, including Pyongyang-style white kimchi, Hamgyong Province-style bean sprout kimchi, and Ryanggang Province-style cabbage kimchi. But Pyongyang naengmyeon is undoubtedly the most popular dish at the restaurant. This should come as no surprise at all. Whenever South Koreans think about North

Korean dishes, it is Pyongyang naengmyeon that instantly comes to mind. Besides Okryu-gwan, there are three other well-known naengmyeon restaurants in Pyongyang — Chongryu-gwan, Koryo Hotel and Minjok Sikdang — but Yun matter-of-factly said Okryu-gwan has the best naengmyeon chefs. “In North Korea, all talented people are sent to Pyongyang. Okryu-gwan, a restaurant built at the regime founder Kim Il-sung’s instruction in 1961, is where the best chefs are working.” Broth & Noodles The broth for Yun’s naengmyeon is made with cattle bones, beef brisket, pheasant meat and chicken. And unlike other Pyongyang naengmyeon restaurants in South Korea, Yun applies a finishing touch by straining the broth through a filter made up of stones, charcoal and sand — just as Okryu-gwan does. He also boils soy sauce with onions, scallions, apples and pears. Still, Yun won’t claim that his naengmyeon is exactly the same as that served at the top Pyongyang restaurant. “It’s a pity that I can’t perfectly recreate the Okryu-gwan naengmyeon here,” Yun said. The main reason is that South Korean water used for the broth and soy sauce taste different from North Korea’s. “Okryu-gwan has branches at Mt. Kumgang (North Korea) and in China. But their naengmyeon tastes slightly different from each other,” he said. The composition of the noodles at Dongmu Bapsang also differs from other restaurants. At other wellknown naengmyeon restaurants in Seoul, some 60 to 70 percent of the noodle is buckwheat. Yun uses a 40:40:20 ratio of buckwheat to sweet potato starch to flour. That makes his noodles less sticky. Okryu-gwan’s buckwheat to potato starch ratio is 40:60, according to Yun. He used that ratio when he opened his restaurant toward the end of 2015. But he began to use less starch and more flour after he saw his customers cutting his noodles because of their stickiness. “People in North Korea call all kinds of noodles ‘longlife noodles,’ because long noodles refer to a healthy long life. That’s why guests are served with naengmyeon at birthday parties or wedding receptions. I was stunned to see South Koreans

Yun Jong-cheol fled North Korea in 1998 and arrived in Seoul in 2000. A former trainee at Okryu-gwan, the best restaurant in Pyongyang, he opened a North Korean-style restaurant called Dongmu Bapsang (“Comrade’s Table” or “Friend’s Table”) in Hapjeong-dong, Seoul, in 2015.

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1. Dongmu Bapsang serves an array of food, the most popular of which is Pyongyang cold noodles (naengmyeon). Its cold noodle dish tastes quite different from other South Korean restaurants because it uses Okryu-gwan’s recipe. 2. Cold noodles have long been a summer favorite of South Koreans. After the leaders of the two Koreas dined on Pyongyang cold noodles at their summit on April 27, long lines formed at Dongmu Bapsang for authentic North Korean-style cold noodles.

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eat their naengmyeon after cutting the noodles with scissors.” Yun said. “At first, I tried to explain to customers why my noodles were sticky. But unfortunately, I found some of them feeling displeased with my explanation. So, I stopped trying to persuade them. I decided instead to add more flour to the dough.” Another departure from Okryu-gwan is the use of baking soda. Its chef adds it to dough, believing that it is good for digestion. South Koreans are health-conscious, but they don’t like noodles cooked with baking soda, Yun observed. Baking soda makes Okryu-gwan’s naengmyeon blackish brown just like kudzu starch noodles, but Dongmu Bapsang’s naengmyeon is pale gray. Besides differences in the texture and appearance of the two restaurants’ naengmyeon, how customers enjoy the cold noodles differs. Rock singer Yoon Do-hyun had Okryu-gwan’s naengmyeon when he was in Pyongyang in early April to perform concerts. He said, “I saw waitresses pick up customers’ noodles with chopsticks themselves and sprinkle vinegar on them. This is different from the way we do it. We put vinegar

directly into the broth.” Yun isn’t fussy about how his customers wield vinegar and mustard bottles; they attack their bowls of cold noodles any way they want. He has accepted the difference between the dietary cultures of the two Koreas. Some customers, familiar with the taste of South Korean-style Pyongyang naengmyeon, initially use words like “bland” or “insipid” to describe Dongmu Bapsang’s naengmyeon. But they quickly become regular patrons once they are accustomed to the taste. They even enjoy sipping the broth without adding any seasoning. A native of Onsong, North Ham© Ahn Hong-beom gyong Province, Yun trained at Okryugwan thanks to his father who was a senior official in the Workers’ Party. The fact that his grandfather was a chef of Japanese dishes during the last years of the colonial era could have been a black mark on his family name. But Yun’s father was promoted to a senior party position. Journey Through Kitchens After Yun enlisted in the army, he trained as a culinary specialist at Okryu-gwan for four months and then was assigned to a mess hall for high-ranking army officers. There he stayed for over 10 years, absorbing the recipes of many regional dishes for the senior officers, who came from all corners of the country. “I have hundreds of recipes of North Korean dishes in my head,” Yun said. After his time in the army, Yun attended Hoeryong College of Light Industry, where he acquired fermentation techniques and learned how to make fermented foods like soybean paste, soy sauce and cider. Having mastered the techniques, he later delivered culinary lectures. At times he was even ordered to cook special foods at big events in Pyongyang. Yun fled North Korea in 1998 during the “March of Hardship” period. He ultimately arrived in South Korea in 2000 via

China. While trying to settle here, he did a myriad of odd jobs, including manual labor at construction sites. His break came in 2013 at a culinary event, where he described his experience at Okryu-gwan. His story captivated restaurateur Lee Ho-kyung of Hoya Cooks, a culinary studio in Seoul, and he helped Yun open a three-day “pop-up store.” It was an instant hit; he was convinced to open his own restaurant in 2015. There is never a shortage of customers at Yun’s restaurant, as news of his sincerity and cooking techniques spreads through word of mouth. Many chefs also pay a visit to learn his naengmyeon recipe, and some restaurateurs have even proposed launching a franchise. The proposals are rejected immediately. Yun fears that his principle of upholding the original distinctiveness of North Korean dishes might be tainted if he accepts such offers. “In North Korea, people say ‘it’s as if a snapping sound is heard,’ when they find the food tasty. I want to overcome such temptation and prove to my compatriots in the North that Dongmu Bapsang’s naengmyeon is no less delicious than Okryu-gwan’s, when the two Koreas are finally reunified sometime in the future,” he said.

Yun isn’t fussy about how his customers wield vinegar and mustard bottles; they attack their bowls of cold noodles any way they want. He has accepted the difference between the dietary cultures of the two Koreas. KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 73

BOOKS

& MORE Charles La Shure

Professor, Department of Korean Language and Literature, Seoul National University

Ryu Tae-hyung

Music Columnist; Consultant, Daewon Cultural Foundation

74 KOREANA Autumn 2018

The Art of Deciphering Seemingly Irrational Paintings ‘How to Read Eastern Art’

By Chou Yongjin, Translated by Ji-yung Kim, 260 pages, $75.99, Seoul: Jimoondang [2018]

Chou Yongjin began his journey toward understanding traditional Eastern painting — specifically that of the Northeast Asian nations of China, Korea and Japan — as a fine arts major in college. He noticed certain elements that didn’t seem to make much sense, such as flowers that bloomed at different times being shown in the same scene, or a rooster rather than a hen being depicted with chicks. He also noticed that certain scenes were painted over and over again, and that events that never happened in real life were depicted as if they had. Was there any rationality to these seemingly irrational paintings? It turns out that there was, but the art of deciphering it has since been largely lost in Korea. In “How to Read Eastern Art,” the author has set out to reveal once again the keys to understanding these paintings. Chou explains that Eastern painters did not choose subjects for their artistic beauty but for their meaning; painters started with a message that they wished to convey and then chose subjects that would convey that message. This was all possible mainly due to a peculiar linguistic characteristic of Chinese, the written language of learning in Korea at the time: the same sounds were shared by many different characters. For example, the two characters that mean “the crowing of the rooster” are homophones for two characters that mean “fame and achievement,” which explains why roosters and not hens were common subjects. It also explains why the bat, which is neither a graceful nor beautiful creature, is a common motif in Korean painting and other art genres — because the character for “bat” is a homophone for “fortune” or “blessing.” Allegory or symbolism is also an important factor in traditional Eastern painting, as it is a universal human tendency to assign meaning to objects. Thus the crane may symbolize either scholars (due to its lofty demeanor) or long life (as it is believed to live a thousand years), and the fact that the rose blooms often has made it a symbol for long-lasting youth. In addition, many traditional Eastern paintings refer to sayings or anecdotes from Confucian classics or other literary works. These may be simple representations of scenes, or they may also rely on homophony, as in paintings of nine fish referring to the “nine analogies” of a famous poem (“fish” is a homophone for “equal”). In this way, traditional Eastern paintings are meant to be “read” rather than simply observed or admired. “How to Read Eastern Art” opens the door to this world of meaning by pairing famous paintings on the left-hand page with explanations of the readings on the right-hand page, making it easy for readers to follow along. The book devotes three chapters to each of the different types of reading — homophony, allegory and classical references — although it notes that they often overlap. The final chapter moves beyond traditional art to discuss contemporary Korean art, delving into some interesting differences between Eastern and Western art and how they have informed the artistic traditions of today. Armed with this knowledge, the perceptive reader will never again look at a traditional Eastern painting in quite the same way. The strange will now be more familiar, and what might otherwise have simply been an elegant painting hanging on a scroll or spread across a folding screen will now brim with nuance and significance.

A Fresh Glimpse of a Fascinating Author ‘Sunset: A Ch’ae Manshik Reader’

Edited and Translated by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton, 210 pages, $30, New York: Columbia University Press [2017]

Ch’ae Manshik (also spelled Chae Mansik) is probably best known as a satirist, thanks to his 1934 short story “A Ready-Made Life,” but this new collection of lesser known works shows a different side of the colonial-period author. A number of short stories written either during the Japanese colonial period or immediately after liberation deal with the changes that took place in Korea during that time, changes that are mirrored in the rise and fall of family fortunes and the clash of traditional values and modern thought. An example of the former is the title work, “Sunset” (1948), which deals with the tumultuous period from liberation to the Korean War, when a family must reckon with the consequences of its support for Japanese rule. The 1937 play “Whatever Possessed Me?” is an example of the latter, a humorous but insightful look at Christianity that paints a picture of incongruity against the backdrop

of traditional Korean values. In addition to these works of fiction and drama, Ch’ae also draws on traditional literary forms such as pansori and fables, creating new versions for a new generation. Particularly impressive is the 1947 play “Blind Man Shim,” which is a retelling of the famous pansori work “Simcheong-ga.” The original work relates how the filial piety of a brave daughter restores her blind father to sight, but Ch’ae’s twist on the tale casts a critical gaze on values that might have been taken for granted. Finally, several non-fiction pieces, such as brief essays and interviews, provide yet another window into the life and thoughts of this fascinating literary figure. Readers of modern Korean literature who might only be familiar with Ch’ae Manshik’s more representative works will appreciate this opportunity to broaden their understanding of the author.

Chin Un-suk’s Ingenuity Shines in Multi-Award Winning Album ‘Unsuk Chin: 3 Concertos’

By Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra, Audio CD $17.20, Berlin: Deutsche Grammophon [2014]

This album is a recording of three of Chin Un-suk’s concertos performed by the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra under conductor Chung Myung-whun. In 2015, it won the International Classical Music Award in the contemporary music category and was awarded Premiere of the Year by BBC Music Magazine. The album includes “Piano Concerto,” “Cello Concerto” and “Su,” a concerto for sheng (traditional Chinese mouth organ). “Piano Concerto,” featuring soloist Kim Sun-wook, is filled with notes that sparkle like the stars in the sky. The multitudinous movements of mobiles and wind chimes, or kinetic art, can be detected in the second movement; the Eastern timbre of the wind chimes that penetrates the ensemble of Western instruments works as an alienation effect.

Kim’s piano carefully carries the complex rhythm, then later gushes forward with the orchestra like an avalanche. In “Cello Concerto” that follows, Chin’s unique melody titillates the imagination. The cello played by Alban Gerhardt starts off with a single note, which, like an indelible dot, becomes the center and anchor for the piece and the force that propels it forward. In “Su,” a single-movement concerto for sheng, the distinctive features of 21st-century music are most evident. The mystical tone of the Chinese instrument played by Wu Wei captivates the ear. At times producing a religious feel akin to the medieval pipe organ, the sheng gradually intensifies with the orchestral accompaniment. Interspersing the piece are dramatic moments that will fill your heart with emotion. KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 75

AN ORDINARY DAY

No Rest for a ‘Silver Student’ Korea’s “baby boomers,” or the 1955–63 newborns, came of age amid rapid economic growth and tumultuous political transitions. After keeping pace in a perpetual whirlwind, many of them refuse to slow down in retirement. Lee Chan-woong is one of them.

Kim Heung-sook Poet Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

ee Chan-woong has the luxury of not being financially strapped in retirement. That makes him somewhat of an outlier. Korea is arguably the least prepared country for retirees. It has the highest rate of elderly poverty in the OECD. Lofty living costs, unforgiving educa-

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tion fees, income inequality and traditional obligations such as financial support for children until they marry hamper retirement savings. T h e ave r a g e p e n s i o n i n c o m e replacement ratio is a mere 39.3 percent, compared to 73.1 percent in the United States. The shortcoming is magnified by rising medical costs — 2.3 times the

national average among those over 60. The suicide rate among elderly people is almost three times the OECD average, at 54.8 deaths per 100,000 people. Not surprisingly, most Koreans dread retirement. Before retiring, Lee was assured of his financial health. He was debt-free and owned his home. Relatively high

interest rates protected his nest egg, and expenses pointed downward with the eldest of his two sons about to graduate from university. Lee ended a long career at the Korea Exchange Bank in February 2004. He was one of the last survivors of the bank’s hires 34 years earlier. Mandatory retirement had not yet arrived, but he wanted to exit with dignity. “On the first day of that year I climbed up Mt. Bukhan to see the sunrise,” he says. “When I got home I wrote in my journal, ‘It could be time for me to leave the bank any day now. I don’t want to be one of those senior employees who look shabby as they leave.’ Then, just one month later, as though it had been some kind of prophesy, I ended up leaving.” Bucket List Although he is financially fit for retirement, Lee is not problem-free in his golden years. He has had major gall bladder surgery and is troubled by deteriorating eyesight and hearing. The physical problems recently forced him to discontinue volunteer teaching, one of his biggest joys. But his lifetime thirst for knowledge and peripatetic urge remain intact. After saying good-bye to his colleagues, Lee was idle for six months. Then he went back to work, doing the accounting for his brother-in-law’s import business. That lasted two and a half years, then his retirement life began in earnest. It meant fulfilling the rest of a bucket list that he had compiled before retiring. “Once, a friend said to me, ‘Most people just carry on with their 1. Born in 1951, Lee Chan-woong retired in 2004 after working at a bank for 34 years. His first retirement pursuit was to learn essay writing at a newspaper’s cultural center. 2. Lee wrote essays for 10 years about what he saw and felt in his everyday activities. His writings were compiled in “I Am a Student,” published in 2013.

lives curious about things, but when you are curious about something you always do something about it.’ I think he was right,” Lee says. The first task he took on was fulfilling his dream of writing a novel based on his life. Lee studied essay writing for almost a decade, occasionally having his works published. In the spring of 2013, his essays were bound into a book entitled “I Am a Student.” He borrowed the title from “Wang Meng on Himself: My Philosophy on Life” by Wang Meng, a Chinese writer often tipped as a contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature. Afterwards, Lee concluded that he is better suited to writing essays, but to be honest, he knows he lacks sufficient writing skills. “I feel like I poured everything I had into that book, so I don’t write anymore these days,” he says. “All I can do is wait for inspiration to gather again, like water in a well.” Other items off his bucket list include hiking up Mt. Paektu, a cruise, and long-distance walking holidays. There is more to do: visiting Africa, a fascination since childhood; learning magic to make people smile; and experiencing the four seasons deep in Mt. Jiri or the remote Himalayas. Life, Then and Now Lee wakes up at 7:30 every morning to the sound of his alarm clock. While having a glass of cabbage juice and some fruit, he marks stories in his newspaper and then goes to a nearby gukseondo (traditional Korean Taoist exercise) center for 90 minutes of danjeon (hypogastric) breathing. He is now a gukseondo black belt. After exercising, he often comes home to an empty house because his wife Ku Kyung-bin, who is a devout Catholic,

is at church. He reads the newspaper articles picked out at breakfast, then logs into an online message board he shares with about 70 friends and family members. The most important item on the message board these days is news about Lee’s granddaughter, his only grandchild. She is in Spain, where Lee’s youngest son is on a work assignment. “There’s no comparing your children and grandchildren. Just like a beautiful flower, I’ll never tire of seeing my granddaughter,” he says. After writing and reading posts and uploading pictures, it’s soon time for lunch, either outside with a friend or alone at home unless his wife returns from church. He and his wife were co-workers at the same bank when they met. This year, they celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. “My wife says I’m patriarchal,” Lee says. “I guess it’s because I insist on making all the decisions in our home.” From the onset, Lee and his wife needed a home with four bedrooms. His widowed mother occupied one bedroom and the spares were needed if his siblings and other relatives stayed the night when they performed ancestral rites. Back then, he could only afford a standalone house in an out-of-the-way neighborhood.

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Years later, the couple took out an outsized mortgage to buy a four-bedroom apartment. They spent 10 years scrimping and saving to pay it off. Lee has three older sisters, one younger sister and two younger brothers. Having so many siblings is a hallmark of the baby boomer generation. Being the oldest son reinforces his patriarchal way of thinking, but this isn’t the only reason for his wife’s complaints. Religion Lee’s attitude toward religion clashes with his wife’s. He explains, “When my wife starts going on about things that happened at church, or gossiping about the neighbors, I don’t want to listen. I’m just not interested. I’ve lived with

my wife for 40 years, but I don’t think I know her very well, even now. Sometimes, when I see her praying at church or at home, I just feel like I’m looking at a stranger.” His wife was born into the faith but Lee was baptized as a Catholic in order to marry her. His wife’s baptismal name is Juliana, his is Augustinus. “I don’t think of religion as a crucial building block of life,” Lee says. “No one should ever give up everyday life for religion. Isn’t it more important just to live a life of virtue?” It appears that Lee has spent a considerable amount of time thinking about religion and life. He once spent three weeks living at Woljeong Temple up in Mt. Odae in Gangwon Province, attend-

ing a school for would-be Buddhist monks, and he also did a ten-day silent retreat at the Mary Ward Retreat House in Okcheon, North Chungcheong Province. “For me, Buddhism feels less like a religion and more like where my heart belongs,” Lee says. “I expected that living in a Buddhist temple would feel really freeing, but there were so many things you weren’t allowed to do. It was a big shock.” During the Jesuit retreat everyone lived in silence and once a day had a counseling session with one of the nuns. Recalling his thoughts at the time, Lee says, “The Sister told me to let go of my desire to meet God and just wait for a sign, but I couldn’t give up. As I left I thought to myself, ‘Well, I should return next time I get the chance.’” Like his thoughts on religion, it seems like Lee also formed his philosophy for retirement life relatively early. He had vowed to live “a life that would be helpful to others, beyond my own family,” just like Ernest, the main character in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short story “The Great Stone Face,” who was his role model when he was young. Like the Great Stone Face Lee recalls, “In 2009, I happened to read these sentences: ‘What do you want to be remembered for?’ ‘If you still can’t answer this by the time you’re 50, you’ll have wasted your life.’ ‘One does not make a difference unless it is a difference in the lives of people.’ In that moment I thought of Ernest, and I real1. Every morning Lee goes to a gukseondo center in his neighborhood to practice danjeon breathing. A few years back he became a gukseondo black belt. 2. For nine years Lee volunteered to teach business administration for Beautiful Seodang, a non-profit organization that offers free university-level classes. Here, Lee is giving his last lecture in June this year.

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There is more to do: visiting Africa, a fascination since childhood; learning magic to make people smile; and experiencing the four seasons deep in Mt. Jiri or the remote Himalayas.

ized I wanted to help others.” With serendipitous timing, he met Suh Jae-kyoung, director of Beautiful Seodang, a non-profit NGO, at a course for retirees run by a citizens’ organization. On Director Suh’s recommendation, Lee became a teacher at the Beautiful Seodang Young Leaders’ Academy (YLA), which attempts to impart character, capacity and a sense of volunteerism among university students. YLA offers courses that are free and include the classics and business administration, as well as volunteer projects. YLA teachers are mainly retirees from journalism, business and finance. They are unpaid and even use their own money to support the courses. Lee introduced “The Great Stone Face” to his students. Recently, after reading a management guru’s book, questions arose that reminded Lee of Ernest. “It was Peter Drucker’s ‘The Essential Drucker.’ It made me think again. What kind of person do I want to be remembered as?” he says. “And I found the answer. I want to be remembered as ‘someone who made an effort to be like Ernest.’”

He goes on, “It seems like students these days have lost their dreams. The pressure of barely being able to do part-time jobs if they fail to secure a white-collar career after graduation has snatched their dreams away. I feel so sorry for them.” In June this year, Lee ended his nine-year stint as a YLA teacher. He had to give up teaching because his weakening hearing hindered his ability to hear his students. He also suffered frequent sore throats and lost his voice. But the end of teaching is not an end to his volunteer efforts. “From now on I’m going to do work that’s less draining, both mentally and physically,” he says. “I’ll have to do more one-off volunteering projects, like cleaning houses or doing repairs for people who need a bit of extra help.” Born in Mokpo, South Jeolla Province, Lee graduated from commercial high school and then went to work in Seoul. At night, he attended classes for a university degree. It was at that time that he contributed to the university magazine an essay about having Ernest from “The

Great Stone Face” as his role model. “I like that his dream is simple. I like that he is not crafty. I like his honesty. That he is utterly regular. I like him because he is a gentle man of thought,” Lee says. A Never-Ending Student If you read “I Am a Student,” Lee’s book of essays, or talk to him for a while, you’ll think that he is Ernest himself, rather than someone who has tried to emulate him all his life. That is because he, too, is a regular and gentle person pursuing a simple dream. “I don’t have any real regrets. I’ve never really lost out on anything over the years. And I’ve never stopped learning and trying to put things that I have learned into practice. Even if I were to die tomorrow, I’d think, I had a great life,” he says. For about 10 years now, Lee has been thinking about “dying well,” writing his will and signing up to be an organ donor. He is a lucky baby boomer but it is not by accident or randomness. He cultivated luck for himself.

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ENTERTAINMENT

Recasting of Daughters-in-Law Movies and TV programs frequently include conflict and discord between a mother-inlaw and daughter-in-law. Lately, however, the portrayal of daughters-in-law has changed, altering viewers’ perspective. Jung Duk-hyun Popular Culture Critic

t the beginning of this year, nearly 20,000 moviegoers saw the documentary “Myeoneuri: My Son’s Crazy Wife.” It was a rare commercial success for a documentary about everyday life instead of politics or current events. But it was not surprising in view of the praise the film had received at several events, including the Jeonju International Film Festival, the DMZ International Documentary Film Festival and the Chuncheon International Documentary Film Festival. Acrimony between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law is a staple of Korean movies and TV shows. Unimpressed viewers grumble, “That is so cliché,” or “Such a mother-in-law does not exist anymore.” But more and more studios and filmmakers are putting a different spin on the daughter-in-law’s position. “Myeoneuri: My Son’s Crazy Wife,” whose original Korean title means

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“B-class Daughter-in-Law,” focuses on the deep-rooted patriarchal way of thinking that exists in virtually all Korean households and ubiquitous conflicts between mothers-in law and daughtersin-law. The story is told from the perspective of Ho-bin, the director of the documentary. He is torn between his wife, Jin-yeong, and mother, Gyeong-suk. The film offers no solutions. Instead, it strikes a nerve by questioning why daughters-in-law must struggle at all costs to be accepted and become an obedient “A-class” daughter-in-law, and suggesting an alternative model. Jin-yeong is not a second-rate daughter-in-law from the start. However, she eventually decides to give up trying to be the ideal A-class daughter-in-law and refuses to comply with Gyeong-suk’s demands that she attend all family events and rituals. Jin-yeong is content with her “perfect Chuseok holiday” when she does not visit her in-laws, a customary

practice during the harvest festival holiday. But feeling snubbed, Gyeong-suk sheds tears. Insider Point of View The reality TV show “Woman in Wonderland,” which became a regular program in June, reveals behavior in Korean households that is commonplace but largely ignored. The show’s popularity is credited to the observation camera which brings viewers inside people’s homes. The daughters-in-law who appear on the show become overstressed just thinking about an impending visit to their in-laws. When they arrive, they immediately go to their in-laws’ kitchen to start cooking and washing dishes. Meanwhile, the men of the family sit in front of the TV and do nothing. An invisible barrier seems to divide the space between women and men. This is a common scene among almost all families. However, when seen

through the camera lens as an outsider, the roles of the daughters-in-law that were previously taken for granted seem nonsensical. Blame may be assigned to people trying to exert control in the name of family. In Korea, the mother-in-law tells her daughter-in-law, “Now you are part of the family since you got married to my son.” This does not simply mean that she welcomes the daughter-in-law as a new member of the family. It sends a message that the daughter-in-law is supposed to properly perform all her duties to serve the in-laws. A male participant in the show said, “There is an old Korean saying that sons-in-law are guests for one hundred years. I hope there will come a time when the same can be said about daughters-in-law.” From his words we can see why viewers felt uncomfortable with the in-laws on the show: the daughters-in-

law are not treated as guests. “Woman in Wonderland” suggests that daughtersin-law who grew up as cherished daughters should be treated as guests instead of being forced to become part of their husband’s family. U-Turn in Portrayal In 1972, when Korea was an even more patriarchal society, viewers of the TV series “The Journey” (Yeoro) wept at the sight of a mother-in-law harshly treating her daughter-in-law, who took good care of her disabled son. The mother-in-law even leveled accusations of adultery against her, which angered daughters-in-law nationwide. That type of plot gave way to dramatic makeovers. In the 2006 sitcom “High Kick!,” for instance, a successful career woman treated her motherin-law condescendingly. The next year, a drama series entitled “Golden Era of

Daughter-in-law” depicted conflict and reconciliation between a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law. This drama was interesting in that the heroine, who was both a mother-in-law and a daughter-inlaw, tried to resolve conflicts with her own daughter-in-law as an inter-generational issue. As such, the daughter-in-law in TV shows and movies no longer was depicted as a submissive character; she became independent and outspoken. The way husbands are viewed has also changed. In the 2012 TV series “My Husband Got a Family,” the male protagonist, Gwi-nam, won viewers’ hearts by supporting his wife who was struggling in her relationship with her mother-inlaw. Interestingly, the 1992 TV series “Son and Daughter” had a male character by the same name, which literally means “precious man (or son).” By giving the lead male character the same name, the drama “My Husband Got a Family” sharply contrasted the status and attitude of a Korean man in his family over a span of 20 years. The Gwi-nam in “Son and Daughter” was a precious son to his mother and symbolized the prevalent tendency among Koreans to prefer sons over daughters. But in “My Husband Got a Family,” Gwi-nam was a precious man to his wife. As can be seen from the changes in daughters-in-law depicted by these TV dramas, Korean women want to maintain a healthy distance from their in-laws and keep their family independent rather than become incorporated in their in-laws’ family. Personal happiness is a higher priority than family values. It goes without saying that the changed portrayal of daughters-in-law in the entertainment world may not exactly mirror daughters-in-law in real life. However, it is clear in which direction the change is headed. The shift from blind obedience to independence and assertiveness is heralding a new age for Korean daughters-in-law.

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ESSENTIAL INGREDIENTS

, s n e p e e D n m u t u A r As e t e e w S s w o r G t a e Crab M

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The unique flavor of the blue crab, popular in Korea especially in spring and autumn, can be fully enjoyed without any special cooking process. The reason why its meat is so sweet and tasty is closely related to its method of survival. Jeong Jae-hoon Pharmacist and Food Writer

utumn is the season for blue crabs. Just thinking of the crabs full of meat makes the mouth water. Autumn is a season especially for the male crab because, after shedding its shell, it hardens its body in preparation for mating. The blue crab’s shell turns red when heated, but that’s not why it is called kkotge in Korean although kkot may seem to mean “flower.” In this case, kkot refers to its two skewer-shaped horns (“skewer” is kkochaeng-i in Korean). This explanation is given in “Topical Discourses of Jibong” (Jibong yuseol), an encyclopedia compiled by Yi Su-gwang (1563–1628), a Silhak (Practical Learning) scholar in the mid-Joseon Dynasty. It contains a description of the crab’s swimming prowess: “The hind legs are flat and thin, resembling paddles, and are used for swimming.” Two hundred years later, in “Register of Heuksan Fish” (Jasan eobo), a detailed study on the fish around Heuksan Island, off the southwest coast, Jeong Yak-jeon (1758–1816) wrote, “Most crabs can crawl about well but are not good at swimming, but this crab can swim well with its fan-like legs.” Hence the blue crab is also called the “swimmer crab” in English. Regardless of East or West, it seems people were impressed by the blue crab’s swimming ability. The way a crab swims might look a bit strange, but everyone would agree with Jeong Yak-jeon’s description of the taste as “sweet.” Fresh autumn crab meat

does in fact taste sweet. But the sweetness is very different from that of sugar. It is a delicate and complex flavor produced in salty sea water that is characteristic not only of the blue crab but also the snow crab (daege) of the East Sea, which has legs resembling bamboo, as well as the Russian king crab. Secret of the Sweetness The sweetness of crab meat derives from the abundant glycine, an amino acid, which accounts for 70 percent of the sweetness in sugar. Of course, the sweetness of crab is also influenced by sea water. To survive in salty sea water, the crab needs a certain substance to balance the salt concentration. If the concentration of that substance is lower than that of sea water, the crab’s body fluids could leak into the sea due to osmotic pressure. Yet, salt cannot be used to balance the fluids. An excess of electrolytes from salt hinders the activity of the bodily enzymes, which can block activities necessary for life. In sea fish, trimethylamine oxide (TMAO) balances salt concentration. TMAO usually has no smell or color, but is the cause of the fishy smell when it dissolves during the distribution and storage of fish. This substance is also found in crabs, which smell fishy when stored incorrectly. But in crabs and other crustaceans, it is glycine rather than TMAO that does the job of balancing salt concentration. The crab meat served at a seafood buffet restaurant tastes less

sweet because the glycine disappears during steaming and processing. There’s more, however, when it comes to the crab’s sweetness. Beside glycine, crab meat contains alanine, another amino acid causing sweetness, as well as glutamine acid and nucleic acid which are responsible for the savory flavor of foods. In addition, various volatile substances contribute to the delicate and intensive flavor of crab meat. The saltier the sea water, the more concentrated the free amino acids such as glycine and alanine, and the tastier the crab meat. Much as white radish and Chinese cabbage grown in the highlands are sweeter to prevent them from freezing, as autumn deepens and the sea becomes colder the amount of amino acids in crab meat increases. Thus, no complicated process is necessary for cooking crabs caught in autumn. Simply steaming them is enough to draw out the full flavor. This is due to the Maillard reaction. Sugar and amino acids heated together turn brown, producing a complex flavor different from that of the original food ingredients, a process that usually occurs at high temperatures over 120 degrees Celsius. It is the same logic behind the fact that boiled meat does not have the aroma unique to a grilled steak. Crab meat is an exception, however, for its abundant amino acids and sugar content mean that it has a savory, nutty aroma even when steamed or boiled below 120 degrees. When crabs are cooked in the

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shell, the aroma is trapped and this intensifies the flavor. Self-Digestion Enzyme Crabs can easily go bad during storage. When crabs die during transportation, their meat gets mushy and inedible. That is because the self-digestion enzyme contained in the hepatopancreas, the digestive organ of crustaceans such as crabs, is released when they die and dissolves the meat. Even the meat of crabs that are still alive when brought home can become mushy if not cooked immediately. The self-digestion enzyme is also activated when crabs are cooked at low temperature or undercooked. But if frozen immediately after being

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caught, meaty blue crabs can be enjoyed throughout the year. Conversely, the traditional Korean dish ganjang gejang (crabs marinated and preserved in soy sauce) makes use of this self-digestion function. Soy sauce is boiled with garlic, onions and ginger, then cooled down and poured over wellcleaned raw crabs until they are fully covered and left to mature. The self-digestion enzyme and any microorganisms stuck to the crab dissolve the meat and internal organs, and in this process, the amount of free amino acids increases, enhancing the flavor. This dish is a delicacy resulting from the combination of savory substances in the soy sauce and in the mushy crab

1. Crab marinated in soy sauce, called ganjang gejang, is a favorite side dish of Koreans. It is made by pouring soy sauce boiled with garlic, onions and ginger over uncooked crabs and leaving them to ripen. Female crabs caught during March and April are normally used. 2. At the seafood market, merchants arrange freshly-caught snow crabs. Thinshelled and full of meat, snow crabs with the cleanest taste are caught mostly in the East Sea. In the winter and following spring, the crabbing season, restaurants in the region are crowded with people out to enjoy fresh snow crabs.

Those who know how to enjoy the beauty of nature and the flavor of food also know when to let go and when to wait. meat. Very different from cooked crab meat, ganjang gejang tastes so good that it’s affectionately called the “rice thief,” meaning that it whets the appetite and makes a bowl of rice quickly disappear. There is even a record from the Joseon period that says live crabs were fed beef or chicken before being marinated in soy sauce to enrich the flavor. This recalls the French way of fattening geese to make foie gras. As for crab eggs, they are not actually eggs. To be precise, they are ovaries yet to be fertilized. Crabs with such eggs can be eaten. But those with a lump of dark brown eggs revealed outside the body should neither be caught nor consumed. Blue crabs mate in early autumn, but fertilization of the eggs does not occur during this time. The sperm is kept

inside the female crab’s seminal vesicles and the eggs are fertilized in the following spring. The fertilized eggs look like flying fish roe hanging on a transparent thread. The eggs that poke out of the body are first orange-colored but turn dark brown over time. Crabs with fertilized eggs, whether blue crabs or snow crabs or king crabs, do not have much flavor. Female crabs, after using up their energy for reproduction, are not filled with meat, making them a less attractive catch, and they should not be caught for environmental reasons as well. Usually, a female crab lays about 750,000 to 3,000,000 eggs, but on average, only one survives. Therefore, it is important to observe the permitted fishing seasons. For the same reason, research is annually conducted in Amer-

ica to estimate the number of blue crabs along its coasts. Like Autumn Foliage The blue crab resembles autumn foliage. The yellow, orange and red colors of autumn leaves remain hidden by the green chlorophyll until it is destroyed by cold weather. Similarly, the blue shell of the live blue crab turns bright red when cooked as protein dissolves the color substance. In the fields and mountains of Korea, the leaves start to change color in early autumn. But only part of the plants and trees change color. We have to wait a bit longer for the peak autumn foliage season when the mountains and fields are covered in red. The same applies to blue crabs. Every year in August, the off season ends and blue crab fishing starts again. But around this time, a lot of crabs are empty inside. Crabs, lobsters and other crustaceans cannot grow larger than their shell, so they have to shed their shells, or molt, periodically to grow. The biological cost of moving out of the old home and building a new one is high. In the process, a large amount of muscle and energy is used up, leaving the crab half flesh and half water. It takes time to fill the watery part with flesh and harden the shell. Soft crabs are crabs caught and eaten some time after molting. But, like the crabs carrying fertilized eggs, it is wise not to catch soft crabs. As autumn deepens and the foliage grows more resplendent, the flavor of the blue crab intensifies. Those who know how to enjoy the beauty of nature and the flavor of food also know when to let go and when to wait.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 85

LIFESTYLE

ÂŠ Hanssem

DIY Interior Designing, a Happy Pastime Do-it-yourself interior designing is all the rage, especially among a bulging population of young singles. They are drawn to the idea of turning their homes into expressions of their individualism and their own interpretations of beauty and utility. Seong Jeong-a Lifestyle Content Director

86 KOREANA Autumn 2018

ntil recently, the general population in Korea assigned very little attention to interior designing. It was perceived as an expensive task done by professionals employed by housewives with deep pockets. But now, single-person households are the primary drivers. Stable, well-paying jobs are difficult to secure for adults in their 20s and 30s. Thus, for many, marriage and starting a family are out of the question. Furthermore, even singles with a solid job are deferring marriage to pursue their career. As such, bachelorettes and bachelors, who typically reside alone in a small studio apartment, are pursuing different paths to happiness in their home envi-

1. Small multi-functional furniture that can be tucked into small spaces is gaining popularity, thanks to the ongoing do-it-yourself interior designing trend among those in their 20s and 30s. 2. Shelves, framed pictures and small plants can change the atmosphere easily, requiring little money or effort. Many young people buy such objects on online shopping sites, where goods can be compared at a quick glance.

ronment. They are decorating and equipping their home with items such as potted plants, aromatic candles, new bedding and pre-assembled furniture. In short, they have plunged into “Do-It-Yourself” (DIY) home decorating. The idea of “DIY home décor” by non-professionals first appeared in books by bloggers, with the practical guidebooks becoming bestsellers. Then in 2016, interior designing debuted on TV shows featuring “ordinary people” who like to decorate their space according to their own taste, rather than professional interior designers and architects. Personalization of Space Choi Go-yo, a guest on the cable television program “The Class of My Room,” broadcast on tvN, said she has spent a mere 799,100 won turning her 50-square-meter room in a 25-year-old multiplex house into a cozy space resembling a café. Her incredible feat left the audience wide-eyed with surprise. Choi, a space manager and author of the book, “Do You Live in a Place That You Like?,” said she is glad to see the public take an interest in their space.

She said, “I’ve been changing the space I’m in to suit my own taste ever since I began living alone. I’ve learned how to achieve a sense of satisfaction in my own space by filling it, be it a 20-square-meter rooftop room or a two-bedroom apartment, with my favorite things. Only a few years ago, those who rented their homes under the old-fashioned jeonse (deposit lease) system tended to believe that they were doing something good for the landlord, not for themselves, when they made home improvements. But there has been a big change in this perception. I think this phenomenon is being created thanks to a change in values among people who want to pursue happiness that is close at hand, not in the distant future.” Lee Ha-na, a 22-year-old college co-ed, enjoys the convenience of online shopping. Last spring, she created a fresh atmosphere in her semi-basement rented room by hanging a floating shelf near the window and putting potted herbs on it. “I only spent tens of thousand won buying them. But they were gifts for myself,” she said. “Buying furniture and home accessories has now become a pastime of mine for a change of atmosphere.” She added that she keeps DIY affordable simply by skipping coffee or saving pocket money. New Pastime Kim Hoon, an office worker who purchased a home in the heart of Seoul, is a DIY aficionado who collects ideas and shows off the results. Through frequent searches for images of rooms and houses on Instagram, he obtains information on furniture models and brands. He recently posted photos of his bedroom after giving it a new coat of paint and hanging up pictures. He gloated over the many “likes” he received. United by their mutual hobby, those in their 20s and 30s frequently share Instagram photos using the hashtag “#jip-

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 87

“It’s good to feel happy after successfully decorating your own space with your own hands. Above all, you need to know about what you like before decorating your own space. You should know about yourself first to do that.”

stagram,” forming a sort of online community (jip means “house” or “home”). More than two million images pop up on the screen when #jipstagram is searched on Instagram. A search for #selfinterior leads to hundreds of thousands of images of newly decorated interiors. “House of Today,” a mobile app for quick and comprehensive examples of interior designs, is also popular among DIY enthusiasts. With a community function facilitating exchanges of opinions, this

app is popular among young people. Reporter Shin Jin-soo of the interior design magazine, Maison Marie Claire Korea, attributed the DIY craze to the growth of social media. She said, “People began taking an interest in do-it-yourself interior decorating four to five years ago. But I think it really took off about two years ago. It’s obvious that social media networks and mobile apps are spreading the craze. Cool images on Instagram or Pinterest are accessible to

everyone. It’s a kind of play or pastime for the young generation. “I don’t think it is a passing fad but a positive change in lifestyle. It’s good to feel happy after successfully decorating your own space with your own hands. Above all, you need to think about what you like before decorating your own space. You should know yourself first to do that. Do-it-yourself interior designing can be a chance for you to think more deeply about yourself.” Do-it-yourself interior decoration has become so popular chiefly because it is easy for everyone to buy design materials with which they can create various styles even though they have neither professional knowledge nor aesthetic acumen. It is possible to create a unique, individualized design simply by putting together ready-to-assemble furniture pieces. “It’s become easier to buy materials such as tiles and paints, as well as furniture and home accessories, as the do-it-yourself interior design market has grown bigger,” Lee Eun-kyung, an

1. A young woman tries to perfect her technique at the painting class of Home & Tones. A growing number of companies are offering a DIY interior designing program for customers who seek happiness in decorating their own space.

88 KOREANA Autumn 2018

2. The interior of a multiplex house that Choi Go-yo, a space manager, has decorated. She only spent about 800,000 won to turn her old 50-square-meter home into a cozy space, surprising viewers of her cable TV show on DIY ideas.

interior design editor, said. “This industry will continue to be subdivided into a number of segments.” She also said, “Some new interior design materials in the market are amazing. They include easy-to-put-up wallpaper and plastic sheets in various colors, with which you can easily change the color of your kitchen sink or furniture. Besides, some timber dealers cut wood to size for your own convenience. Such materials bought online are delivered quickly. Online shopping is easy for everybody to enjoy.” Marketing Layout Undoubtedly, IKEA has played a pivotal role in altering perceptions and opportunities in DIY. This global company opened its first outlet in Korea in 2014. It won the hearts of Korean consumers in a short period of time with “sweet candy colors, multifarious designs, and low prices,” shattering the stereotypical image of heavy, ponderous home furniture. Global living brands have also taken root, offering reasonable prices. And Korean companies have joined the market trend. Hanssem, a Korean interior design company, has recently concentrated on developing small multipurpose furniture and DIY products for single-person households. Samhwa Paint has opened an outlet store called Home & Tones. It sends representatives to fairs, exhibitions and customer service sessions to give consumers DIY tips such as furniture and interior painting solutions.

Samhwa products come in remarkable varieties — paints that turn walls into decorative magnetic boards, luminous paints, and paints that can create a vintage atmosphere — depending on the target surface, whether wallpaper, walls or furniture. “In the past, most paints were purchased by professional interior designers or companies. But these days, they are bought by individual consumers in small quantities,” said Yang Soo-hyuk of the marketing team at Home & Tones. “Consumers now have a high level of knowledge and want to take the initiative in decorating their own spaces.

Another notable trend is that they’re attracted more to eco-friendliness and convenience rather than colors or styles when they buy paints,” he added. In view of the rising demand at the retail level, companies that previously focused on wholesale marketing are trying to get closer to individual consumers. Moongori.com, a DIY shop, has created a customer-friendly environment for one-stop shopping. At the same time, it recently expanded offline stores in Seoul and Ilsan in Gyeonggi Province. Younhyun Trading, a tile dealer, is also attracting more customers by entering markets in collaboration with artists.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 89

JOURNEYS IN KOREAN LITERATURE

CRITIQUE

What’s the Medicine She Really Needs? Oh Hyun-jong (born 1973) weaves engaging stories in diverse genres, such as romance, espionage and martial arts, with an ingenious imagination. For such forays into different genres she has been credited with broadening the horizons of Korean fiction. At the same time, the stories she tells always have a sharp take on the human psyche. Choi Jae-bong Reporter, The Hankyoreh

he subject matter and themes of Oh Hyun-jong’s full-length novels are quite diverse. Her early novels tended to be autobiographical. Her first novel, “You’re a Witch,” depicting the painfully slow progress in the love between a 30-something writer and a graduate student; the coming-of-age novel, “Time Spent Learning Languages,” exploring the truth-seeking and frustrations of students at a foreign language high school; and “Divine Snobs,” recounting female university students’ struggles with dating and making inroads into society — all seem to stem from the author’s own life. Some writers, despite their apparent skills at turning their own experiences and thoughts into fiction, eventually struggle to break away from autobiographical material. In most cases, the problem is a lack of imagination and talent. This is not so with Oh Hyun-jong; she masterfully creates narratives beyond autobiographical storytelling. Her second full-length novel, “The Adventures of Bond Girl Mimi” (2007), is a radical remaking of the “007” spy films from a feminist perspective. Just like the films, her novel portrays James Bond as a hunk oozing sex appeal, but unlike the films, where the Bond girl merely plays a supporting role to highlight Bond’s masculinity, Mimi is both proactive and highly capable. In the first part of the novel, Mimi longs for Bond and pursues him, but Bond

90 KOREANA Autumn 2018

uses his duty and mission as a shield to push her away. Having been tracking Bond’s whereabouts, in the latter part of the novel, Mimi is transformed into a spy herself, with the code name “013.” It is her mission to solve the problems caused by Bond’s vanity and incompetence and save the organization from grave danger. Hence, 013 outshines 007 as a spy. “Sweet and Cold” (2013), Oh’s fifth novel, tells a completely different kind of story. The novel can be summarized as a “brutal rite of passage story” in which a young man does not shirk from becoming a murderer for the woman he loves, and, in the process, comes face to face with the dark truth of humanity. With this work, no longer relying on personal experiences or appealing to shared cultural tropes, Oh succeeds in presenting a perception of the world and the realization of characters which are entirely fictional. Her sixth novel, “The Assassin’s Blade in the Days Long Gone” (2015), is of a completely different nature, not only in theme and content but also in prose style, and eloquently shows off the versatility of the writer. While “The Adventures of Bond Girl Mimi” is a reinterpretation and transformation of a blockbuster film series, this novel attempts to inherit but go beyond traditional East Asian martial arts fiction in a modern way. The motifs of revenge and exaggerated heroism stay faithful to the traditions of martial arts fiction, but in aspects

like the story-within-story structure or the fact that the main character fails to stab the villain at the crucial moment, and more than anything else, the fresh, modern prose style and thinking, the novel displays a creative capability unhindered by the clichés and limitations of traditional narratives. In the line, “Only when I came forward holding deep within me a story I had to tell could I finally feel like I had broken free from the loneliness that grew within me like my own bones, the loneliness like that of a eunuch,” the author seems to confess her own destiny as a born story-teller. The short story, “A History of Medicine,” presented here, was included in Oh’s short story collection, “I Was Both the King and the Jester,” published by Munhak Dongne (Literary Community) in 2017. This book of eight stories demands serious contemplation in that it explores the status and role of the writer in the world today, and all the associated deliberations. The person that becomes the king and then also the jester in a single story is none other than the writer. In the autobiographical story “In Busan,” included in the same book, the main character, reminiscent of the writer herself, is told that “the age of the novel is already long gone” by a middle-aged woman working in broadcasting in their first meeting. In “Reading the Family Register,” the scenes in which people such as bank or visa agency workers react sourly to the protagonist’s unstable status as a novelist echo the episode from “In Busan.” However, in this story, the thoughts that the main character broods over while looking through the names and dates of birth and death of her ancestors listed in the family register, read somewhat paradoxically. The line, “first meetings and farewells, loneliness and dread are not recorded in official documents,” seems to express a great pride and faith in fiction which can record such things. In the writer’s note at the end of the book, Oh Hyun-jong says, “Even if my fate, as the king in a tragedy or the jester in a comedy, is decided by the throw of the dice in an afternoon game to pass the time, that’s fine. Whatever role I must take now, I think I can devote myself to it.” The soliloquy seems based on an awakening and sense of conviction in Oh’s identity as a novelist. “A History of Medicine” does not hold metathoughts about fiction or literature. The story is centered on an almost-romance between a graduate student in her late twenties studying English literature and a late-blooming student of oriental medicine. The way the relationship between these two characters circles around, languishing somewhere between friends and lovers, and never develops but at the same time is not broken off, brings to mind Oh’s first full-length novel, “You’re a Witch.” As the title suggests, “A History of Medicine” introduces all of the various kinds of medicines the protagonist has

“Even if my fate, as the king in a tragedy or the jester in a comedy, is decided by the throw of the dice in an afternoon game to pass the time, that’s fine.” taken throughout her life, up to the present day. The main character, approaching thirty, has caught a cold and her coughs have gone on so long they now sound like the rough barking of a dog. For this condition, Seob, the oriental medicine student, prescribes what medicine he can, but even as the story draws to a close, the protagonist’s symptoms show no signs of improvement. Little by little, the reader comes to realize that this is not from lack of skill on Seob’s part. Although the two have been seeing each other for a long time, they have “never held hands,” and because of this the protagonist is aware that the “precise distance between us is as close as we will ever get.” At the end of the story, she finally calls Seob and says, “I, I need medicine. Medicine,” and at long last, she bursts into tears. It is perfectly clear to the reader that this medicine is neither the Korean traditional medicine made by Seob nor the Western medicine they dispense at pharmacies. And Seob seems to realize this too, as he doesn’t end the call but just listens to her cry wordlessly.

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS 91

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