[Essay] The Writing Human, Kim Kyung-uk scrap
by Kang Yu-jung
Translated by Victoria Caudle
December 14, 2022
Author Bio 작가 소개
The Nth Novel
Annie Ernaux, the 2022 Nobel laureate in Literature, has said she writes only what she has experienced. For her, literature copies life. We often exalt artists who pour their personal lives onto their writing, recording their lives in their manuscripts, such as Arthur Rimbaud, Françoise Sagan, and Virginia Woolf. From this point of view, Kim Kyung-uk’s way of writing is diametrically opposed to Ernaux’s. If you were to draw a line indicating the writing spectrum, I imagine that their two names would be on opposite ends. Kim is an author who writes coldly and dryly-stories that are as far as possible from his life.
While some writers spend their lives rewriting the one work that is “the self,” Kim’s writing does not focus on a singular topic, color, theme, narrator, or character. That is to say, he has written female narrators (“Heaven’s Door”), revealed the self through “you” (“Dangerous Reading”), and has even written narrators who do not refer to themselves as “I” but by their own name in the third person, as with Kim Jung-geun (“When Someone Talks About Me”).
When Kim Kyung-uk the author writes, he does not want to show the slightest trace of himself. No—he erases himself over and over. That’s why if you gather the eighteen works he’s published over the nearly thirty years since he made his literary debut, you won’t see a single view of the world, but views that are as expansive and manifold as space or a whole universe. The narratives seem to feign indifference as they move to different stories, themes, and topics, as if they are afraid they might blend together into black if they are mixed, like fractals or light. Since his debut in 1993, Kim has published nine short story collections and nine novels. He persists in writing expansive stories as if he believes that if there are n number of stories and n number of lives in the world, there must be n number of novels.
Kim separates himself from his writer-self, parceling out their interior and exteriors, and directing a conversation between the “I” in the mirror and the “I” looking into the mirror. This is an internal deliberation between “I” and “me,” yet as soon as it is contained within a story, it becomes an internal conversation that seeps into the reader like a monologue. That’s how, within a house of mirrors, the deepest cracks and crevasses shrouded by life split into countless conversations with “I,” and thus birth new stories. As long as life continues, stories will continue.
The Dry Realist
There are three reasons why this expansion is possible. One is the author’s power of observation. Debuting in his twenties, Kim Kyung-uk’s ability to express the era in exquisite, meticulous detail has been seen as a strong point of his writing. This can be seen in his first short story, “Outsider,” published in 1993, and through all of the works he published up to the early 2000s.
The 1990s were a decade of diversity that came into being from the single ideology that constrained the 1980s era of democratization. If, in the 1980s, an outsider was a loner cast out from the collective, in the 1990s, being an outsider was a form of self-expression as well as a pose. If you didn’t call yourself an outsider, it meant that you had no individuality. However, everyone claimed to be an outsider while appropriating the same individuality. That’s because “individuality” was being pumped into our veins through popular culture, such as movies, bands, and British pop. Rare at first, it soon became commonplace to watch European auteur cinema and to listen to indie bands, and Kim showed his superior senses in capturing the post-modern kitsch aesthetic in the language of that generation,the language of elites in their twenties.
The vibe of this generation can be gleaned from the following titles: There’s No Coffee at the Bagdad Café, Meeting Betty, Who Killed Kurt Cobain?, and Leslie Cheung is Dead? Bagdad Café, Betty Blue, KurtCobain, and Leslie Cheung are names which encapsulate the postmodern culture that 1990s’ Korea absorbed with incredible speed. “He’s as sad as the movies and as lonely as the music” was the critical response to Kim’s work, which used pop cultural symbols to show personal experience and point out generational sensibilities. If past generations measured time with historical events, from the 1990s onward, time became measured by the emergence and subsequent disappearance of pop cultural icons. Kurt Cobain’s suicide, Leslie Cheung’s death on April Fool’s Day—these weren’t simply the deaths of a rock star and a movie star, but the end of a certain feeling, a tying up of the times.
This can also be found in the short story “99%”which recalls the scandal of education fraud that blew through Korean society. The name “Steve Kim” became synonymous with the overused phrase, “The rising Midas of the advertising world with a capitalist heart raised in the U.S. of A.” As unlikely as it is to happen again, at the time, the validity of a forged identity was once as popular as premium chocolate. The scandals didn’t end, and it would be hard to say that the vulgarity observed by the author twenty years ago has been mitigated and eradicated for good. Included in Kim’s thirty-year career are stories such as “When Someone Talks About Me,” which contains traces of COVID-19 era personal protective measures and quarantine, while stories such as “Sky Carpet” hint at the #MeToo wave that burst through the arts, literary,and sports worlds to engulf even schools and the entirety of Korean society. It is thanks to Kim’s ability to obscure his presence in the background of his stories that allow traces of the events in Korean society to remain on the surface, hidden within and between, the lines of his work.
The second virtue of Kim’s work is his sincerity. Nicknames like “Story-Machine” and “King of the Cave” are linked to his famous ability to meet deadlines and consistently publish collection upon collection and novel after novel through the seasons and over the years. The author has said that he seeks to live as a writer who treats writing as a full-time job, writing during the day and sleeping at night. Thus, in order to do so, it is of the utmost importance to quietly and patiently observe the world at the same height and same temperature, like a searchlight sweeping over society.
Reconciling with “I”
Kim has recently published his eighteenth book and ninth short story collection, When Someone Talks About Me. The title story shows just how multifaceted the author’s world is. The main character Kim Jung-geun, who reminds the reader of Arthur Fleck from director Todd Phillips’s Joker, seems to be perfectly suited to a pandemic-stricken world. He refers to himself as“someone who needs to keep away not only from the virus, but from other people.” A loner who finds the COVID period to be more peaceful for himself,Kim Jung-geun must head out to renew his driver’s license and while doing so,tries conversing with himself. Jung-geun finds it hard to handle other people talking about him. The most he can manage is him talking about himself.Referring to himself in the third person, he goes back and forth between the name his father gave him, Gi-jeong, to his present name, Jung-geun, changed by his mother, in order to first facilitate the conversation and then to reconcile with himself.
In the end, Kim’s writing shows the repetition and continuation of conversations and reconciliations within the diverse spectrum of “I.” It is not unrelated to the fact that he said his sentences “don’t have an ounce of fat” and are “as solid as bricks.” He constructs his narratives with these bricks of dry, sturdy sentences, and through the process, creates a window through which the world can be seen during the day and the “I” can be seen reflected at night.
I believe that the only work where it may be possible to catch a glimpse of the author Kim Kyung-uk is the story “Another’s Life.” It attempts to show the image of the author reflected through the eyes of his recently deceased father. And even this narrative has the author shown through his father’s imagined eyes. In creating an image of his father as someone who hoped for him to wear a tie to work and get a job in the court system, who never told him to go to law school, but thought it would be okay if he took the Foreign Service Examination since he majored in English Language and Literature, it’s likely that Kim’s father, who saw his son graduate from a prestigious university, held these sorts of universal expectations. It is implied that the expectations of the father for his son, who grew up in a small city only to get accepted to the best university in Seoul, were bureaucratic wishes in the name of success that are excused through the father’s death.
What’s important is that this story, which seems to include aspects that are closest to the author’s actual life, is titled “Another’s Life.” It takes a compassionate craftsman to make things that are closest to oneself feel the farthest away and the lives of others feel closest to one’s self. It is ultimately that compassion which has enabled those razor-sharp, cold, dry sentences to endure these past thirty years. And that is Kim Kyung-uk’s ultimate skill: the ability to understand another’s pain and reconcile it with oneself.
Translated by Victoria Caudle
Korean Works Mentioned:
• When Someone Talks About Me (Moonji, 2022)
『누군가 나에 대해 말할 때』 (문학과지성사, 2022)
• There is No Coffee at the Bagdad Café (Goryeowon,1996)
『바그다드 카페에는 커피가 없다』 (고려원,1996)
• Meeting Betty (Munhak Dongne, 1999)
『베티를 만나러 가다』 (문학동네, 1999)
• Who Killed Kurt Cobain? (Moonji, 2003)
『누가 커트 코베인을 죽였는가』 (문학과지성사,2003)
• Leslie Cheung is Dead? (Moonji, 2005)
『장국영이 죽었다고?』 (문학과지성사, 2005)
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