LTI Korea 
DLKL 
SIWF 
Spending Time with Baudelaire and Balzac in Seoul scrap
by Aurélie Julia
November 9, 2014
Thursday, June 21, 2012. The French Institute.
“It’s 6 o’clock. It’s time to start.”
“What do you mean it’s time to start? It’s just 6:00 sharp.”
“The lecture is scheduled to start at 6. It’s 6, so it’s time to start.”
That was my first big surprise in Seoul: punctuality. Any travel guidebook will give you information on the many specific things which will surprise a Westerner’s eyes and taste buds: neon lights, computers, supersonic cars, food, eating meals on the floor. But the authors of Lonely Planet and Petit Futé forgot to mention one key point: the sense of punctuality. As an act of respect, politeness, and common courtesy, punctuality seems to be a cardinal rule in the Republic of Korea. Arriving for an appointment 15 minutes in advance is nothing unusual. To be five minutes late, however, borders on the height of boorishness.
6:07 p.m.: It is really time to start if the organizers do not want to lose the large number of audience members who have assembled on the 18th floor of the high-tech Woori Building. The evening’s program features a presentation of a special issue of the Revue des Deux Mondes devoted to the two Koreas. I would never have thought that 70 people would come out to hear five speakers discourse on various aspects of Korean studies but there they were, with high expectations. A brief presentation of the Revue opens the round table. To speak of this institution which has been around for 183 years in front of a select circle of men and women is profoundly disorienting yet magical.
Revue des Deux Mondes was launched in 1829. In the beginning, it was a magazine dedicated to travel but rapidly evolved to include political, historical, and literary topics. Why is it called ‘Deux Mondes?’ The name ‘Two Worlds’ evokes the pairing of Orient/Occident, Europe/America, classic/modern.” No yawning in the audience, no sighs: the ears are attuned almost religiously to the names of Baudelaire, Balzac, Turgenev, Cocteau, Joyce, and Le Clézio. There are clearly still some admirers of the French language left in the world in the 21st century.
7:30 p.m.: Applause signals the end of the session. The faces gathered around the cocktail table are beaming, not only at what they have heard, but also at the sight of the petit fours! In France a round table will usually conclude around 8 or 8:30 p.m., but this is not customary here: Koreans dine early; by 7 p.m., stomachs are bulging. That the audience members are still present at 7:30 is that much more remarkable.
9:30 p.m.: It’s time to go back to the hotel. Tomorrow, I leave for Jeonju, a provincial city famous for its historical heritage and culinary specialties. The great poet Ahn Do-hyeon lives there.
I am indebted to Jean-Noël Juttet, the coordinator of the Korean issue, for bringing me to Seoul, and I am indebted to the French Institute for sponsoring my mission, but it is to Park Mihwi and Jung Jin-kwon of LTI Korea that I owe many unforgettable memories and an ultra-dynamic schedule! Thanks to these two organizers of my stay, I was able to interview seven writers currently in vogue. Some were known to me, having been published in France: Kim Junghyuk (Editions Cartouche), Kim Ae-ran, Eun Heekyung, and Lee Seung-U (all three appearing in the catalogue of Editions Zulma). I was unaware of the reputation of Ahn Do-hyeon, despite his being translated into French (Editions Picquier). Han Kang was also a discovery, as was Pyun Hye-Young.
Each of the writers was chosen because they have an upcoming publication in France. Reading their short stories and novels, I was surprised by the generally somber tone: the family unit is exploding, dialogues between people are impossible, individuals must confront anonymity and solitude; the absurd, an end-of-the-world atmosphere also permeates their works. Some of the writers explain that it is impossible for them to write humorous stories, or at least they have to avoid superfluous topics. A writer’s task is to engage, and to denounce as well as to “exorcise internal enemies, demons forever held in check,” explains Lee Seung-U. Is it not a novel’s raison d’être to pose the essential questions facing humanity? Clearly, my interlocutors think so. The poet Ahn Do-hyeon teaches me a Korean saying: When a man faces two roads, he must always take the most difficult one; that which is easily acquired will be easily lost.
The conversations take place in cafes, which are quiet, spacious places where young people meet up to read, work, and discuss. Bookshelves line one section of the wall, speakers send out an eclectic mix of pop and classical music. I like to record the interviews, to hear the voices of the writers, of course, but also to hear all these sounds which, in an instant, allow me to recapture the mood of the moment. The words of Lee Seung-U harmonize with the sounds of Chopin, the words of Eun Heekyung mix with the chords of Pink Floyd; rock music accompanies Kim Junghyuk’s jokes. As for Ahn Do-hyeon, he proposes to meet in an obscure spot where one can savor dried squid with beer; in this locale lit up by buzzing neon lights, the ear gets accustomed to the babel of down-to-earth Koreans who have come to relax and laugh over drinks. After the ultra-trendy sites and streets of the capital, it is fantastic to discover another aspect of the country and to savor a different authenticity.
The week passes too quickly; it’s already time to leave. Besides the extreme vitality of Korean literature, I take with me the memory of unbelievable kindness and hospitality. “The best thing about Korea is the Koreans,” Choe Junho, the former director of the Korean Cultural Center in Paris, had told me. There is no longer any doubt about that!
* Aurélie Julia is received her doctorate in literature at Université Paris-Sorbonne. She is currently an editor of Revue des Deux Mondes.
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Aurélie Julia
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More From Issue Vol.17 Autumn 2012
