KOREANA - Spring 2013 (English)

spri ng 2013

Korean Culture & Arts

vo l. 27 n o . 1

Special Feature spri n g 2013

Seoul Seoul: Its Origins and Future; The City I Call Home; Gangnam: A Personal Story; My Seoul: Six Hot Spots Where the City’s History Comes Alive

ISSN 1016-0744

v o l. 27 n o. 1

Seoul Inside Out Memories of a City Old and New

PUBLISHER Kim Woosang EDITORIAL DIRECTOR Zeon Nam-jin EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Lee Kyong-hee EDITORIAL BOARD Bae Bien-u

Elisabeth Chabanol

Han Kyung-koo

Kim Hwa-young

Kim Moon-hwan

Kim Young-na

Koh Mi-seok

Song Hye-jin

Song Young-man

Werner Sasse COPY EDITOR Dean Jiro Aoki ASSOCIATE EDITOR Lim Sun-kun ASSISTANT EDITORS Teresita M. Reed

Cho Yoon-jung

CREATIVE DIRECTOR ART DIRECTOR DESIGNER LAYOUT & DESIGN

Kim Sam Lee Duk-lim Lee Young-bok, Kim Ji-hyun Kim’s Communication Associates 384-13 Seogyo-dong, Mapo-gu, Seoul 121-839, Korea www.gegd.co.kr Tel: 82-2-335-4741 Fax: 82-2-335-4743

TRANSLATORS

Charles La Shure Chung Myung-je Hwang Sun-ae Kim Young-kyu Min Eun-young

Subscription Price for annual subscription: Korea 18,000, Asia by air US$33, elsewhere by air US$37 Price per issue in Korea 4,500

Subscription/circulation correspondence: The U.S. and Canada Koryo Book Company 1368 Michelle Drive St. Paul, MN 55123-1459 Tel: 1-651-454-1358 Fax: 1-651-454-3519 Other areas including Korea The Korea Foundation 2558 Nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho-gu Seoul 137-863, Korea Tel: 82-2-2151-6544 Fax: 82-2-2151-6592 Printed in spring 2013 Samsung Moonwha Printing Co. 274-34 Seongsu-dong 2-ga, Seongdong-gu, Seoul 133-831, Korea Tel: 82-2-468-0361/5

© The Korea Foundation 2013 All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the Korea Foundation.

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

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

Koreana Internet Website http://www.koreana.or.kr

KOREAN CULTURE & ARTS Spring 2013 Published quarterly by The Korea Foundation 2558 Nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho-gu Seoul 137-863, Korea

The cover features Park Nung-saeng’s painting, “Bungee Jumping,” ink and acrylic color on canvas, 90cm x 72.7cm (2010). The jumper looks out at the city of Seoul, Korea’s capital since 1394 and today one of the world’s largest metropolises.

Seoul’s Mt. Nam; at the top stands the N Seoul Tower, a communications tower with an observation deck.

The green belt of over one million square meters on the slopes of Mt. Nam is the largest park in the city, offering residents a place to rest and relax.© Suh Heun-gang

Seoul Up Close and Personal The contributors of the feature articles for this edition, “Seoul Inside Out,” are from diverse walks of life and backgrounds. Each tells his or her own story about Seoul, which has been the capital of Korea for more than 600 years. This provides readers with a glance of Seoul from different layers of time, flavored with their personal memories interwoven with the city’s long history.

Already a too familiar subject, the coverage of Seoul was a challenge for the Koreana editors and writers alike. But, it could be meaningful to look back at the city’s development as a mirror of Korea’s rapid modernization over the past century, which has resulted in unfortunate losses as well as breathtaking advances. The scope and depth of this coverage is

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not necessarily satisfactory. Still, we hope the stories offer broadened possibilities for our readers to explore Seoul’s hidden treasures, be they traditional legacies or contemporary hot spots.

This special feature on Seoul will have lived up to its basic objective if it helps to reveal what has gone right and what has gone wrong with the city’s relentless transformation from an ancient capital to a sprawling modern-day megalopolis ― and what to keep in mind for its future trajectory.

Lee Kyong-hee Ko re a nEditor-in-Chief Cu l tu re & A rts

Special Feature SEOUL Inside Out

04 10 16 24 30

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Special Feature 1

Seoul: Its Origins and Future

Choi Jong-hyun

Special Feature 2

The City I Call Home

Kim Hwa-young

Special Feature 3

Gangnam: A Personal Story

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Baek Yeong-ok

Special Feature 4

My Seoul: Six Hot Spots

Daniel Tudor

Special Feature 5

Where the City’s History Comes Alive

Kim Yoo-kyung

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art review

Goryeo Celadon: A Subtle Elegance

Soyoung Lee

on the global stage

Dominic Pangborn’s ‘Accidental Happiness’

Maya West

modern landmarks

Daehan Hospital: Monument of Modern Medicine

Kim Sang-tae

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ARTISAN

Kim Deok-hwan: Master of Gold Leaf Appliqué, A Legacy of Generations

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Park Hyun-sook

IN LOVE WITH KOREA

Seeing Korea through the Lens of Poetry

Charles La Shure

on the ROAD

The Joy of Growing Tea Park Nam-joon Pilgrimage to Korea's Tea Country Kim Dae-sung along their own path

A Bookstore That Sells Memories

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Kim Hak-soon

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Books & More First Korean-English Series of Korean Novellas Jeon Seung-hee

‘Bilingual Edition: Modern Korean Literature’ Exquisite Duet of Gayageum and Buk Jeon Ji-young

‘Kim Hae-sook’s Gayageum Sanjo of the Choi Ok-sam School’

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Entertainment

Public Broadcaster’s Bold Endeavor to Encourage Reading

Lim Jong-uhp

Gourmet’s Delight

Egg-laden Female Crab in Spring, Meaty Male Crab in Fall

Ye Jong-suk

Lifestyle

Baby Boomers Care for Grandchildren as Daughters Pursue Careers

Kim Eun-ha

journeys in Korean literature

Perturbing Insight about Human Nature That Boy’s House Park Wan-suh

Uh Soo-woong

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>> Special Feature 1 Seoul Inside Out

Seoul

Its Origins and Future To understand a city, you need to look at all the changes that have taken place over time.

Therefore, in the case of Seoul, we have to look back beyond 1394, when it became the capital of the Joseon Dynasty, through the next five centuries of this dynasty and up to the present day.

Choi Jong-hyun Director, Tongui Urban Research Institute | Suh Heun-gang Photographer

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ow and when did Seoul come into existence? Few residents of this vast metropolis, with a population of over ten million, fully understand its starting point in time and space. North of the Han River (Gangbuk) is the historical city, boasting a six-century legacy, while south of the river (Gangnam) is now known to the world as the home of “Gangnam Style,” but the identity of Seoul as a whole is not so clearly defined. Its past and present remain intertwined, while the future of this ceaselessly changing city, like that of other large global cities, is uncertain.

This is why it is necessary to return to the starting point. A look at Seoul and its surroundings when it first emerged as a city can provide much food for thought for anyone who visits or lives in the Seoul of today and tomorrow. Now, let’s take a closer look at the historical background of Seoul.

The Origins of Seoul Seoul is often said to be six centuries old. This age is traced back to the relocation of the capital from Gaegyeong (present-day Gaeseong, or Kaesong, in North Korea) to Hanyang, two years after the founding of the Joseon Dynasty by Yi Seong-gye in 1392. At that time, the city of Hanyang was renamed Hanseong, and later designated as Seoul in 1945, shortly after Korea’s liberation from Japanese colonial rule. Ever since Yi Seong-gye made Seoul the capital of Joseon, the city has maintained this lead role throughout the dynasty and the successive governments of the Republic of Korea in modern times. As such, Seoul is one of the oldest capital cities in the world.

Yet one point has often been overlooked in the determination of Seoul’s age: Yi Seong-gye did not build the city of Hanseong out of nothing. Among the neighborhoods in the downtown area of Seoul today, the region north of Cheonggye Stream had already been occupied by private houses since the late Goryeo period, while the Goryeo Dynasty designated an area in the northwestern part of the city as its southern capital, called Namgyeong. Along with Pyongyang as the western capital, or Seogyeong, and the central capital of Gaeseong, Hanyang was one of Goryeo’s three capital cities that enabled more efficient rule of the nation.

When a city served as a regional base, a temporary palace would be built there. The palace functioned as a focal point for the region and a place for the king to stay during his official trips. The temporary palace of the southern capital, completed in 1104, was located in the northwestern corner of Gyeongbok Palace, on a small hillock inside the northern gate. “The History of Goryeo” (Goryeo sa ), compiled during the early Joseon period, mentions that King Sukjong visited the southern capital in August that year and received congratulations for the palace’s completion from courtiers at Yeonheungjeon,

A western segment of the Seoul city walls along Mt. Inwang; at the foot of the mountain lie numerous apartment complexes. N Seoul Tower can be seen beyond this forest of buildings, in the far upper-left corner.

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came and went do not just suddenly disappear. They continue to the newly-constructed central hall of the palace complex. exist from one generation to the next. Of course, new roads that This point in time and space is worthy of note. The location of blaze a straighter path are often built alongside old roads that bend Yeonheungjeon, where King Sukjong held audience with his offiand wind according to the lay of the land. This is the result of the cials, can be thought of as the ground zero of today’s Seoul, while advancement of civil engineering and construction technology. But the view plane from this hall out over the city’s southern areas does this mean that the old roads simply vanish? Tiny shops, grimy remains intact today. Yi Seong-gye built Geunjeongjeon, the throne and dingy, still crouch by these old roads because they cannot be hall of Gyeongbok Palace, a mere 400 meters to the southeast of placed along the highways, so the old roads do not disappear altowhere Yeonheungjeon stood, and included the entire temporary gether. They just become harder to recognize. palace grounds within the new palace compound. As such, GyeongThe old roads from Gaegyeong to the southern capital have bok Palace, the main palace of the Joseon Dynasty, in effect inherseemingly been forgotten for another important reason: The diviited the temporary palace site of Goryeo’s southern capital. sion of the country has severed Gaeseong from Seoul, making it It is only natural for a regional base of the Goryeo period to be of impossible to travel the length of these roads. Rifts such as these a smaller scale than the capital of Joseon. Just as the Goryeo palace are the scars left on our land and our cities by the cruelty of intersite was expanded, Hanseong came to encompass both the southern national politics. The limited amount of traffic that is allowed after capital and the entire area known as Hanyang-bu, or Hanyang CounSouth Korean manufacturers set up proty. What Koreans today refer to as the area duction facilities in the Kaesong Indus“within the four gates” dates from this time. trial Complex north of the border in recent The city walls of Seoul, which are currently years is just a pinprick in a great wall. being restored in hopes of gaining inscripGaegyeong Jangdan Through old records and on-site investion on the UNESCO World Heritage List, tigations of areas still open to the public, were also built at that time.

Cheonggyo Station Tongpa Station an educated guess can be made about the The original formation of Seoul can thus roads people traveled along from Gaebe traced back another 300 years when Paju Yangju gyeong to the southern capital 900 years the geographical confines of Seoul comHye-eum Pass Byeokji ago, when there were two main roads. If prised the area between its two “guardStation an official of the Goryeo Dynasty had busiian” mountains, Mt. Bugak in the north Goyang Nogyang Station ness in the southern capital, he would go and Mt. Nam in the south. The territory Nowon Station through Cheonggyo Station (a “station” of Hanseong during the Joseon period, Yeongseo Station Namgyeong Station in the past was a place where officials with these two mountains facing each Gaegyeong Namgyeong could change or rest their horses) directly other in the north and south, along with Namgyeong east of Gaegyeong, cross the Imjin River Mt. Nak and Mt. Inwang, in the east and Namtae Pass Gwacheon at Tongpa (present-day Dongpa) Station west, respectively, is almost identical to in Jangdan, and then head to Paju. From the combined areas of Namgyeong and here, two routes were available.

Hanyang County of the Goryeo period. This If this official was in a hurry, he could turn south from Paju and remained unchanged through the five-century rule of the Joseon cross over Hye-eum Pass, then travel past Byeokji (present-day Dynasty. The city only expanded to the east and west beyond the Byeokje) Station in Goyang and Yeongseo Station in Nokbeon-dong, original walls during the Japanese colonial period, and it was not Seoul. From the Yujin Shopping Mall Intersection in Hongje-dong until the 1970s that Seoul city crossed over the Han River to the he would head east, following the waterway to Segeomjeong, where south. he could catch his breath on the hill by Jaha Gate (Cheongun-dong area today), before reaching the southern capital. This road, a The Roads to Seoul shortcut, required the traveler to traverse a number of steep mounLet us pause to think for a moment here. If the southern capital tain passes but could be traveled in a day on a galloping horse. of Goryeo was established in Hanyang County as a regional base, Normally, though, a more level route was preferred. This road then new roads would have been needed to connect Goryeo’s centook three or four days to travel on foot. From Paju, the traveler tral capital, Gaegyeong, with the southern capital. Or at least existwould head east and pass by Nogyang Station in Yangju and Nowon ing roads needed to be improved. Whether the routes between the Station in present-day Seoul before reaching Namgyeong Station two capitals were newly built or expanded roads, they would have outside the eastern gate, along a relatively flat course that crossed been integrated with the roads that linked Seoul with the surroundfew hills. At Namgyeong Station he would rest the night, bathe, put ing regions. on his formal attire, and double check his documents. Early the Old roads formed naturally over hundreds of years as people

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Mt. Bukhan, as seen from Paju, north of Seoul, in Gyeonggi Province. 穢 Hwang Heun-man

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The old roads from Gaegyeong to the southern capital have seemingly been forgotten for another important reason: The division of the country has severed Gaeseong from Seoul, making it impossible to travel the length of these roads. Rifts such as these are the scars left on our land and our cities by the cruelty of international politics.

next morning, he would follow Cheonggye Stream straight to the temporary palace of the southern capital. During the Goryeo period, of course, today’s Jongno (“bell street”) did not exist.

Of these two roads, the former approached Seoul directly from the north, while the latter entered from the east. Then, what paths did those traveling up from the southern regions take to reach Seoul? It is not known exactly when the road was created, but from the mid-Joseon period there was a path that crossed Namtae Pass in Gwacheon before crossing the Han River at Sapyeongwon (present-day Hangangjin).

It should be noted that those traveling to Seoul during the Goryeo and Joseon periods could see the city in the distance from Hye-eum Pass in the north, Namtae Pass in the south, and Namgyeong Station in the east. Hye-eum Pass marks the boundary

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between present-day Goyang and Paju, Namtae Pass is the boundary between Gwacheon and Sadang-dong in Seoul, and Namgyeong Station was located on the hill where you can find Daegwang High School in Sinseol-dong, Seoul. Even today, Mt. Bukhan can be seen from top of Hye-eum Pass or Namtae Pass. This is where travelers would sigh in relief and exclaim: “Ah, Seoul at last.” Namgyeong Station, which faced the eastern gate, was the physical and symbolic boundary of the capital region.

From Expansion to Coexistence In this way, the spatiotemporal domain of Seoul has been expanded over time. Such expansion began with what most Koreans would consider the beginning of Seoul, upon the designation of Hanseong as the new capital by the founder of the Joseon Dynasty Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

in 1394. In terms of time, the origins of Seoul go back another 300 years, while in terms of space the physical and symbolic boundaries of Seoul can be identified by tracing the old roads that have been obscured by the division of the country.

That is not to say that older things are necessarily better. Nonetheless, the origins of Seoul could be traced all the way back to B.C. 18, when the capital of the Baekje Kingdom was established at the fortress of Wirye. But this fortress was located south of the Han River, which, although included within today’s Seoul Metropolitan City, has no connection to Namgyeong or Hanyang County of Goryeo, or Hanseong of Joseon. Baekje moved its capital to Ungjin (present-day Gongju) in 475, when it retreated under pressure by Goguryeo in the north. But for nearly 1,500 years, the fortress area was essentially left in ruins until it was incorporated into Seoul in Koreana ı Spring 2013

The royal palace of Gyeongbokgung, located on Sejongno, central Seoul; behind the throne hall, Geunjeongjeon, can be seen Mt. Bugak, and to the west, at left, is Mt. Inwang.

1963. So the origin of Seoul cannot be found here.

The same is true when it comes to space. To say that Seoul’s territory should be extended northward to Hye-eum Pass in Goyang, is not plausible. Rather, the areas north of Seoul, including Goyang, Paju, and Yangju, must find a way to coexist “horizontally” with Seoul.

This will be possible when the two roads from Gaegyeong to the southern capital, which have been around for some 900 years, are fully restored.

This is one of the implications of Seoul’s past for its future.

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>> Special Feature 2 Seoul Inside Out

The City I Call Home Just as evidence of movement of the earth’s crust can be detected from the study of geological strata, so is the untold history of change experienced by a city inscribed in the memories of those who have made that city their home.

Thus, when we seek to understand a city as a space where people live, it can be helpful to decrypt the personal archaeological experiences and memories that are buried beneath the city’s modern-day surface.

Kim Hwa-young Literary Critic; Member of Korean National Academy of Arts

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ne day in February 1955, from the mountain village in southeastern Korea where I had just graduated from elementary school, I set out to walk the 18-kilometer dirt road to the town of Yeongju. From there I got on a train to travel the 250 kilometers to Seoul for the first time in my life. It had been only about a year and a half since an armistice agreement ended the Korean War which had lasted more than three years. I was a young boy of 13. On the train I happened to meet a man who sold red chili peppers, and he asked where a young child would be going all by himself on a train. I proudly told him that I was going to Seoul to take the entrance exam for Kyunggi Middle School, and that my father, who was vice president of “Donggwang Paper, Inc., in front of Jungang Cinema” was going to meet me at Cheongnyangni Station. I repeated the exact words my grandmother had taught me.

A Student in Seoul at Thirteen When I arrived at the train station after a journey of many hours, only after the sun had set, for some reason my father was not there to meet me. The chili pepper seller took pity on me and told me to follow him, and that he would take me to my father’s company the next morning after a good night’s sleep. Fearless, I followed him.

For the first time in my life I rode a streetcar. It was marvelous. Yet the post-war Seoul I saw outside the window was in ruins. The place where the chili pepper seller took me was a bunkhouse for taffy sellers in a shantytown at the base of Yeongcheon Hill, beyond the city center on the northwestern outskirts of Seoul. The yard was filled with taffy sellers’ carts, and in the large room a number of taffy sellers were either stretched out on the floor, sleeping with no blankets and only wooden pillows beneath their heads, or pulling taffy from wooden sticks that jutted out of the walls, while sharing stories of the rounds they had made that day. It was all so strange.

Fortunately, the taffy ingredients were constantly being boiled in a kettle on the furnace, so the flues beneath the bare earthen floor kept the room warm. And thanks to the chili pepper seller, I stayed the night for free.

The next day, the chili pepper seller had no problem finding the famous Jungang Cinema.

Across the street on the ground floor was a coffee shop called Dal Nara, meaning “moon country,” and on the floor above that was a sign that read “Donggwang Paper, Inc.” But inside there was only a single metal desk with two chairs. On the desk was a dirty ash tray that had been cut from an empty tin can. I was surprised and disappointed. My father thanked the chili pepper seller for taking care of me. I later found out that my father’s paper factory had been completely destroyed by the wartime bombs; all that remained was the name, and my father was broke.

For over 50 years, that small two-story building stood steadfastly across from Jungang Cinema, even as Seoul underwent major changes. Finally, a towering, ultramodern glass building was erected on that site last summer, and the last traces of my first trip to Seoul were gone.

Changing Landmarks Father took me to Kyunggi Middle School, the “best in Korea,” to submit my application. But the school, which had only just returned to Seoul from its refuge in Busan, was nothing more than a few hastily built shacks in an empty lot next to Deoksoo Elementary School in Jeongdong. Today, the site is occupied by the editorial offices of the Chosun Ilbo, the most widely read daily newspaper in Korea, and the Chosun Ilbo Art Gallery. The Kyunggi High School building was being used by the U.S. military authorities, so the school was temporarily housed in a tent village set up in the empty lot on Sejongno, known as “the spot where the post office burned down.” Later, the modern Citizens’ Hall was built on that site, but it was destroyed by fire in

Supyo Bridge was constructed over Cheonggye Stream in 1420, and was moved to the entrance of Jangchungdan Park in 1959, when a road was built over Cheonggye Stream.

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The compass of my heart still points to the old city of Seoul north of the river, the Seoul that first greeted me upon my arrival, the Seoul where I studied and met my friends during middle school, high school, and university, and the Seoul where I lectured as a university professor for some 30 years.

1972. The famous Sejong Center for the Performing Arts now stands there.

Six months later, the middle school moved to a new building that had been constructed in the empty lot behind the old school building in Hwa-dong. Two years after that, when I entered high school, I was able to study in the historic old high school building, which had since been vacated by the U.S. military. Between the school and the presidential residence of Gyeongmudae (now Cheong Wa Dae) and Gyeongbok Palace stood the large Capital Army Hospital. On the site of this hospital where, in October 1979, President Park Chung-hee breathed his last after being shot by one of his closest aides, construction of the National Museum of Contemporary Art is now underway. Kyunggi High School, the first public high school in Korea, moved south of the Han River in 1970, and the building where I studied is now Jeongdok Public Library.

Hearing that I was entering middle school, a friend of my father went to Hwasin Department Store, on the corner of Jongno 1-ga, and bought me the first pair of leather shoes I ever owned.

We also bought a school uniform, bag, and cap on the fifth floor of the same department store.

When class ended, my friends and I would go there for fun to ride the elevator up and down or gaze at the magnificent display cases. This department store, founded by Park Heung-sik, the richest man in Korea at that time, was one of the few Seoul landmarks that everyone knew, along with the Capitol building on the grounds of Gyeongbok Palace, City Hall, Seoul Station, Bando Hotel, and the Midopa and Donghwa (now Shinsegae) department stores.

It was a time when everyone oriented themselves in Seoul in relation to the Capitol building (the headquarters of the Japanese government-general during the colonial period, it was demolished in 1995 and the old royal palace has been restored, revealing the beautiful view of Mt. Bugak) and Hwasin Department Store. When I entered university in the spring of 1961, my

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1. Hwasin Department Store, located on Jongno 1-ga, was a famous landmark of modern Seoul.

2. A farmer plows his field near the newly constructed Hyundai Apartment Complex. (Photo by Jeon Min-jo)

Koreana ı Spring 2013

father bought me a leather briefcase from this department store. Now, a new building owned by Samsung, headed by Korea’s richest man today, stands on that site. It is called “Jongno Tower,” but I have yet to set foot inside it.

During my middle school days, I stayed with my mother’s family in a Japanese-style house on Chungmuro 4-ga, south of the old city center. Many Japanese nationals had lived in Chungmuro during the colonial period, so many Japanese-style buildings were found in the area. I had to walk to Euljuro 4-ga to take a streetcar to the stop in front of Hwasin Department Store, and from there I had to walk quite a ways to get to school. My monthly pocket money was only enough for streetcar fare, so I often chose to walk to school and instead spend the money to buy roasted sweet potatoes or steamed buns with sweet red bean paste at vendors’ stalls in the alleyways. The alleys were abuzz with tofu sellers ringing their bells and the taffy sellers clanging their metal shears by day, and then the rice cake sellers and buckwheat jelly sellers at night, all touting their goods. Cheonggye Stream, meaning the “Clear Valley Stream,” flowed from west to east across the center of Seoul, but all manner of waste made its way into the stream and a strong stench wafted from the sewers. The rickety huts of the poor lined the stream banks. I crossed the stream over stone bridges, like Gwang Bridge and Supyo Bridge, to get to and from school.

In April 1960, my final year in high school, there were massive student demonstrations to protest the dictatorship of Syngman Rhee (Yi Seung-man) and his fraudulent election to remain in power, and many of the protestors were killed by police bullets. My best friend, with whom I had parted that afternoon in the alley behind the school, was shot and killed, too. In April of

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the following year, the year after the start of the Second Republic, I entered Seoul National University. Located in Dongsung-dong, a few blocks to the east from my high school, the school had taken over the historic buildings of Keijo (Gyeongseong) Imperial University, founded by the Japanese during the colonial period. A narrow stream ran past the front gate of the school, and in the yard stood the first horse chestnut tree in Korea, fondly called “the marronnier” by the Korean people. It had been brought back from Provence and planted there by a Japanese professor of French literature during the colonial period.

President Park Chung-hee seized power through a military coup in May 1961, and he implemented the first of his Five-Year Economic Development Plans in 1962. I completed my undergraduate and graduate studies in Dongsung-dong. In the autumn of 1967, while I was in graduate school, I got my first job as a clerk at Hanil Bank. The two-story building on Euljiro, where I handled documents related to imports and exports, as well as the Bando Hotel next door, where Lt. General Hodge of the U.S. military government had his offices, stood where the Lotte Department Store and Lotte Hotel stand today. After I finished graduate school in 1969, I left Seoul to study in France.

High school students in uniform tend the lawn of Deoksu Palace as part of their community volunteer work.

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Transformation into a Sprawling Metropolis When I returned to Korea in the summer of 1974 with my doctorate degree, Seoul was undergoing change at a rapid pace. Soon after I returned home, on August 15, I witnessed Yuk Young-soo, the wife of President Park Chung-hee, being shot and killed during a nationally televised ceremony to commemorate Liberation Day. (Her daughter, Park Geun-hye, who was studying in France at the time, was called back to Korea. She later entered politics and was elected president of Korea in December 2012.) Due to this tragic incident, the president could not attend the opening ceremony of the No. 1 subway line, but that day will forever be imprinted in my memory. With the opening of the subway, Seoul began its transformation into a sprawling metropolis of 13 million residents that stretched south across the Han River.

In the autumn of 1975, the Seoul National University campus was moved from Dongsungdong to a spacious new site at the foot of Mt. Gwanak, in southwestern Seoul. The classrooms and laboratories, filled with the memories of my younger days, were replaced by a theater, while the athletic field became part of an entertainment district. The administration building was occupied by the Korea Culture and Arts Foundation (now the Arts Council Korea), but this organization is now slated for relocation to the provinces. The old school yard survives in name only as today’s Marronnier Park, keeping the memories of the past somewhat alive.

On August 21, 1976, the 1st and 2nd Urban Zoning Districts, which included such areas south of the Han River as the neighborhoods of Banpo, Apgujeong, Cheongdam, and Dogok, were designated for the construction of large-scale apartment complexes encompassing 7.79 million square meters, marking the launch of a massive new town development project. This area had been hills and fields where I had gone on outings as a university student. Many of my friends became employees at trading firms and grew busy with their work. Those who did well boasted of living in the new Banpo Apartments that were beginning to crop up in Gangnam. These were the first large-scale apartment complexes to be built south of the Han River.

In the autumn of the year that I returned to Korea, I began teaching French literature as Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

a professor at Korea University. This historic private school was then and is still today located in Anam-dong in northeastern Seoul.

In 1976, the 5.6-kilometer Cheonggye Overpass, which ran from Majang-dong near Korea University to the No. 1 Namsan Tunnel, was built above the road that covered Cheonggye Stream with its shanties and sewers, connecting the eastern and western parts of the city. After work, I would sometimes drive over that overpass and meet my friends for drinks in the city center, a trip that only took 10 minutes. But this ugly road, which was functional enough but had turned the downtown area into a slum, creating an urban eyesore, was torn down in 2006. In its place, the Cheonggye Stream was restored and clear waters flow there today. I love taking leisurely walks along the banks of this stream.

North and South of the Han River In the early 1980s, I bought an apartment in one of the new housing complexes constructed on the then wide open plains of Gangnam. I chose the apartment because I could travel directly north to the new Seongsu Bridge to cross the Han River, and continue further north to Korea University. One day, though, 15 years after its completion, the Seongsu Bridge collapsed beneath the weight of traffic of the rapidly expanding metropolis, killing many people. The new, stronger Seongsu Bridge was completed in July 1997.

Right after the Korean War, unauthorized shantytowns had overrun the northern banks of the Han River and the areas at the base of Mt. Nam in the center of Seoul. In the late 1980s, these slum areas were cleared away and high-rise apartments began to emerge, one after another. In 1986, I moved to the neighborhood of Oksu-dong, which takes its name from the clear spring waters that are said to flow down from the heavily forested slopes of Mt. Nam, where I have lived ever since.

Fifty-seven years have passed since that day in 1955 when I first arrived at Cheongnyangni Station in Seoul at the age of 13, and six years since my retirement as a university professor.

The population has ballooned from 1.57 million back then to well over 10 million today. The elementary school I attended in that mountain village now stands empty due to the steady hollowing out of rural villages, while the building where I attended middle and high school is now a city library, and the site where my university once stood is now an entertainment district adjacent to Marronnier Park. My schools all moved south of the Han River to the newly developed areas there.

The new administrative capital, Sejong City, has been built even farther to the south of Seoul.

Perhaps it was the trauma of being unable to seek refuge in the south during the Korean War, due to the destruction of the only bridge over the Han River at the time, forcing people to live underground in wartime Seoul, which left an indelible impression in their hearts. The compass of my heart, though, still points to the old city of Seoul north of the river, the Seoul that first greeted me upon my arrival, the Seoul where I studied and met my friends during middle school, high school, and university, and the Seoul where I lectured as a university professor for some 30 years. Even today, I take slow walks along the banks of the Han River and gaze across at the high-priced apartment complexes of Apgujeong-dong on the other side. But I soon turn my gaze back to the river and lose myself in its sparkling, flowing waters. Life flows and changes like a river. Seoul is a city that has been built from the sediment washed down by the endless stream of our lives.

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The Cheonggye Overpass, which connected the city center east and west, was torn down in 2006 when Cheonggye Stream was restored.

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>> Special Feature 3 Seoul Inside Out

Gangnam

A Personal Story

Where is Gangnam? One thing is clear: The real Gangnam cannot be found in Psy’s “Gangnam Style.” So, where is the real Gangnam?

And exactly what is it all about?

Baek Yeong-ok Novelist | Ahn Hong-beom, Suh Heun-gang Photographers

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The Han River bisects Seoul north and south, with Gangnam, the now famous district, to the south of the river.

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n the autumn of 2012, I was in Brooklyn, New York. It happened to be around the time that Psy’s “Gangnam Style” had soared to No. 2 spot on the Billboard chart. As I went back and forth from Brooklyn to Manhattan, Psy’s popularity was not merely a news item but a phenomenon I experienced firsthand. Here’s an idea of what I mean. When I visited the C-Town supermarket in my neighborhood, the song would be playing on the radio. As I carried my shopping bags home, I heard it blaring from a convertible driven by a young American. Even in October, when I opened my window wide to dry my laundry, I could hear the refrains of “Gangnam Style” booming from a passing car.

My most memorable experience was at the M&M store in Times Square, which was more crowded than usual since it was just before Halloween. A Michael Jackson song was playing in the

Koreana ı Spring 2013

chaotic store, but then it stopped and Psy’s song came on. Then I witnessed the most amazing sight. As soon as the song began to play, a few people began moving to the music. At least a half dozen people were imitating Psy’s “horse dance.” White, black, and Asian, there was no distinction. People danced on the escalator leading down to the first floor, in front of the chocolate Statue of Liberty, and alongside a Spider-Man figure. Even at a glance, I could tell that they were enjoying themselves immensely, waving their right hands and swaying their hips.

Defining Gangnam That day, I watched Psy’s image for 10 minutes as he danced about on the LG U+ billboard advertisement in Times Square. I was there with some Spanish young people who were waiting to

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get autographs from Ricky Martin after his performance in “Evita.”

Carlos, Pedro, and others who watched the advertisement with me all knew about Psy. Just then, a friend who had been standing nearby asked me, “What is Gangnam Style, anyway? If you go to Gangnam, can you see a lot of funny guys like that?” I looked at Alma, who was from Istanbul, and began to explain what Gangnam was. Now that I think back, Gangnam was where I spent my childhood. But I also realized that the Gangnam of today and the Gangnam of back then are quite different.

The Korean version of Wikipedia defines Gangnam as follows: “Gangnam refers to the area south of the Han River in Seoul, South Korea. A 2007 survey showed that this region is one of the top 10 most expensive areas in the world in terms of rental rates.

Gangnam also has many prominent high schools with high college entrance rates and private educational institutes, so parents prefer this region for the education of their children. The word ‘Gangnam’ itself means ‘south of the (Han) river,’ but in most cases it is used to refer only to the districts of Gangnam-gu and Songpa-gu in the east and Seocho-gu in central areas of Gangnam. Before the name ‘Gangnam’ was established, the area was commonly referred to as ‘Yeongdong,’ meaning ‘east of Yeongdeungpo.’ So, in a narrow sense it refers to the administrative districts of Gangnam-gu, Seocho-gu, and Songpa-gu, but Gangdong-gu is sometimes included.

The term is also used to refer to Gangnam Station on the No. 2 subway line and Gangnam Intersection, or the business district that

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Gangnam Station, on Line 2 of the Seoul metro, is said to be the busiest subway station in Seoul.

has formed in the area of Gangnam Station, one of Seoul’s liveliest commercial districts.”

But to me, “Gangnam” meant a few subway stops on the Seoul metro. I was born in the neighborhood around the Express Bus Terminal Station on line No. 3, the middle school I attended is near Seolleung Station on line No. 2, and when I was a college student I went on dates with my boyfriend to Gangnam Station and Apgujeong Station. The area around those stations was Gangnam to me.

More specifically, my Gangnam was in front of the now-gone New York Bakery near Gangnam Station and in front of McDonald’s in Apgujeong-dong.

Apartment Buildings and Jamsu Bridge My first visual memory of Gangnam is the five-story apartment complex where I lived. (Later, when the neighborhood was rebuilt into a nearly 30-story apartment complex, it felt like I had lost my hometown.) This is the hometown in the memories of the so-called “asphalt children,” who were born in Seoul in the 1970s and 1980s.

The five- or 12-story apartment buildings. The countless cherry trees and ginkgo trees lining the streets between the apartments and the Han River Park, and the playgrounds amidst the trees that grew fuller with each passing year. The flyers stuck to the teleKo re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

phone poles and the acrid exhaust fumes from the mopeds of Chinese food delivery boys that whizzed through the neighborhood.

People tend to think of cement as just a cold symbol of industrialization. They call our generation, the ones who grew up in the apartments of Gangnam, a “dry generation” with no memory of playing in the dirt. But, in fact, cement is from stone. It, too, began as dirt. So, we have our own precious memories of the cement that covered our apartments. If I look back at my 1980s, I recall that I was always running up five flights of stairs or taking the elevator up 12 stories with my friends. I distinctly remember gazing up at the backs of painters hanging from their unimaginably long ropes while changing the color of the apartment names, “Hansin” or “Jugong,” once every three or four years when the exteriors were repainted.

I have particularly fond memories of walking the paths on the terraced banks of the Han River, which have been well maintained ever since the President Chun Doo-hwan administration. There are a number of bridges over the Han River that connect the city north and south, but my favorite was Jamsu Bridge, the lower level of Banpo Bridge, which connected Banpo-dong in Seocho-gu with Seobinggo-dong in Yongsan-gu. I firmly believed that there was no other bridge like it in the world. Imagine, this strange bridge that would be submerged without fail whenever it rained a lot! (The name of the bridge literally means “submersible bridge.”) When I was 20 and studying creative writing in university, I even wrote a short story about the bridge. Jamsu Bridge was so poetic: it disappeared on days when the heavens poured down rain, and when the downpour stopped it would appear again, low and heavy, as if it had all been a dream.

I loved Jamsu Bridge best just after traffic was stopped, right

In 1980, before the word “franchise” had even been introduced to Korea, my neighborhood of Banpo was home to a wide variety of bakeries, bookstores, clothing shops, and restaurants. Back then, we could not even imagine the same store in a different neighborhood, so the jajangmyeon (black bean noodles) of Daraeseong Chinese Restaurant and the garlic chicken of Banpo Chicken were specialties not found elsewhere.

I was young, so I did not know that Banpo Chicken served beer at night and was where literary figures like the critic Kim Hyeon and the poet Hwang Ji-u would hold forth on poetry and novels until daybreak. I remember going there in the afternoon with my father, and we sat and talked. To him, the “creative writing department” mentioned by his 16-year-old daughter, who was determined to become a novelist, was so unfamiliar that he causally suggested that I major in Korean literature or English literature instead.

As time passed, I would think as I sat there of the Algonquin Hotel in New York, where American post-war writers would meet in the 1920s to discuss literature. And the cat named Matilda that lived in the hotel lobby. This might be due to my faint memories of the many shops that kept cats in order to catch mice. As a young girl I thought it quite odd that every single one of these cats was called “Nabi” (butterfly). How did the butterfly come to be a cat’s name? And why were puppies all called “Merry”?

The Many Faces of Gangnam Interestingly enough, when I was in high school the term “Banpo hick” was in fashion. This was during the era of Apgujeong-dong as described by the poet Yu Ha in his poem “On Windy Days We Must Go to Apgujeong-dong.” In Yu Ha’s memory, Apgujeong was a “childhood place filled with blossoming pear trees,” but in his poetry it became a hotbed of desire.

In the 1990s, Apgujeong was teeming with fashionable young people.

When Yu Ha released a film They were the trendsetters, like the hipsters of New York. They wore white with the same title in 1993, I was a college student. A glance at the high-top Reebok or Nike sneakers with hip hop jeans and roamed the plot gives you an idea of the atmosphere of Apgujeong-dong in the streets humming the latest popular songs by Deux or Seo Taiji and Boys early 1990s: A young soul dreaming of becoming the next Woody pumping out of their Sony earphones.

Allen enters Apgujeong-dong, a place rampant with imported cars, before it disappeared under the water. At such moments, it felt as designer clothes, and instant love. With an 8mm camera as his only if I were standing on the boundary between the real and the unreal. means of making a living, he spots Hye-jin in a red convertible and Now, thanks to the Han River renaissance project, gigantic strucimmediately falls for her. He hopes that Hye-jin will be the protagotures such as the Seoul Floating Island stand on the water, but nist of his film, but her goal is to make it into upper-class society. It back then the river flowed freely with only woody debris and aquatwas a time when the Hyundai Apartments were a symbol of wealth, ic plants washed downstream. It was a scenery sculpted by the and it was also around that time that the term “Apgujeong Orange” whims of nature, according to the seasons and the water levels. If first appeared (referring to a new consumption-driven class of I had owned a digital camera then, I would have taken hundreds of young people that formed around a core of students who had studphotographs. ied in the States). It sounds a bit ridiculous, but the term “Banpo Koreana ı Spring 2013

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kkingkkang ” (kumquat), essentially the poor man’s Apgujeong Orange, appeared soon after.

In the 1990s, Apgujeong was teeming with fashionable young people. They were the trendsetters, like the hipsters of New York.

They wore white high-top Reebok or Nike sneakers with hip hop jeans and roamed the streets humming the latest popular songs by Deux or Seo Taiji and Boys pumping out of their Sony earphones.

They detested tearful ballads and cried out “cool!” whenever impressed. They were free spirits known as “Generation X.” From the mid-1990s and into the 2000s, the center of Gangnam shifted toward Cheongdam-dong. Originally a high-class residential neighborhood, the opening of Café de Flore started a chain reaction that saw shops and restaurants being opened by people who had studied fashion or cuisine abroad in places like New York and Paris. A few art galleries appeared, and fusion restaurants like Xian as well as traditional French restaurants like Palais de Gaumont opened. The fact that there was no subway stop in Cheongdamdong spoke of the elite character of this neighborhood. It was an island isolated from the rest of the city that could only be accessed by car. Walking around the area in the middle of the day, you would have seen valet parking attendants more smartly dressed than anyone else on the streets.

When I began to work at Harper’s Bazaar in the mid-2000s, the center of Gangnam started to shift again, this time toward Garosugil in Sinsa-dong. Word of the unique shops along this quiet, “treelined street” began to spread. Designers set up boutiques there.

With the Sinsa subway station nearby, it was more accessible than Cheongdam-dong.

Today, the original shop owners have been shunted out to the side alleys due to the skyrocketing rents of Garosu-gil. (Of the shops that operated on this street in 2007, less than 10 percent remained at the end of 2012.) Only later did I learn that these shop owners self-deprecatingly called the side alleys off Garosu-gil

as “Serosu-gil” (“garo ” is a homonym for “horizontal” in Korean; “sero” means “vertical”). Big name retail chains like ZARA and Forever 21 moved in instead. This leaves a bitter aftertaste, but it seems to be a worldwide trend. The prime commercial districts of New York and Paris are also being overrun by these multinational “fast fashion” chains. A few artists who lament these changes publish their own magazine in an effort to preserve the old Garosugil, and a few of the bars still have indie music performances. The charm of Sinsa-dong can also be found in its side alleys that spread out like a network of veins. Here, refreshing cafés, restaurants, clothing stores, and other small shops still thrive.

The Gangnam You Should See It is difficult to define “Gangnam style.” It could allude to the plethora of private cram schools in Daechi-dong that symbolize the ambitions of the “helicopter moms” who strive to have their children get into a top college, it could refer to the commercial district of Garosu-gil in Sinsa-dong, a meeting place of the latest trends, or it could relate to the ultra-expensive real estate prices of the apartment units at Tower Palace or Hyundai iPark in Samseong-dong.

What is clear, though, is that Psy’s “Gangnam Style” is not the style of Gangnam. The Gangnam style he is talking about is not Gangnam in the traditional sense. In his song, there is only a gangster type who is busy spending hot nights with sexy girls and dancing his ridiculous horse dance. He may say that he is Gangnam style, but he does not touch on any of the elements that signify Gangnam. The wholehearted subversion of meaning makes this an unprecedented work. When Psy does his horse dance and takes his sarcastic shots at Gangnam, people feel a strange sense of titillation, whether knowingly or unknowingly.

Although I spent my childhood in Gangnam, I do not live there now. I moved out because of its excessive housing costs and hopelessly clogged roads. Gangnam may be a collection of the very best

1. Garosu-gil in Sinsa-dong; beautiful in autumn with the golden leaves of ginkgo trees, this area is a Gangnam hotspot filled with trendy cafés, art galleries, and clothing stores.

2. For years, New York Bakery had been the meeting place in front of Gangnam Station.

Unable to deal with rising rents, though, this bakery closed and, last year, the Korean fast fashion brand “8 Seconds” opened its doors here.

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things, but rarely do I have a reason to meet anyone there. The Gangnam of the 1990s, when I would wait for my friends in front of New York Bakery, remains only a memory. In the early 1990s, when I was in middle school, the only private educational institute in the Daechi-dong area was Hanguk Hagwon. Now, the area around Seolleung Station, with its unbelievable number of private cram schools, looks alien to me.

It is true that Gangnam has developed along the cutting edge.

But if you want to see the real Seoul, you have to travel north of the Han River. It’s just like how New York’s finest restaurants, shops, and galleries are located in Manhattan, but the outskirts of Brooklyn, where struggling artists reside, is gradually becoming a hot spot of its own. And yet, when friends from other countries visit me, I take them to Garosu-gil. A passage from “Still, I Like Seoul,” by the architect Oh Yeong-uk, speaks for my sentiments: “When friends come from abroad, I want to show them the ‘everyday’ of this city... I want to give them the gift of memories of Seoul as it is, of old things inscribed with the traces of everyday life, something that Changdeok Palace or the Hanok Village cannot give them. Of all the foreign visitors I have spent time with in Seoul, it was one fellow from Spain who made the most impressive comment: ‘The most interesting thing about Korea was that blue padding attached to the doors of the cars. I have no idea why people Koreana ı Spring 2013

drive around such lovely cars with such unsightly things stuck to them.’ As he travels the world, he will tell people he meets about the blue padding on the doors of cars in Korea. Yes, that was the sort of thing I wanted to show you. The blue padding stuck to the cars, the Darth Vader-style masks worn by women when they go hiking, the radio programs that play on city buses (preferably those that feature singing contests with callers), taxis refusing to pick up passengers late in the night, adult entertainment establishments with barbershop poles, church crosses adorned with red neon lights, girls with their tired souls dancing to loud music to advertise a newly-opened store.”

These are the things I want to show my friends in Gangnam. The rows of real estate offices crammed into the retail area of every apartment complex; the night streets of Daechi-dong filled with yellow private institute buses; a horde of people crossing a crosswalk en masse, as if choreographed, in the middle of the day at the Gangnam Station intersection; coming out onto some back alley in Sinsa-dong with friends after drinking to see the street covered with advertising leaflets scattered by touts; the flashy designer shops and lonely mannequins you meet while walking alone in Cheongdam-dong after the lights go out... If you want to see the real Gangnam, these are the things you should see.

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Gupabal

Seokpajeong Villa Mt. Bugak

Incheon International Airport

Bukchon Hanok Village

Seochon

Mt. Inwang

Digital Media City

Dongnimmun (Arch of Independence)

Gwanghwamun Postal Bureau Sejong Center for the Performing Arts

Bosingak Belfry Sungnyemun (South Gate)

Hongik University

Myeongdong Cathedral Seoul Station

National Assembly Building

Han River Gimpo International Airport

Boramae Park

Seoul National University

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Mt. Bukhan

Taereung Training Center

Jeongneung Cheongnyangni Station

Mt. Nak

Seonggyungwan Confucian Academy Insa-dong

Dongdaemun (East Gate)

Sheraton Walker Hill Hotel

Namsan Hanok Village

Mt. Nam

Children織s Grand Park

N Seoul Tower

Garosu-gil

Express Bus Terminal

Gangnam Station

COEX

Yangjae Citizen's Forest Seoul Arts Center

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>> Special Feature 4 Seoul Inside Out

My Seoul Six Hot Spots Seoul doesn’t have an icon ― an Eiffel Tower, or a Central Park, for instance.

And it is more of a utilitarian, functional capital city than a beautiful one. But since my first visit in 2002, I have found myself drawn to it.

Daniel Tudor Seoul Correspondent, The Economist | Ahn Hong-beom, Suh Heun-gang Photographers

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en million make Seoul the place they seek their fortune, toil away in offices, create art, study, or party like madmen. All human activity can be found here, and for that reason, only the most jaded of individuals could fail to find something to love about Seoul.

Because Seoul has, and is, everything, it is a hard place to pin down. An architect once told me that Seoul is in fact two cities, Gangbuk (“north of the river”) and Gangnam (“south of the river”). The latter is, thanks to conquering hero Psy, known to the whole world now as the heartland of the Korean nouveau riche. It is also architecturally very different to the north, with its wide boulevards and globalist skyscraper-ism.

In my view, though, Seoul isn’t divided into two cities ― it is divided into ten, at least. It is a metropolis of villages, each with its own purpose, and set of rules. I’d like to introduce you to a few of my favorites.

The streets in front of Hongik University bustle with students from Hongik’s College of Fine Arts and other nearby universities

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Hongdae In the northwest of Seoul lies a district whose very name has become a byword for partying. When I first lived in Seoul I came here far too often, and indulged far too much. But the real heart of Hongdae has nothing to do with clubbing and two-for-one tequila shots. This area is built on culture, the result of having a large population of art students from nearby Hongik University (as well as almost-neighboring Yonsei, Sogang, and Ewha universities).

Even those who haven’t quite made it into art school yet will congregate here, attending private institutes by day and partaking of the Hongdae lifestyle by night. They get their clothes from second-hand stores, contemplate the world over latte in, naturally, non-chain coffee shops, and watch their friends’ indie bands play in the local music bars.

Such groups are hit and miss. But that’s the point ― Hongdae music is the antithesis of the carefullyassembled K-pop that Korea has become better known for. And when it’s good, it’s almost perfect. Several of my all-time favorite bands have come from the indie scene here, not least Third Line Butterfly, who have been around since 1999 and recently released their fourth album, “Dreamtalk.” Their leader, guitarist-meets-poet-meets-academic Sung Ki-wan, can often be found holding court in some funky Hongdae bar.

For me, though, Hongdae is now a place of work. Perhaps because I pretentiously aspire to be some sort of intellectual writer rather than the journeyman I am, I can think of no better place to sit in a café, scratch my chin, and stare into space as I search for the right sentence. I’m not alone in this. The sight of the café-bound hipster sitting with his MacBook in front of him as he works on his screenplay is an amusingly common one.

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Seoul is a metropolis of villages, each with its own purpose, and set of rules. None of these “villages” have that much in common with each other, other than being geographically close, and connected by the Seoul Metro. But that’s the way I like it.

It won’t last forever, though. Hongdae is commercializing rapidly, and with that, rents are becoming uncomfortable for students ― the very people who made Hongdae what it is. Last year, locals were shocked when the iconic bakery Richemont moved out, to be replaced by a Lotte-owned Angel-in-Us coffee shop.

The artsy milieu is starting to migrate now, to places like Mullae-dong, a run-down industrial area a little further along Seoul Metro line No. 2. Artistic collectives are moving into abandoned buildings, kicking off a process that I believe will one day result in a “new Hongdae.” Indeed, Hongdae itself was once such a neighborhood: 20 years ago, high rents in nearby Sinchon forced the young, gifted, and broke to venture out here.

Hyehwa-dong This is another student area, but more genteel than Hongdae. Hyehwa-dong is the home of independent theater in Seoul, where gleefully enthusiastic young people run around hawking tickets to their latest production. Street art is in good supply too, and surprisingly professional buskers will often be around to charm you out of a few won.

The best part about Hyehwa-dong is that it is also the starting point for some great walking. The grounds of Sungkyunkwan University are impressive in themselves ― particularly for Myeongnyundang,

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the ancient Confucian school building ― but once you reach the back gate, you are really out in the hills.

Here, join the trail for Mt. Bugak, one of Seoul’s main peaks. It is a route that was once off-limits, due to the ability to look down directly upon Cheong Wa Dae, the presidential mansion, from the top. Back in 1968, North Korean commandos came over the mountain on their way there, with the intention of assassinating President Park Chung-hee. They failed, and bullet holes recording their battle with South Korean troops can still be seen on a tree.

The view from the top is as impressive as you would imagine, but the descent is even better. When you reach the bottom, you’ll be in Buam-dong, an understated, handsome neighborhood where urbanism hasn’t really taken hold. It is a great environment in which to enjoy some makgeolli (unrefined rice wine) after a strenuous trek.

1. A scene from the musical “Late Night Restaurant” at the DongSoong Art Center; theater lovers can enjoy performances by young enthusiastic actors at theaters clustered in Hyehwa-dong and nearby Dongsung-dong.

2. An antique shop in Dongmyo; the streets and alleys around the 17thcentury Confuncian shrine have numerous curio shops that carry all kinds of wacky items.

Dongmyo Dongmyo is a 17th-century Confucian shrine, built to appease big brother China. But it is not so much Dongmyo itself that is interesting. In the surrounding streets and alleys, old men sell all manner of wacky items from ramshackle stalls. If you ever wanted to haggle over a second-hand quad bike, a rusty saxophone, a portrait of one of Korea’s old military dictators, or an antique typewriter, then Dongmyo is the place for you.

Because the average age of Dongmyo shoppers and traders seems to be somewhere north of 60, one can get a sense of what Korea was like before “the miracle of the Han River.” It is an unrefined place, where people shout, and barge each other out of the way ― but it is also friendly and spirited.

Makeshift roadside restaurants sell doenjang jjigae (bean paste stew) and bowls of noodles for prices that would seem ridiculously cheap to anyone from Gangnam.

Visitors to Dongmyo can then walk the short distance to Dongdaemun (East Gate), well-known for its night markets and fast fashion. There is another side to Dongdaemun, though: as home to communiKoreana ı Spring 2013

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ties of immigrants from Russia, Central Asia, and the Indian subcontinent, Dongdaemun is the natural choice for many varieties of international cuisine in Seoul, and at very reasonable prices.

Yeouido This is Seoul’s financial district, making it a serious kind of place full of besuited stress-maniacs and tall glass-and-steel structures. I sometimes go there for meetings, or to reminisce about my own tough days working for an investment firm there. But there is another Yeouido ― because it is an island in the Han River, it is one of the best places in the city to enjoy a romantic bankside walk in the evening.

Those who like roller skating can head to Yeouido Park, a long, narrow space that seemingly divides the island in two. Its origins are as an airfield, first built by the Japanese colonialists, and then later used by the U.S. military. On the other side of the park lies the imposing, domed National Assembly, the home of Korean parliamentarians since 1975.

The National Assembly side is also, unsurprisingly, a good place to see all types of demonstrations.

The ruling Saenuri Party’s headquarters is just down the road; the traffic outside will invariably be blocked by those seeking to overturn some apparent injustice. When I have some political reporting to do, I sit by the window in a nearby café to pick up a little context as I work.

Chungmuro and Myeong-dong When I first lived in Seoul, I stayed in a small second-floor flat in the Chungmuro district. Chungmuro is sometimes referred to as the “Korean Hollywood,” owing to the presence of several film studios.

Frankly, it isn’t that glamorous at all, but what it does have is the park leading up to Namsan, the mountain that rises right in the middle of Seoul. In the winter of 2004 I spent one month studying for an exam, and to take my mind off things, I would walk up Namsan every morning, to take in the view over the whole city.

Just a little further along from Chungmuro lies Myeong-dong, the famed shopping district now considered a compulsory stop-off point by Japanese and Chinese tourists. Whenever I need a jolt of tenpeople-per-square-foot, neon-charged madness, I join the Myeong-dong scrum, hopefully emerging unscathed somewhere near the Lotte Hotel in Sogong-dong.

The nearby Mugyo-dong is interesting as well, mainly for its street food area and outdoor pojang-macha (tent bars), which are among my favorite haunts during the summer months. The Seoul authorities have blocked off an entire road and designated it a “food culture zone,” but don’t let that put you off ― it is still the real deal.

Gangnam Station Even though I am not really “Gangnam Style,” I would be hard pressed not to think of the area around Gangnam Station as part of “my Seoul.” I used to work in Samseong-dong around the COEX shopping complex, and whenever my co-workers and I wanted to blow off some steam, we would head to Gangnam for samgyeopsal (grilled pork belly) and soju . This can be followed by a trip to the “luxury” noraebang (singing room), which even gives you free ice cream to soothe those strained vocal cords.

These days, there’s another reason to get out at Gangnam Station. “Bam-gwa Eumak-sai” (literally “between the night and the music”) is a club that plays old-school Korean pop music from the 1980s and 1990s. Korea, it seems, is just starting to get into nostalgia after years of only looking forward ― hence places like this. Those 30-somethings who flock here have childhood memories triggered by every song the DJ plays, making for a fun, friendly atmosphere. Being English, and having spent my youth in Manchester, I cannot feel any atavistic rush from Nami’s 1984 hit “Bingeul Bingeul,” but I love being there with those who do.

Looking back at this short survey, I realize that none of these “villages” have that much in common with each other, other than being geographically close, and connected by the Seoul Metro. But that’s the way I like it. I cannot define Seoul as one thing in particular, and remain in love with it because of that. Seoul has the capacity to be all things to all people. So what is it to you?

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Cyclists take a break at the Han Riverside Park across from Yeouido, Seoul's financial district.

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Koreana 覺 Spring 2013

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>> Special Feature 5 Seoul Inside Out

Where the City’s History Comes Alive Historic sites in Seoul, embodying the city’s past and present, remind its residents of whom they are and where they live. Visiting these places can be like traveling back in time to discover the roots of one’s identity or simply to rest the weary soul.

Kim Yoo-kyung Journalist | Ahn Hong-beom, Suh Heun-gang, Ha Ji-kwon, Choi Hang-young Photographers

Seonggyungwan, National Confucian Academy Seonggyungwan was the foremost educational institution of the Joseon Dynasty, where scholars and officials were trained in the principles of Confucianism, the state ideology. A lasting symbol of Korea’s Confucian tradition and treasured cultural asset, it has been preserved on the campus of the university with the same name (spelled Sungkyunkwan University) in Myeongnyun-dong, central Seoul.

With the onset of modern times, Confucianism gradually lost ground to the modern sciences. The academy has since lost its role as an educational institution, existing only as a Confucian shrine where memorial rites are conducted to pay homage to ancient sages. Most of the buildings once used for educational purposes, including the main lecture hall, Myeongnyundang, are now left vacant, but other facilities are still used for public educational programs, such as the Etiquette School for Children.

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Lined in an orderly formation, the dancers perform to pay homage to ancient sages during the semiannual memorial rites at Seonggyungwan.

In addition to these facilities, the remains of the academy include the library, archery ground, dormitory, dining hall, examination hall, and administrative office, as well as the signboards with words of encouragement written by kings and eminent scholars.

Although largely empty and disused, every corner of the academy, including its 27 buildings and the very air around them, seems to exude traces of the students, scholars, and royalty who once passed through its gates. The refectory seems to resonate with their footsteps, while the terrace stones in front of the dormitory have been worn down by the coming and going of students over hundreds of years. Many of the academy graduates have left an indelible mark on Korean history, with their life episodes becoming a part of local folklore.

A couple is married in a traditional wedding ceremony at the courtyard of Daeseongjeon shrine.

One such example is the young man Choe Hang (1409-1474), who came to the academy for the civil service examination. Just before the exam, King Sejong had dreamt of a young man in the guise of a dragon under a huge tree, or so the story goes. Perhaps the tree was the ancient ginkgo tree that still stands in the courtyard of the academy. Indeed, Choe Hang passed the exam with the top score and went on to work at Jiphyeonjeon, the royal research institute, assisting the king in creating the Korean script, now called Hangeul. Even today, the leaves on this ginkgo tree turn a radiant gold every autumn. A 400-year history of Seonggyungwan, including its vaunted educational system, curriculum, and student life, is recorded in detail in “Record of the Highest School of Learning” (Taehak ji ), published in 1785 during the reign of King Jeongjo.

Daeseongjeon, the academy’s central building, is a shrine where memorial services for Confucius and 18 Korean Confucian scholars are still conducted every May and September. The stately rites feature ritual music and dance, as well as a variety of food offerings, which have been prepared by the same family for generations. In addition, various informal ceremonies are occasionally held by Confucian scholars from the provinces. In spring and autumn, Seonggyungwan’s spacious courtyard is a favorite venue for traditional wedding ceremonies, attracting large crowds of wedding guests.

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A gigantic pine tree outstretches its branches over the detached outer quarters of Seokpajeong Villa, located at the foot of Mt. Inwang.

Seoul Museum and Seokpajeong Villa Mt. Inwang, situated to the west of Gyeongbok Palace, is an impressive sight with its craggy rocks and clear streams. During the Joseon Dynasty, the village at the foot of this mountain, called Buam-dong today, was loved for its picturesque beauty, especially in the springtime, when it was abloom with azaleas and apricot blossoms among the pine trees. This splendid scenery made the village a highly sought-after location for the villas of powerful aristocrats. A notable example is Seokpajeong, the villa built by Kim Heung-geun (1796-1870), a high-ranking official of the late Joseon period. It was a luxurious residence with a pavilion and vast garden with a stream that wound its way over natural rock tiers. A sprawling residential complex with a spacious garden, it was A pavilion stands by a gurgling stream in the garden of a popular gathering place for art lovers, who would create poetry about the wonders of Seokpajeong Villa. nature.

The name “Seokpajeong” (Stone Slope Pavilion) is derived from “Sokpa,” the courtesy name of Prince Regent Heungseon, the father of King Gojong, toward the end of the dynasty. After the influential regent practically usurped the villa, it repeatedly changed hands among the wealthy, serving various functions over time. In this sense, the famed villa represents not only the artistic tastes of the Joseon nobility but their rise and fall as well.

Today, a pharmaceutical company CEO who is a serious art collector has incorporated the villa into the grounds of the Seoul Museum and opened it to the public. With an admission ticket to Seoul Museum, visitors can look around the old residence and garden set against the natural scenery of Mt. Inwang. Here, the four seasons create an impressive background, whether it is green spring foliage, rainy summer woods, blazing autumn leaves, or a snowy winter mountain. With Mt. Inwang at its back, the museum commands a sweeping view of Mt. Bukhan and a long stretch of the old city walls. The modern city lies to the south below. Surrounded by mountains, Seoul offers this unusual landscape of modern metropolis and pristine woods. In such a place that embodies Korea’s unique cultural ambience, to feel is to understand.

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The interior and exterior of the Postal Bureau. The bust of reformist politician Hong Yeong-sik is displayed in the exhibition room.

Postal Bureau, the Site of a Failed Coup In 1884, toward the end of the Joseon Dynasty, Hong Yeong-sik (1855-1884), a young government official who sought to modernize the country, established the Korean Postal Bureau in Gyeonji-dong, Jongno-gu, under the auspices of King Gojong. The bureau issued Korea’s first postage stamps and provided modern postal services.

History finds Hong in quite a different context shortly thereafter. Hong and his comrades staged a coup on the night when a reception was held to celebrate the grand opening of the new postal service. The coup attempt, however, failed and the conspirators were put to death. The Postal Bureau was also disbanded a few months later.

Rarely is the Gapsin Coup of 1884 mentioned without a reference to the reception held at the Postal Bureau with the attendance of many high-ranking officials and foreign diplomats. The festive ambience of the event stands in stark contrast to the bloody death faced by the dozens of men who attempted the coup. The nearby neighborhood of Jae-dong, where Hong’s house was located, was also affected by the failed reform movement. The house was confiscated by the authorities, and today, the Constitutional Court of Korea stands on the site. In the backyard you can see an old white pine that seems to symbolize the young officials’ ardent desire for reform.

What remains of the old Postal Bureau is a single building, recognized as one of the oldest postal buildings in the world. Until last year, it had been used as an exhibition hall showcasing the history of modern postal service in Korea. It has since started to provide real postal services, though only very basic, to commemorate the historical significance of the place. With a bust of Hong Yeong-sik to remind visitors of the historic coup of more than 100 years ago, this old post office seems to resonate with the progressive spirit of this young man who made the ultimate sacrifice to advance reform at a time when his country’s fate was waning.

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The house of Yi Sang with a signboard of “Swallow Coffee Shop” draws visitors who cherish legacies of the short-lived poet.

Yi Sang’s House Thirteen children are running down a road. / (A dead-end road is acceptable.) / The first child says he is scared….

The poet Yi Sang (1910-1937, also known as Kim Hae-gyeong), who wrote this recondite and anomalous modern poem “Crow’s Eye View” (Ogamdo ), spent most of his short life in Tongin-dong, the neighborhood to the west of Gyeongbok Palace that is loosely referred to as Seochon. The poet, who also authored the famous short story “The Wings” (Nalgae ), is a mysterious artist who conjures up nostalgia for Korea’s early modern times.

“Yi Sang’s home was a traditional house with a main building, a detached building in the back, and servants’ quarters. In the spacious courtyard, millet and corn grew in autumn,” wrote one of the poet’s acquaintances. Like a shadow of its former self, a small building with nothing left but its tiled roof stands on the site today.

Yi Sang lived in this house for about 20 years, going to school, working as an architectural engineer, writing, and socializing with friends.

Here he spent the critical period of his life that gave rise to his poetic identity. The poet’s experiences here permeated his work.

Once, an attempt was made to demolish the house. But the residents of Seochon met to discuss the matter and concluded that they would strive to “preserve the house, together with the sky over the roof that the poet must have looked up at, and all the other remnants related to the poet’s life and work.” Their petition was accepted by the authorities, and the house has been preserved much as it was eight decades ago.

Yi Sang left this neighborhood in 1933 and opened the coffee shop “Jebi” (Swallow) in Jongno, which was frequented by his artist contemporaries. Last autumn, the signboard from the coffee shop was hung at the poet’s old house. Until April 17, thanks to the “Jebi Coffee Shop Project,” organized by the foundation responsible for the restoration of the poet’s home, visitors can come by and look over Yi Sang’s work while having tea or coffee. It is a modest coffee shop, but roaming around the alleys to the old house where the poet lived is a way to feel closer to this literary legend.

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Gallery Ryugaheon, in a remodeled traditional Korean house, specializes in photography.

A Treasure Hunt in Seochon Seochon (literally “west village”) is the district encompassing a few neighborhoods to the west of Gyeongbok Palace. During the Joseon Dynasty, it was home to government officials who used the west gate to enter the palace, and a favored area where influential people built their villas to enjoy the graceful scenery.

More recently, the presence of Cheong Wa Dae, the presidential residence, in the vicinity has led to various restrictions imposed on development. This has helped to ensure that the atmosphere of old Seoul remains intact here, with old buildings and traditional tiled-roof houses still standing side by side along the meandering alleys.

Seochon was home to many well-known historical figures. The old residence of Yi The entrance of Space 15th, a gallery in Seochon.

Hang-bok (1556-1618), an eminent Joseon government official, may appear to be little more than a lonesome, decrepit ancient house, but water can still be drawn from a large well in the backyard and pagoda trees stand tall here and there around the old house. Situated on a hillside, Seochon has an unusually large number of water wells. One well was used regularly by residents until a water pipeline finally reached the area in the 1970s. The tree at the well is covered with a cloud of flowers every spring, while the persimmon trees in front of the gates of old homes are laden with plump fruit every autumn.

Old houses have old tales to tell. In the course of renovation work, homeowners have stumbled upon precious gold pieces that had been hidden for generations. There were others who went around searching every corner of Seochon for the fabled royal treasure purportedly stashed away somewhere in the area during a long ago war.

Ten or so turns in the alleyway lead to a small, quaint restaurant with modern décor, its windows overlooking the house of a lawyer who, years ago, provided shelter for student activists and politicians fighting against the dictatorial regimes. Outside in the alley, there is a large vertical ruler on the wall for children to measure themselves. Lines for long jump and 50-meter lanes for running races have been painted on the ground.

Walking along these alleys, where time seems to pass more slowly, is a good way to savor the historical flavor of old Seoul.

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art rEview

Goryeo Celadon

A Subtle Elegance “The Best Under Heaven, Celadons of Korea,” a special exhibition presented by the National Museum of Korea from October 16 to December 16, 2012, built on the growing body of scholarship on this topic since the 1990s. Under the rubrics of “Chronology,” “Function,” “Inlay,” and “Masterpieces,” the exhibition offered multiple approaches to understanding and appreciating the famed celadon of the Goryeo period.

Soyoung Lee Associate Curator, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York | Photographs by courtesy of the National Museum of Korea

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ow universal is the appeal of Goryeo celadon? The noted British scholar, promoter, and collector of Korean ceramics, G. St. G. M. Gompertz, made the following observation in his groundbreaking book “Korean Celadon and Other Wares of the Koryo Period” (1963): “It is difficult to explain the appeal of Korean celadon ware to those who have not yet become acquainted with it… It has been well said that Korean wares ‘wait for you.’ Their special appeal seems to derive from subtlety of form, line and color, and the ‘quiet’ effect which this produces.” Subtle elegance, rather than flamboyant splendor, characterizes the aesthetic of Goryeo celadon.

Early Western Perceptions More than a half century before Gompertz’s remarks, the earliest Western explorers and admirers of East Asia had begun to discover this distinctive brand of Korean art. The majority, however, were unfamiliar with Korean culture and history, and many had never visited the country. Most were introduced to Goryeo cela-

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don through Japanese scholars, dealers, and collectors. Indeed, Yamanaka Sadajiro (1866-1936), who maintained shops in New York, Chicago and Boston, was one of the most influential figures in shaping American collections of Korean art during the late 19th century through the early 20th century.

In the United States, such well-known advocates and collectors of Japanese art as Edward Sylvester Morse (1838-1925) and Charles Lang Freer (1854-1919) — whose collections are now housed at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and the Freer and Sackler Galleries in Washington, D.C., respectively — were among the first to “discover” Goryeo celadon. Among the early collectors, Freer was quite focused, assembling well over a hundred pieces, the majority of which he purchased from Yamanaka in New York.

Lovers of Chinese ceramics also began to appreciate Goryeo celadon. For example, in Europe there was George Eumorfopoulos (1863-1929), whose collection of ceramics is now divided between the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum, and in America, Charles Bain Hoyt (1889-1949), whose collection went to Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

1. Celadon Ewer in the Shape of a Dragon-Carp.

Dots and lines in white clay accentuate the fins and the end of the tail. Height: 24.4cm, Body diameter: 13.5cm. Collection of the National Museum of Korea.

2. Celadon Girl-shaped Water Dropper. The headpiece serves as the stopper; water comes out of the open top of the bottle that is held in the girl’s hands. Height: 11.4cm.

Collection of the Museum of Oriental Ceramics, Osaka, Japan.

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the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Other more eclectic collectors, whose primary interest lay in European art, also dabbled in Korean celadon. More unusually, some individuals adopted Korean ceramics, including celadon, as their primary passion, after having lived or traveled in Korea. Over the course of the last century and more, an intricate web of art collectors, dealers, and museum curators have helped to build a significant body of Goryeo celadon in the West — in the process of shaping an evolving appreciation of this art form.

‘The Best Under Heaven’ Today, Goryeo celadon remains one of the best-recognized categories of Korean art and among the most visibly represented at museums across Europe and North America. Visitors to those museums would undoubtedly have been impressed by the breadth and depth of the Goryeo celadon presented by the National Museum of Korea in the recent exhibition and catalogue, “The Best Under Heaven, Celadons of Korea,” one of the most comprehensive surveys to date of this genre. Supplemented by objects from select museums in Korea and Japan but drawing largely from the holdings of the National Museum of Korea, this presentation included such standard-bearers as the group of “bisaek ” objects purportedly from the tomb of King Injong (r. 1122-1146), notable for their restrained shapes and subdued palette; and familiar masterpiec-

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es like the Incense Burner with Cover Surmounted by a Lion, eyecatching for its luminous glaze and the beast that exudes both dignity and charm; Maebyeong with Inlaid Cloud and Crane Design, one of the most renowned examples of Goryeo inlaid celadon, a majestic vessel with an all-over pattern of flying cranes and wispy clouds, within and outside roundels, that is reminiscent of textile design; and Gourd-shaped Ewer with Lid and Stand, whose animated figures of boys echo the rhythm of the swirling grapevines, which are accentuated by bursts of deep red color.

These were shown alongside more unusual pieces, such as, Flower-shaped Covered Box with copper-red color, a technique difficult to execute successfully to bring the flower to life; Nahan Statue, a visible reminder of Goryeo as a Buddhist state that captures the idiosyncratic and expressive qualities of the Nahan, or arhat; and works with inscriptions such as Dish, which may not be a stellar example of celadon but is notable for the inscription signifying its function as a vessel used in Daoist rites.

Major Exhibitions in America and Europe Some of the objects featured in the latest exhibition in Seoul have traveled to the West. One memorable occasion was “5,000 Years of Korean Art,” a major initiative organized and sponsored by the Korean government (including the National Museum of Korea) that toured museums in the United States from 1979-1981. A revKo re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

1. Celadon Incense Burner with Cover Surmounted by a Lion. Incense burners had mainly been made with metal before the development of an advanced celadon technique that led to the creation of elaborate wares adorned with sculpted animal figures. 12th century, Height: 21.1cm. Collection of the National Museum of Korea.

2. Celadon Kundika with Nine Dragon Heads. This ritual bottle exhibits fine carving technique and the prized “bisaek ” color from the golden age of Goryeo celadon. Height: 33.5cm. Collection of the Museum Yamato Bunkakan, Nara, Japan.

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1. Celadon Maebyeong with Inlaid Cloud and Crane Design. Cranes flying upward are depicted inside the roundels in black and white inlay and cranes flying downward are expressed outside the roundels.

12th century. Height: 42.1cm, Base diameter: 17cm.

Collection of the Kansong Art Museum, Seoul.

2. Celadon Ewer in the Shape of an Immortal. Water is poured into the vessel through the hole in front of the headpiece and comes out through the hole in the peaches held in front. First half of the 13th century.

Height: 28.0cm, Base diameter: 11.6cm. Collection of the National Museum of Korea.

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elation for many who saw it, this exhibition helped embed Korea within their consciousness of East Asian cultures. It showcased some of the most sophisticated examples of Goryeo celadon — including those featured in “The Best Under Heaven,” such as the Maebyeong with inlaid peony design and copper-painted decoration. A review by “People” magazine in 1979 states of the exhibition in America: “…art purists may be more impressed by the renowned pearl-green celadon ceramics, from sensually shaped bottles to anything-but-simple roof tiles, which demonstrate why the Koreans are considered the best potters in the Far East.” A parallel exhibition, “Treasures from Korea: Art Through 5,000 Years,” traveled to London in 1984.

Some works from Japanese collections included in “The Best Under Heaven” will also be recognized in the West, especially those from the renowned Ataka collection at the Museum of Oriental Ceramics in Osaka. The famous Boy- and Girl-shaped Water Droppers, among the finest examples of Goryeo celadon, are delicate and beguiling, everything from the figures’ facial features to the creases or small patterns on their robes, to the sublime celadon color evidencing the masterful hand of the potter. This pair and other superb pieces from the Ataka collection have been shown at museums in the United States, most recently at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2002.

Prior to the 1980s, a seminal presentation of Korean ceramics in North America took place in 1968 under the title, “The Art of the Korean Potter,” organized by Robert P. Griffing, Jr. and shown at the Asia House Gallery of the Asia Society in New York. All objects in this show came from 27 major American museums and private collections, including the Art Institute of Chicago, the Avery Brundage Foundation in San Francisco, the Brooklyn Museum, the Cleveland Museum of Art, the Honolulu Academy of Arts, the Phila-

delphia Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. By this time, significant collections of Goryeo celadon had already been formed in the United States. Yet, unlike today, spaces devoted to Korean art were rare; most of the objects were not displayed to the public in any meaningful manner.

This exhibition, however, brought together for the general public an impressive array of Goryeo celadon amassed and appreciated by American collectors and curators.

A Renewed Appreciation What captivated the early Western admirers of Goryeo celadon still resonates with art lovers today: the beauty of its subtle green glaze; the sense of whimsy and playfulness in form or design; and the innovative inlay decoration. What is different today is context ― a better understanding of the history and aesthetic of Korean celadon, and indeed of Korean art generally, has brought a renewed and more nuanced appreciation. Greater firsthand exposure to objects has undoubtedly helped. The growing list of galleries dedicated to Korean art at museums around the world has meant more permanent displays of Goryeo celadon for visitors to enjoy. Repeated encounters generate familiarity and often affection. A deeper knowledge of how the objects were made and used helps reconstruct their life stories. Ironically, the “quiet” nature of Goryeo celadon may hold tantalizing appeal for the 21st century beholder, offering a sense of mystery in a world full of bright lights and cacophony.

“…art purists may be more impressed by the renowned pearl-green celadon ceramics, from sensually shaped bottles to anything-butsimple roof tiles, which demonstrate why the Koreans are considered the best potters in the Far East.”

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on the global stage

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Dominic Pangborn’s

‘Accidental Happiness’ Dominic Pangborn, a Detroit-based artist, graphic designer, entrepreneur and philanthropist, sits down with Koreana to discuss the attitudes and philosophy that took a precocious but struggling mixed-race 10-year-old Korean adoptee and turned him into a consummate global success in multiple overlapping arenas.

Maya West Freelance Writer and Translator; University of Michigan M.F.A. | Photographs by courtesy of Pangborn Design

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very Saturday in Korea, at 7:10 p.m., KBS1 broadcasts “Age of Global Success,” a television documentary featuring the success stories of Koreans from across the globe. In the fall of 2011, one such success story was about Dominic Pangborn, a Michigan-based artist and designer who first came to America as a Korean adoptee. “It was crazy,” Pangborn recalls, as we sit for our interview in the beautifully appointed Detroit headquarters of Pangborn Design. “After the show aired, I had something like two thousand Facebook friend requests, overnight.” And did he, then, accept all 2,000? “Of course,” he replies, smiling, “and I looked at each new friend’s profile!” How long did that take him? “Well, I don’t really sleep much — so just a few days. A lot of those responses happened at four, five in the morning.”

A Story of Success Now in his sixties, Pangborn could easily pass for 45, even with his shock of silver hair; vital , perhaps, would be the best word to describe his presence. “I am very, very fast with everything I do,” he says. “I’m all about speed.”

Indeed, this sense of speed, of momentum, appears to have long been a defining characteristic of Pangborn’s life and professional trajectory. As a 15-year-old in Jackson, Michigan, still a bit insecure about his English, he made manager within a few months of starting work at the local McDonald’s. (“I really respect McDonald’s, you know?” he adds. “I mean, it’s completely [a work of] genius, to have four weeks of training, just a couple of hours each week, that can turn a teenager into a functional manager!”) And when, as a college freshman in the big city attending the prestigious Chicago Academy of Fine Arts, Pangborn got an apprenticeship at a small design studio for three dollars an hour, things moved almost as fast. “Twelve months after I started my boss came to me and said: ‘Have you heard? You’re my boss now.” Pangborn chuckles. “He quit, of course.”

Three years later, when Pangborn graduated with a degree in graphic design, he hit the job market with three years of experience under his belt, not only as chief designer of a working firm but also as the head of sales. What started out as a run-of-the-mill design apprenticeship had evolved into an all-inclusive dry run for building and managing his own company, from top to bottom. After a couple of years, during which he had gotten married, moved to Detroit, and turned down a senior vice presidency at a much larger design firm, that’s exactly what he did: in 1979, still in his twenties, Dominic Pangborn founded Pangborn Design Ltd. — he was on his way.

Today, Pangborn Design is a thriving business boasting decades of experience not just in graphic design but also package design, product design, and marketing. What is more, in the intervening decades since the young Pangbron first put down roots in Detroit, he has maintained an active presence in the community at large, serving on upwards of 50 distinct boards and councils at a time and maintaining ties to myriad philanthropic organizations. (“I was surprised myself,” he adds, noting my dismay at the figure. “But that's what my associate told me after doing the calculations! Fifty!”) Invested in education, he often travels to speak to students at schools and colleges, and he has also been honored by the Detroit Regional Chamber of Commerce with the “Emerging Global Leader Award.”

And truly, even in a less official capacity, Pangborn has been something of a trailblazer for the burgeoning cultural renaissance (and cheap rents) now starting to attract struggling artists to Detroit from other parts of the country. When he first found the sprawling white building in the Rivertown Warehouse District that would become his company headquarters, the place was submerged in three feet of standing water and the roof had collapsed. He bought it anyway, investing and renovating, transforming it into the airy studio and gallery space it has become.

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1. Designer, artist and entrepreneur Dominic Pangborn in his Detroit studio.

2. Pangborn first made his mark in the early eighties international fashion scene with his ties — a feat that earned him the moniker “The Tie Guy.”

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Along one wall of the neat, bright room where we sit down to talk, a colorful display of ties and scarves draws the eye. It was with these same bold designs that Pangborn first made his mark on a global scale, catapulting himself to prominence in the fashion world of the early 1980s. His eye for color and pattern soon landed his wares in the display cases of upscale retailers like Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstrom. Even now, more than 30 years later, Pangborndesigned accessories make up a significant portion of the company’s revenue. When asked about his success in fashion, however, and his well-established moniker “The Tie Guy,” Pangborn waves it off lightly. “It was really just an accident. I tried it out for fun, and it took off.” He leans back in his chair. “You know, if I were to write a book about my life, I would call it Accidental Happiness .”

Happy Accidents “Well, to start with, I was a child of accident,” Pangborn continues, his smile rueful. “Hopefully it was a happy accident. It was an encounter between a man and a woman, an American GI and my mother. I don’t know what their encounter was like; I don’t really care. I’m just glad it happened.”

Born Jeong Seong-hoon in 1952 in Chungcheong Province, Dominic Pangborn spent the first 10 years of his life insulated, in many ways, from the larger world. In his tiny village, made up of maybe a dozen families or so, his mixed race parentage was only rarely an issue. “We were hidden away, like one of those remote tribes, and we took care of each other,” he explains. “It was like a network of clans. We were the Jeong clan, and the next village was the Kim clan, and the Park clan.” Can it really be, though, that he was never harassed? “A couple of the Kims, they’re the ones I recall. There were two Kim boys who just hated my guts, and they used to call me miguk-nom . That means American bastard.” He shrugs. “It honestly never bothered me. It probably bothered my mother more than me.”

Very likely these concerns factored in to Pangborn’s mother’s thinking, in 1962, to consider the possibility of giving him up for adoption. A precocious child, the young Seong-hoon had been testing off the charts at the village school and was regularly voted president of his class (an honor reserved for the most talented student). It was this academic potential, in part, that drew the attention of an American Catholic missionary in the village, who approached his mother with

1. Kim Ki-duk (left) poses after winning the Best Director award at the Venice Film Festival in 2004 for “3-Iron” with Alejandro Amenábar, a Spanish film director, who received the Grand Prix of the Jury for “The Sea Inside.”

2. Scene from “Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring,” a film that marked a new phase in Kim’s career.

3. Poster for “The Bow” (2005) 4. Poster for “3-Iron” (2004)

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a proposal: he would take the young Seong-hoon back to America with him, and place him with a good family who would be able to provide him with every opportunity, and thus help him avoid the stigma and difficulties as a mixed-race child in Korea. Pangborn’s mother left the decision to her son: he could stay, or go, as he chose. At 10 years old, knowing nothing about the world beyond his village, unable to speak a single word of English, the boy chose to go.

The Pangborns already had 11 biological children of their own when they welcomed Dominic into their home. A lifetime later, Pangborn is ever the grateful son for their efforts and care; two or three times every month he makes a point of visiting his 91-year-old adoptive mother back in Jackson. At the time, though, the transition was a difficult one. In one fell swoop, as he puts it, “I went from being smart to being stupid. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t understand any of it. I felt like I’d become an idiot.” He describes being held back half a year to start fourth grade over again, still smarting from the memory. “It just felt like another setback, you know?”

These same setbacks, though, in hindsight, can be considered happy accidents themselves: it helped bring his GPA up. Then, as a sophomore in high school Pangborn took his first real art class. “I figured, anybody can draw! Any3 body can paint!” It was, of course, in that very classroom that Pangborn first began to realize the extent of his own talent. What’s more, a few years later, in his first week at the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts, he realized that for all intents and purposes, his American classmates’ English was no better than his own. “I understood what the teachers were saying better than they did.”

All throughout the incredibly prolific career that has followed that initial realization, people have been asking Dominic Pangborn where he gets his inspiration. He always tells them that it all comes from Korea. “You have to understand,” he tells me, “that back then, in the fifties, a lot of the countryside was still completely bombed out ― but wow, it was great. That’s where creativity comes from. When you don’t have anything, you have to think, to invent things. You don’t just say, well, I’ll go out and buy this or that. You roll marbles out of clay from the riverbed; you figure out how to make a kerosene lamp for your mother. Those memories are clearer now than what happened yesterday.”

1. “All Good Things” (2010), 30 x 60 x 10 cm, 3D art on aluminum, mixed media. Pangborn crafted each panel of the individual optical illusions by hand, from thin sheets of aluminum.

2-3. Pangborn Design's forays into housewares include both modern and more traditional tea sets.

A Hundred Arrows Pangborn suddenly switches off the overhead lights and the cavernous studio annex is plunged into near-darkness, the weak winter sunlight trickling in through a few high windows already fading as afternoon turns to evening. All around me, paintings begin to glow. Flowers and butterflies emerge where there were none before, and as I exclaim with surprise, Pangborn laughs, delighted ― a distinctly childlike giggle. In fact, from here on, as I am given a tour of his workspaces, it is easier to imagine the little boy who happily made marbles out of clay down by the river: the years fall away completely, and his eyes grow brighter, his demeanor almost playful.

This much is clear: Dominic Pangborn loves what he does.

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1. Pangborn's graphic design roots are evident in his diverse accessories.

2. “Lisa’s Garden” (2005), 60 x 90 cm, oil on canvas.

Contemporary oils and acrylics are among Pangborn’s recent fine art paintings.

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Until just five years ago, fine art had been mostly a hobby for Pangborn; his business was design. As formidable changes swept the graphic design market, however, with the proliferation of DIY templates and computer programs, Pangborn decided it was time for another change — and the rest, as they say, is history. It is no exaggeration to say that Pangborn’s paintings, many of which are available through the Michigan-based Park West Gallery, have been a huge hit. And looking around his studio, it is easy to see why. His pieces, which cover virtually every imaginable style of painting and mixed media (including sculpture and even the beautiful carpets under my feet), display in remarkable balance his considerable artistic talent and impressive business acumen. This is art meant to engage, to please, rather than show off or intimidate. In one series of 3D pieces, for example, Pangborn creates the illusion of a receding gallery hallway by cleverly manipulating various angles: a visual trick that creates a sensation of being drawn in. (A 40-foot commissioned version of this piece now hangs in Miami’s Marlins Ballpark.) In much the same vein, the glowing butterflies and flowers, achieved by mixing clear glow-in-the-dark medium with paint, are like a wink from Pangborn to the buyer: a way to connect.

“You know, I just take things one at a time,” he tells me, when I express surprise at the sheer number of different projects surrounding us. “Or actually, not so much one thing as several things at a time. If you shoot a hundred arrows at a target, at least a handful are going to hit. And who knows? Maybe one will even hit the bullseye.” It is a life philosophy of almost relentless optimism, of unflagging energy. “There are a tremendous number of whiners out there,” Pangborn declares. “My response is, if you think you can do better, just go ahead and do it.”

In a way, this same attitude extends to the ongoing debate over international adoptions in Korea, an issue that is near and dear to his heart. To Pangborn, limiting opportunities for international adoptions like his (in favor of promoting domestic adoption) is tantamount to taking away opportunities for these children to do what he himself has done — to get ahead and do better. Coming as it does from an adoptee who actually had a family back in Korea (including siblings he is now back in touch with), this stance is particularly interesting; after all, positivity or no, Pangborn’s personal experience was far from painless. When he returned to Korea for the first time, for example, in the early 1980s, having finally made what felt like enough money to really make a difference for his family, he found that he was five years too late. His mother had, unbeknownst to him, passed away. “I love my mother,” he explains. “And I wish… well, we can all wish for many things. But you know what, your parents are also the people who raised you. I didn’t lose a mother with my adoption; I gained a mother and a father.”

“I often use the word ‘evolution’; that’s really what my whole life has been all about. I like to let things flow as they come, and always stay flexible so that if I need to make a quick turn I’m ready to make that turn. If I see a red light when I’m driving, I immediately swerve off and go around it ― and you know, I’ve always been lucky!”

“I can turn anything into a positive,” he says, smiling once more. Indeed, there can be little argument that he has done precisely that.

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“You know, I just take things one at a time.

Or actually, not so much one thing as several things at a time.

If you shoot a hundred arrows at a target, at least a handful are going to hit.

And who knows? Maybe one will even hit the bullseye.”

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modern landmarks

Daehan Hospital Monument of Modern Medicine Daehan Hospital was one of Korea’s first modern general hospitals. Early in the 20th century, the hospital brought about significant changes in the country’s tradition-bound healthcare, especially in the ways that Koreans, the elite class in particular, came to regard and adopt medical practices. Today, the graceful remains of the former Daehan Hospital building houses the Institute of Medical History and Culture.

Kim Sang-tae Professor, Institute of Medical History and Culture, Seoul National University Hospital | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Commonly known today as the “clock tower building” at SNU Hospital, the former Daehan Hospital building houses the Institute of Medical History and Culture.

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n March 15, 1907, three years before the demise of the Joseon Dynasty, Daehan Hospital was created by merging three medical institutions: the National Medical School, Gwangjewon (House of Extended Deliverance, one of Korea’s first Western-style hospitals), and the Korean Red Cross Hospital. Placed under the direct control of the State Council (Uijeongbu ), Daehan Hospital was a central medical institution that offered comprehensive healthcare services and medical training on a national level. Formally, the hospital was established by order of the Korean emperor, but in fact, it was the result of the Japanese residencygeneral’s influence over domestic affairs, which had become more aggressive since the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905). Accordingly, the Daehan Hospital Establishment Committee, which administered the project at the working level, consisted of Japanese medical doctors.

State-of-the-Art Hospital The site for the new hospital was provided by the imperial family, comprising a former royal garden area adjacent to Changgyeong Palace. King Jeongjo of the Joseon Dynasty, upon taking the throne in 1776, built a memorial shrine in the garden to house the spirit tablet of his father, Crown Prince Sado. In 1899, when the crown prince was posthumously conferred the title of king, his spirit tablet was relocated to Jongmyo, the royal ancestral shrine. Construction of the hospital began in September 1906 and was completed in November 1907.

In its initial years, Daehan Hospital was among the largest, most up-to-date medical institutions in East Asia, with a staff of over 30 medical professionals, including 17 doctors, seven professors, and nine pharmacists. The hospital, with three departments respon-

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sible for treatment, education, and public health and sanitation, carried out a wide range of healthcare services from patient care to prevention of epidemics, smallpox vaccination, and public hygiene, as well as providing free consultation and treatment for the needy.

Daehan Hospital was a modern general hospital that provided a variety of specialist services, such as internal medicine, surgery, obstetrics/ gynecology, ophthalmology, ENT, dermatology, and dentistry. It also offered four-year programs in medicine based on a rigorous curriculum that combined medical theory with clinical knowledge. After graduation, its students acquired further healthcare experience by serving as interns at Daehan Hospital or Jahye Hospitals, a network of public medical centers that were built in major cities beginning in 1909.

Changes in Medical Practices The new hospital changed the way that Koreans, especially the country’s elite class, came to view and adopt medical practices. Illustrating this transformation is an anecdotal incident involving Kim Yun-sik, then chairman of the Privy Council, who had previously headed the Office for Foreign Affairs and Trade of the Korean Empire. On May 8, 1908, when he felt under the weather, he visited Daehan Hospital, was examined by a doctor, and went home with prescribed medication. To people today, this may be all too ordinary, hardly deserving mention, but at that time it was unprecedented for a high-ranking official to visit a hospital in person for treatment. The few Western-style national hospitals in operation then, such as Jejungwon and Gwangjewon, mainly served the poor

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1. The Museum of Medicine on the second floor showcases old medical equipment, medicines and books related to the history of modern Korean medicine.

2. From the first floor, where the archive is located, the wooden staircase leads up to the Museum of Medicine on the second floor.

3. Daehan Hospital’s third-class ward in 1908.

(Courtesy of the Institute of Medical History and Culture) 3

and indigent with no access to medical services elsewhere.

Moreover, contemporary intellectuals regarded modern Western medicine as having certain merits in surgery, but none in internal medicine. This way of thinking was reinforced by the special attention that the two Western-style hospitals gave to the performance of surgical operations. It was a matter of social status: to the elite, surgical treatment was for soldiers wounded in wars or “lowly people” who engaged in manual labor. At that time, it was common for the nobility and the learned to prescribe their own medication for illnesses based on their knowledge of traditional medicine. Otherwise, they would have a doctor make a house call, rather than visit his office. As such, a visit to a doctor or hospital was extremely rare.

Founding of Seoul National University Hospital Japan’s annexation of Korea in 1910 had a highly negative impact on all aspects of the everyday life of Koreans. Medicine experienced a setback as well. Japan’s colonial rule in Korea undermined the nation’s fledgling efforts to lay a foundation for modern medicine and healthcare. Under this situation, Daehan Hospital was reorganized into the Government-General Medical Center while its medical school was also placed under the new organization. As a result, management, organization, staff, and all other functions of the hospital, including medical education, were controlled by the Japanese authorities.

Upon the promulgation of the Professional School Act in 1916, the medical school of the Government-General Medical Center was upgraded to a full-fledged educational institution: Keijo Medical School. [Keizo is Japanese pronunciation of Gyeongseong, the old name of Seoul.] But the two institutions maintained close relations, with the medical center providing hands-on training for students, while the hospital director concurrently served as the school’s rector and the doctors served as professors. The Government-General Medical Center was later incorporated into Keijo Imperial University, which opened its College of Medicine in 1926. Thereafter, Keijo Medical School opened its own training hospital at Sogyeok-dong, Jongno-gu, Seoul. The hospital occupied part of land owned by the Korean royal family to the east of Gyeongbok Palace, which is now being converted into the Seoul branch of the National Museum of Contemporary Art, Korea.

Meanwhile, with all administrative matters controlled by the Japanese authorities, it was extremely difficult for Koreans to be appointed as medical doctors or professors at these hospitals and schools.

Nevertheless, the limited number of Korean students and doctors who made it into the two medical schools and the affiliated hospitals wholly dedicated themselves to acquiring advanced medical knowledge, and became distinguished healthcare professionals, who would be at the forefront of Korea’s medical development after national liberation.

After Seoul National University was established in 1946, a year after liberation, its College of Medicine was created by combining the two existing medical schools, while the hospital affiliated with the medical college of Keijo Imperial University became Seoul National University Hospital.

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The Museum of Medicine, opened in 1992, collects old documents, photographs, medical equipment, and medicines related to the history of modern Korean hospitals and medical culture.

Its exhibition halls showcase the history and development of Korean medicine and healthcare since the opening of Jejungwon, the first Western-style hospital in Korea, in 1885.

Restoration and Utilization Designed by Japanese architects who worked for the Japanese residency-general in Korea, the Daehan Hospital building was designated as Historic Site No. 248 by the Korean government in 1976. The original building was a two-story, red-brick structure with a bilateral symmetry. Although showing a mix of architectural styles, the building is often categorized as Neo-Baroque, due to such characteristics as an imposing clock tower capped by a cupola, and a porte-cochère entrance at its center. Inside the building, two wooden staircases lead up to the second floor. Most of its rooms have large windows to allow sunlight in for natural sterilization as well as warmth in winter.

After liberation, Daehan Hospital served as the main building of SNU Hospital until a new main hall was built in the late 1970s. Today, the building houses the SNU Hospital’s Institute of Medical History and Culture, the nation’s only institution dedicated to medical research and exhibition. Its affiliated organizations include the Museum of Medicine and the Office of Medical History.

The Museum of Medicine, opened in 1992, collects old documents, photographs, medical equipment, and medicines related to the history of modern Korean hospitals and medical culture. Its exhibi-

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1. The entrance to the East Wing.

2. Each room has large windows to allow sunlight in for natural sterilization as well as warmth in winter.

3. The statue of Ji Seok-yeong, who introduced modern vaccination to Korea. Last year, the Museum of Medicine held a special exhibition to pay tribute to his contribution.

tion halls showcase the history and development of Korean medicine and healthcare since the establishment of Jejungwon, the first Western-style hospital in Korea, in 1885. Through special exhibitions and experiential programs, the institute has broadened its public appeal as a cultural attraction of SNU Hospital. Last year’s special exhibition featured memorabilia of Ji Seok-yeong, who introduced modern vaccination to Korea in the 19th century.

After the main building of Daehan Hospital was completed in 1907, annexes were added on both sides in 1911. The East Wing housed laboratories for medical research and testing; the West Wing included an operating area, X-ray room, and electrotherapy equipment. It also featured a spacious tiered lecture hall for clinical training of students, contributing to the advancement of modern medical education in Korea.

However, SNU Hospital demolished the West Wing in 1979 to make room for parking. The decrepit condition of the annex structure led to its removal. On the other hand, the East Wing was maintained due to strong opposition from the SNU Hospital faculty and alumni of the medical college. For this reason, the former Daehan Hospital building lost its symmetry, with one of its wings eliminated.

Fortunately, the West Wing, and especially its remarkable lecture hall, is planned for restoration. This project’s staunch advocates include SNU Hospital’s management as well as former and current professors. With the original architectural drawings kept at the National Archives of Korea, and with ample documentary photographs, the building will be restored as closely as possible to the original structure, regaining both wings and the elegance of its classical character. Most of all, the restoration project will provide the Institute of Medical History and Culture with the space for a new art gallery and archives, enabling the historic building to better fulfill its role as SNU Hospital’s cultural complex.

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ARTISAN

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n Seoul, especially in its northern region, there are still a number of areas where traditional crafts continue to be kept alive by dedicated artisans who allow visitors to observe them as they go about their work. A prime example is the Bukchon district, home to dozens of renowned workshops where age-old crafts have been handed down from one generation to the next. Master gold leaf artisan Kim Deokhwan maintains such a workshop, named “Geumbagyeon” (“Feast of Gold Leaf”) in Gahoe-dong, a well-preserved neighborhood of traditional tiled-roof houses within Bukchon.

Five Generations of Master Craftsmen Gold leaf is made by carefully forming a piece of pure gold into a layer of ultrathin foil, and gold leafing, or gilding, is the process of applying the thin gold foil to the surface of the article to be decorated. The oldest record of gilding can be traced back to the Fourth Dynasty of ancient Egypt (2613-2494 B.C.), the “Golden Age” of the Old Kingdom. In Korea, “Samguk Sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms) mentions that, during the reign of King Heungdeok (r. 826-836) of Unified Silla, elaborate gold-leaf patterns applied on garments denoted the wearer’s social status.

At Geumbagyeon, a simple traditional-style house, the main gate leads to the courtyard, where gold-leaf articles are on display along narrow verandas as well as on the doors of a storage shed and practically every other possible place. There are blue silk bookmarks adorned with golden peonies, cell phone cases with decorative dragons, and bow ties with apricot blossoms. The glimmer of the golden patterns, however, pales by comparison with the penetrating gaze of Kim Deok-hwan, holder of Important Intangible Cultural Property No. 119. The 79-year-old artisan said perhaps he had acquired such an intense look in his eyes from his lifetime of looking at the gleam of gold leaf.

Today, gold leafing is generally thought to be a basic craft of applying gilded patterns onto fabric, but the traditional craft was a process that involved an array of delicate procedures. During the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), a specialist craftsman was assigned to handle each procedure, such as smelting the gold ore, forming the thin layers, carving gilding plates from wood blocks, producing glues, and applying the gold foil onto the fabric.

“These days, I purchase gold foil from suppliers and then work on the rest of the process by myself.

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1. A dragon image on the chest insignia of a queen’s ceremonial robe gilded by Kim Deok-hwan.

2. Kim touches up a fabric panel adorned with gold leaf.

Kim Deok-hwan Master of Gold Leaf Appliqué, A Legacy of Generations Located in Seoul’s traditional neighborhood Bukchon, Kim Deok-hwan’s gold leaf workshop is open to visitors who want to observe the current generation of master artisans at work on their ancient craft.

Earlier generations worked mostly on gilding ceremonial court attire, but today, the range of items that are adorned with gold leaf includes cell phone cases, bow ties, and various everyday articles.

Park Hyun-sook Freelance Writer | Suh Heun-gang Photographer

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1. A queen’s ceremonial robe in red is resplendent with sumptuous gold leaf, which has been recreated by Kim based on patterns found in a relic from the later period of the Korean Empire.

2. A gilding plate engraved with phoenixes flying in the clouds (above) and the gold leaf imprint from the plate (below)

It is the most difficult and time-consuming procedure to take a lump of pure gold wrapped in mulberry paper and hammer away at it for days to flatten it into sheets so thin they can be blown away by your breath. But now, I don’t personally do that part of the work,” said Kim. As a young man, with a keen interest in machinery, Kim had wanted to become an engineer but came to think taking over the family business would be his destiny when he observed that his elderly father had become too frail to continue his lifelong work. His dedication to this calling is from the heart, though. “After completing a work into which I’ve put all my heart, the joy is all mine, and nobody would ever know just how satisfying that feels,” he said.

These days, his son Kim Gi-ho, 45, with over 10 years of experience practicing the family craft, and his wife Park Su-yeong, also 45, help him operate the workshop, but that has not kept the elderly artisan away from his gilding plates.

The history of Kim’s family business goes back to 1856, during the reign of King Cheoljong of the Joseon Dynasty. His greatgrandfather Kim Wan-hyeong was an official responsible for procuring court supplies, which included the import of silk brocade for ceremonial robes woven with gold thread from China. However, he often had difficulty in receiving the garments in time for court events. So, he devised an alternative: he decorated ceremonial garments with golden patterns created by appliquéing thin sheets of gold to the fabric. Since gold symbolized the authority of the royal family, gold-leaf items were created for exclusive use by the royal court. Thus Kim Deok-hwan’s grandfather Kim Won-sun and his father Kim Gyeong-ryong both served as gold-leaf craftsmen in the palace.

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Symbolic Patterns on Royal Garments In the periods of Unified Silla (676-935) and Goryeo (9181392), when Buddhism flourished, religious paintings and scriptures would be decorated with gold and silver foil, while the senior monks wore gilded robes. But under Joseon, Confucianism replaced Buddhism as the ruling ideology, which meant that Buddhist temples could no longer afford to maintain their golden splendor, and gold leaf came to be reserved for only members of the royal court. However, even the royal family did not wear goldleaf clothing on an everyday basis.

Moreover, the gilded patterns of ceremonial garments reflected the rigid hierarchy of each member’s status: flower patterns were only for a princess, flowers and phoenix for the queen, and flowers, phoenix, and dragon for the queen dowager. Gilding plates were carved to depict elegant designs of flowers, fruits, birds, insects and other animals, along with geometric patterns and calligraphic Ko re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

“After completing a work into which I’ve put all my heart, the joy is all mine, and nobody would ever know just how satisfying that feels.”

characters to represent elite status.

“I have more than 800 gilding plates that have been handed down to me from generation to generation. The plates are always made of sand pear wood (Pyrus pyrifolia ), and handled with the utmost care so as to not damage their carved faces. My parents even refused to take refuge during the Korean War in order to protect those gilding plates,” said Kim. The gold-leafing process consists of several procedures. First, a pattern is drawn on paper, which is attached to a wood block surface for carving out the pattern. The carved gilding plates are brushed with glue, which is also produced by the craftsman. The plates with glue are pressed onto the fabric, and before the glue is completely dry, the gold leaf is applied. Finishing procedures include drying and touching up. This may sound like a simple process, but each procedure requires skilled craftsmanship and an extensive understanding of the particular qualities of fabric, gold, and glue.

The foremost factor for a successful outcome is a perfectly carved gilding plate, while the next most important factor is the glue. The thickness of the fabric and its dyestuff determine what ingredients should be used and the consistency of the glue. The weather on the day of applying gold leaf should also be taken into consideration in deciding the glue’s proper consistency. Kim Deokhwan has worked with glues for almost 60 years since the time he first started gilding in 1954. He had used the traditional glues made with fish bladder before he developed a new type of adhesive from plant oils and resin after 10 years of experimentation.

for sculpture,” Kim recalled. “He would carve hundreds of beautiful patterns without any drawings, and although the process was mainly improvised, each pattern would be in perfect proportion to the plate, no matter the size.” Kim remembers well his father’s ingenious virtuosity, and while committing himself tirelessly to improving his own craftsmanship, he brushes off any comparison by saying, “My father was an artist, but I’m a mere technician.”

In the early 20th century, when the Joseon Dynasty came to an end and Korea was subjected to Japanese colonial rule, the practice of adorning clothing with gold leaf spread to the elite class outside the royal family, and eventually commoners also adopted this decorative style for weddings and other festive occasions. Nowadays, people still wear gilded garments for celebratory events.

“People who grew up wearing traditional hanbok as everyday attire still remember the beauty of gold leaf. It is more than just an exquisite decoration. In the past, grandmothers would often decorate their grandchildren’s attire with gold leaf for their first birthday celebration. Gold leaf, when correctly applied, doesn’t lose its luster for a person’s lifetime,” Kim said.

‘I’m a Mere Technician’ His father Kim Gyeong-ryong was a man of few words. Rather than providing his son with detailed explanations about the craft, he had him acquire the requisite skills through his daily routine of watching and helping his father as he went about his work. “As well as manual dexterity, my late father had a remarkable genius Koreana ı Spring 2013

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IN LOVE WITH KOREA

Professor Mahmoud Ahmed Abdul Ghaffar’s Korean journey dates back to the late 1990s, when he began teaching the Arabic language to foreign students at Cairo University. Korean students who had taken his Arabic courses praised their talented young teacher when they came back home, which eventually brought him here in 2006 for his study of the Korean language and poetry.

Charles La Shure Professor, Graduate School of Interpretation and Translation, Hankuk University of Foreign Studies I Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

Seeing Korea through the Lens of Poetry

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rofessor Mahmoud Ahmed Abdul Ghaffar met us at a restaurant that serves Egyptian food in the heart of Seoul, a little taste of home away from home. “You can call me Mahmoud,” he said, explaining that Arabic names work differently from Western names. “Ghaffar” is in fact one of the 99 names of God (literally it means “forgiveness”), while “Abdul” means “slave of.” He said his students often call him “Professor Ghaffar,” so he tells them with a laugh, “Please, I am not God!” Professor Mahmoud studied poetry at Cairo University and graduated at the top of his class. In Egypt, the top students in each graduating class are taken on as teaching assistants in their departments. These students must then study for their master’s degrees, followed by their doctorates. In accordance with this system, Professor Mahmoud was retained by Cairo University’s Arabic Language and Literature Department, where he taught poetry.

It turned out to be the first step on the road that eventually brought him to Korea.

In 1998, Professor Mahmoud began to teach the Arabic lan-

guage to foreign students. “I looked for new ways to teach,” he says. “Most of the books at the time just had students read and repeat. So I used some ideas from English teaching to teach Arabic. And I think I was successful.” He must have been, because his Korean students there began to praise this talented young Arabic teacher when they returned home. About three years later, he was contacted by Chosun University in Gwangju, where he was offered a job teaching Arabic and a scholarship for his doctorate study. This study would be undertaken at Myongji University in Seoul, since there were no Korean professors of Arabic at Chosun University who could advise him on his dissertation. He arrived in Korea in 2006, and is slated to return to Egypt in July this year.

Adjusting to a New Culture Life in Korea has not been easy for Professor Mahmoud. As a Muslim, dietary restrictions — in particular the prohibition against drinking alcohol — have made it somewhat of a challenge to fit into Korean society. The differences between Arab and Korean culture have also taken a while to get used to. People in Arab cultures tend to be very open, he says. “But here, the only people who talk to you are taxi drivers.” And he also admits to being a homebody: “As long as I have my books and music and food, I am happy at home. Sometimes I will go out to buy things I need, but I don’t care about what is going on outside.”

Despite such difficulties in adjusting to Korean culture and society, he has been diligent in his studies. The first step, of course,

Professor Mahmoud Ahmed Abdul Ghaffar, who has translated books of poetry by two modern Korean poets into Arabic, is currently teaching Arabic literature at Chosun University. Professor Mahmoud will be returning to Egypt this summer, but he plans to continue to study Korean literature and introduce it to the Arab world.

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was to learn Korean. But with Arabic and Korean being very different languages, this was yet another challenge. He still struggles and wishes that he had more opportunities to practice his language skills; he laments that Koreans seem to have a hard time adjusting their expectations of non-native speakers. “Once you say to a Korean person, ‘Annyeong haseyo ’ (How are you?), he will start to talk about politics or economics, and when you stop answering, he will not change the topic, he will just stop talking to you.” Still, he pressed on and after studying the language for nearly three years, became proficient enough to study Korean poetry.

into Arabic over 15 times, left its mark on the images used by Arab poets. “In Western poetry, for such writers as T. S. Eliot, and even Walt Whitman before him, the city has no faith in anything at all.

And the Egyptian poet would call Cairo — though it has thousands of mosques — a city of no faith. So I wanted to know if Korean poetry was affected by Western images of the city.”

The answer, at least in the poetry of Kim Gwang-gyu, is “no,” and this gives Professor Mahmoud hope for the future of Egyptian poetry. “The similarities between Korea and Egypt are unbelievable,” he says animatedly. “The background history, the recent details, even the movement of literature is almost the same. What is happening now in Egypt is almost the same as what happened in Korea Bringing Korean Poetry to the Arab World 40 years ago.” He sees the advances made in Korea in the past few Before coming to Korea, Professor Mahmoud visited the library decades, not just in terms of poetry but in terms of politics as well, of the American University in Cairo, where he found several books as a hopeful sign. “I have faith that tomorrow will be better,” he of Korean poetry translated into English. He fell in love with the says. work of the poet Ko Un, whom he describes as an artist who crossOf course, Professor Mahmoud’s studies did not end at reades the boundaries of genre: “Ko Un is not just a poet. He is a noveling and analyzing Korean poetry; he also took it upon himself to translate the works he studied. Reading poetry in one’s native language He found that the images of the homeland in modern Egyptian and is hard enough: “Skill in reading Korean poetry were almost identical. “When I would write about a given poetry is the ability to fill in the gaps between what exists and what is poet,” he recalls, “I would have to stop and ask myself whom I was missing. When you read, you are creating meaning; there is more than a writing about, the Korean poet or the Egyptian poet.” single meaning in a poem. The more you read, the more you fill in the gaps correctly, the closer you get to something important.” ist who writes his stories in poetic style.” But these are not the only So how does one preserve what is there and what is not there boundaries he crosses. “Ko Un said that he was standing on the while bringing the poem into another language? Professor Mahborder between North and South,” Professor Mahmoud explains. moud distinguishes between two styles of translation: a more inter“Politically, they are two countries, but (South) Koreans refuse to pretive style, where the translator conveys his or her interpretation recognize the division because they are one people.” of the work, and a more faithful style, in which the translator hews When it came time to select a subject for his doctoral disserclosely to the original and allows the reader to do the interpreting. tation, Ko Un’s collection entitled “North and South” was one of The latter is what he aims for, and he uses a simile to describe his the texts he chose to study. The other text was Kim Gwang-gyu’s efforts. “It is like putting some herbs in your cooking to add flavor “Journey to Seoul.” He compared these two works with the works to the food. It is the same food, and you should be able to tell what of Egyptian poets, in terms of the images of place, specifically those sort of food it is. But if you ask, ‘What is this?’ then I have failed.” images that related to the “homeland” (or countryside) and the To make sure that he preserved the spirit of the original text, “city.” He found that the images of the homeland in modern Egypeven as he gave the translation an Arabic flavor, he worked closely tian and Korean poetry were almost identical. “When I would write with his advisor, a Korean professor fluent in Arabic. It took them about a given poet,” he recalls, “I would have to stop and ask myself four years, and Professor Mahmoud is pleased with the results. whom I was writing about, the Korean poet or the Egyptian poet.”

And deservedly so, as he has made history: his work is the first The images of the city, though, were vastly different. In fact, translation of Korean poetry into Arabic by a native Arabic speakit was this treatment of the city in modern poetry that led him to er, an important step in the introduction of Korean literature to the embark on his scholarly quest in the first place. Egypt has a long Arab world. history of colonization by Western powers, which has made the Professor Mahmoud has already begun to broaden his study of city a symbol of the destruction of humanity. But Western poetry, modern Korean poetry. In December, he presented a paper comsuch as T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” which has been translated

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paring modern women writers in Korea and Egypt. The primary difference he found was the amount of freedom they had in their writing. Although women in Egypt have much more freedom socially than women in some other Arab nations, especially the Gulf countries, that freedom does not extend to literary creation. “Recently, Korean women writers have enjoyed much more freedom than Arab women writers, which allows them to write about all sorts of topics.

Arab women writers are sometimes reluctant to write about sex or problems between couples. This could cost them their marriages, because their husbands will not take their work as fiction, but as a judgment on them.” As a result, many Arab women writers do not marry or are divorced.

Professor Mahmoud spends time with high school students visiting Chosun University.

Korean Wave on Egyptian Shores The Egyptian, and to a larger extent the Arab, population of Korea may not be one of the more noticeable foreign cultural groups in the country, but the relationship between the Arab world and Korea is in fact very old. Professor Mahmoud points to a ninthcentury text by the Arab geographer Ibn Khordadbeh entitled “The Book of Roads and Kingdoms,” which describes the Silla Kingdom as a place where Arabs enjoyed visiting and living. In modern times, though, Egyptians did not know much about Korea until the 1988 Seoul Olympics and, later, the 2002 World Cup. The Korean Wave has certainly not missed Egyptian shores, bringing Korean TV dramas that are especially popular with young people. Korean products also abound in the Egyptian market. “Hyundai, Daewoo and Koreana ı Spring 2013

Kia are the top three brands of cars in Egypt,” Professor Mahmoud says, adding that electronics by Samsung and LG are known as high-quality products as well.

Professor Mahmoud chuckles when he thinks of Korea’s explosive popularity. “These days, so many young people want to visit Korea. They want to have the chance to study or work here. There are so many Korea-crazy young people!” He says some Egyptian girls even talk of coming here to marry Korean men, bewitched by the romantic male characters in the dramas. He smiles and shakes his head. “If you try to tell them, ‘Be careful, real life is different,’ they don’t listen to you.”

On the other hand, he is surprised by how much Koreans know about Egypt. Of course, everyone knows about ancient Egypt and its monuments, such as the pyramids. “And I have seen a few people who don’t know that it is a modern country. They think of people using camels,” he laughs. But he has found that many Koreans are well informed about modern Egypt. “It makes me happy when somebody knows my country and has interest in it. I feel grateful to all the Egyptian people who make my country different, who make it a great country.”

During our conversation, Professor Mahmoud shares an Arab proverb to demonstrate the openness of Arab culture.

“The simplest meal is bread and salt. Poor people who don’t have anything to eat take some bread, dip it in salt, and eat it. So we have a famous proverb: ‘There is bread and salt between us.’ This eating together creates a blood connection; you are now a member of my family.” Bread is the symbol of life in Arab culture, and to share bread is to share life.

Hearing him talk, it is clear that he feels the same way about Korea. Though he is scheduled to return to Egypt in July, he intends to maintain his close relationship with Korea. Not only will he continue his study of Korean poetry, he hopes to establish a department of Korean language and literature at Cairo University. “Cairo University has had a Japanese department for over 50 years and a Chinese department for eight years — there are 14 different language departments at the university — so I think they will welcome a Korean department.” He hopes that his efforts will help strengthen the ties between the two nations and cultures. And he knows that Korea will remain deep in his heart.

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on the road

The Joy of Growing Tea I started to prepare tea from tea leaves gathered from the plantations that were owned by other people. Later, I managed to acquire a small tea field of my own. Now, I live for every moment that I can spend tending to my tea plants, intoxicated by the fragrance of tea.

Park Nam-joon Poet | Lee Chang-su, Ahn Hong-beom, Suh Heun-gang Photographers

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1. Terraced tea plantation wraps around the slopes of a hillside in Boseong.

2. Trekkers chance upon a wild tea field in Hwagae, Hadong County.

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used to visit tea fields a lot. I have walked many of them across southern Korea, from the relatively large-scale plantations on Jeju Island off the south coast and throughout Boseong in the southwestern plains on the mainland, Hadong at the foot of Mt. Jiri in the south central region, and the patches of wild tea fields along mountain ridges in Sunchang in the southwest and Gimhae in the southeast, as well as those around serene Buddhist temples.

Whether sitting on the ground of a tea plantation or looking at a field from afar, I took sheer delight in imagining that I might someday have an opportunity to grow and harvest tea on my own farm. I would dream of serving the tea I had personally grown, prepared, and brewed to visitors, and enjoying the simple pleasure with them. Then unexpectedly, my dream came true.

My Dream Tea Field Thanks to the good karma of my life, I happened to move to what is now my home village in Agyang, Hadong County, South Gyeongsang Province, at the foot of Mt. Jiri. Every spring, I would stroll along the alleyways here and exult in the aroma of roasting tea leaves that wafts over the low village walls. Whenever a new crop of tea leaves is ready, people would invite me to have a taste.

Of course, they wanted to serve me the new tea and enjoy it with them, but they also wanted to hear my comments about it. That was how I became acquainted with the local tea makers, and I naturally learned about how to make green tea, from picking to brewing, as I lent a hand in their work whenever I could.

One spring day in my third year since moving here, I began gathering tea leaves for the first time. Since then, one of my most enjoyable activities living here is making tea. From the time of gathering the tea leaves and the moment of brewing the tea, and relishing its aroma, the happiness felt cannot be compared with anything else.

I had no tea field of my own at that time. I would always ask the families who owned plantations whether I might gather some leaves so that I could prepare my own tea. This must have become known to people in the village, since

1. The spring water of the hermitage Iljiam, at Daeheung Temple in Haenam, used by the Venerable Choui for making tea.

2. Ullim Sanbang on Jindo island, where the famous tea master and painter Heo Ryeon lived out his later years.

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someone asked me one day if I would like to take care of the tea field next to his house, as no one in his family was interested in farming. He was a dentist who had moved to Agyang to work in Hadong County. He had built a house after buying a property that included a tea field. Near his house, along the stream and up the hillside, most of the tea trees, under the shade of plum trees and between large boulders, were more than two meters tall. Having been abandoned for more than 10 years, it was just a field of wild tea trees. As I gazed around, words echoed within me like the pealing of a small bell: “Yes, this is the tea field I have been dreaming of. I can now freely gather leaves without imposing on the generosity of others.”

I whistle with contentment as I ride my yellow scooter to my tea field. Gathering tea leaves on my own I am led into a quiet world of meditation. The aroma of green tea leaves rises like an early morning mist from Koreana ı Spring 2013

my hands as I pick the leaves, and from my clothes after they brush the leaves, but mostly from the leaves themselves, which with every passing breeze, dance lightly on the branches.

Making Fermented Tea Learning the entire process of making tea, however, was not easy at all. It was in fact quite a formidable task to master.

Lacking a cauldron for roasting tea leaves, I had to do this at a friend’s house in a neighboring village. In the beginning, I always made green tea, though I now make green tea only once each season, with the first leaves I pick. Other than that, I make fermented tea. Fermented tea seems to give me more of a boost than green tea. Guests who visit me and drink my tea also have come to prefer the fermented tea. I like to offer tea, though small in amounts, to those who enjoy drinking tea. Hearing of my own tea-making experience, a couple, both of them friends of mine, expressed their desire to pick and roast some tea leaves for themselves.

I invited them to gather tea leaves from my field and then make tea. Because they lived in another province, they came the day before and stayed the night at

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1. Dasan Chodang, the house where the distinguished scholar-official and tea connoisseur Jeong Yak-yong lived in exile for 18 years.

2. Roasting fresh tea leaves in a large cauldron: Taste depends on the roasting and rubbing process.

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Living in a little house nestled in a mountain valley, I tell visitors, since I have nothing else special to offer, “Come in. Let’s have some tea. Would you like green tea or the fermented kind?”

my place. We arose early the next morning and headed for the field to pick tea leaves. This was a different experience for me; I was used to picking tea lives by myself, but spending time with them was enjoyable as well. My friends were so absorbed in gathering tea leaves that I had to call them to have a snack several times before they happened to hear me. They said that they were neither tired nor hungry because they were so exhilarated by the clean, refreshing aroma of tea leaves as they plucked one leaf after another. The experience was probably like a childhood picnic for them. Over snacks, we talked like excited children about how much we enjoyed picking tea leaves.

While green tea is made with the tea leaves gathered and roasted on the same day, and the drying process gets underway immediately after the roasting, fermented tea involves several additional processes, requiring much more time to develop a proper flavor. Everybody has a special, unique method. I too have mastered a method of my own to ferment tea leaves.

After being picked, the tea leaves are first piled in the shade and left out overnight, and then spread out in direct sunlight the next day to wither.

Depending on the sunlight’s intensity, the leaves are allowed to wither for 30 to 60 minutes before being returned to the shade. When the leaves have a soft feel in your hands, but not so dry as to tear apart easily, I rub them together. Much like stirring the leaves while they roast in a cauldron, I roll and mix them with my hands, like washing clothes by hand. I then separate the leaves and place them in the shade to dry. I repeat this process three or four times until evening.

Seeing the green tea leaves slowly change to brown and taking in the aroma they exude in this process is a heady experience, so utterly elating it’s almost impossible to express.

After this process, I put the leaves in earthenware jars and place them in a room with a heated floor, covering the jars with blankets to increase the tem-

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perature. The tea leaves require a large amount of oxygen during the oxidation process. Therefore, every hour, I have to open each jar and stir the leaves. After a 20-to-24-hour fermentation process, I take the leaves from the jars and let them again dry out in the shade.

Then, I put them back in the jars and leave them in the sun during the day and on the heated floor during the night. I repeat this process for about 10 days.

The tea leaves in the jars ripen from the heat. The jars heat up in the sun and can get quite hot. I like to open the jars and breathe in deeply as the sweet aroma of tea spills out and spreads throughout the yard. As the sun goes down, I return the jars to the room.

Intoxicated by the Aroma of Tea Throughout the tea-growing season, I live totally immersed in the tea aroma. I smile at the light green fragrance while picking the leaves and feel as if I’m floating on fragrant clouds blanketing the whole village during the roasting and fermenting. Thus I am captive year-round to my ecstasy over tea. Living in a little house nestled in a mountain valley, I tell visitors, since I have nothing else special to offer, “Come in. Let’s have some tea. Would you like green tea or the fermented kind?” Winter passes by, and spring comes. In a spring breeze, the light green leaves extend their lovely hands, calling to me, “Here, I am here.”

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Pilgrimage to Korea’s Tea Country Kim Dae-sung Advisor, Federation of Korean Tea Masters Society

A good starting point for a tour of Korea’s tea country is the Gwangju area at the heart of the southwestern region, from where you can make a loop southward along the foothills of mountains that overlook the sea and numerous offshore islands, then turn eastward following the coastline and into the interior to arrive at Boseong, Korea’s celebrated “Capital of Tea.” Gwangju: Tea Garden of ‘Three Adorations’ At the trailhead of Mt. Mudeung in Gwangju, South Jeolla Province, traces of Heo Baek-ryeon (style name Uijae, 1891-1977), a master of tea as well as the Southern School style of classical painting, linger like wisps of early morning mist. After Korea’s liberation from Japanese colonial rule, he managed a large tea plantation of some 50,000 pyeong (about 165,000 square meters) on a slope of this mountain, which he named Samae Dawon. He was also a teacher; he founded the Gwangju High School of Agricultural Technology and taught his students about tea cultivation and processing.

Today, at the entrance of the artist’s tea garden stands the stylish, modern Uijae Art Museum, established by his grandson Heo Dal-jae, who collected his eminent grandfather’s works, memorabilia, and tea ware for exhibition. Visitors can view Uijae’s paintings of the “four gracious plants” (sagunja ) in the traditional style along with his calligraphic brushworks, and representative artworks from each successive period of his remarkable artistic career. Then, they can linger at the gallery café for a taste of Chunseol tea and tea-flavored cookies, sticky rice cake, and red-bean jelly. Chunseol (meaning “spring snow”) is the name given by Uijae to the tea produced in this area from the slopes of Mt. Mudeung. Across from the museum over a stream and behind a pine grove is an elegant house, known as Chunseolheon, where Uijae

lived, enjoyed tea with guests, and worked on his painting.

Chunseolheon served as a cultural space and salon where intellectuals from throughout Korea gathered to discuss the country’s future after liberation. Among his guests were foreigners, such as Constantin Virgil Gheorghiu, the Romanian author of the novel “The 25th Hour,” with whom Heo had corresponded. He called Uijae the “Daoist hermit of Mt. Mudeung.” Uijae was a distinguished tea master and a warmhearted artist who gave his artworks and his tea as gifts to those who made the “pilgrimage” to his mountain home. Nowadays, his grandson lives there, where he paints as well as serves tea to guests.

Mount Wolchul: Haven for Literati Dilettantes Vast tea plantations skirt the slopes of Mt. Wolchul, in Yeongam County, South Jeolla Province, which include several historic sites where you can learn about the tea culture of Korea’s southern regions. On the northeastern side of the mountain is Bulhoe Temple, famed for its jeoncha tea (jeon from the old Korean brass coin yeopjeon , which the tea leaf was thought to resemble), while over the ridge to the right stands Unheung Temple, where the Venerable Choui (1786-1866), known as the “Saint of Korean Tea,” entered priesthood at the age of 16. The area is also home to Muwi Temple, a refuge for the distinguished scholar and connoisseur of tea, Jeong Yak-yong (pen name Dasan, 1762-1836), during his time of exile, as well as the putative birthplace of Wangin, a legendary scholar who is known to have introduced paper and tea seeds to Japan in the fourth century.

Monk Jiheo (left), who carries on the Korean wild tea tradition, adheres to a particular method of tea making: nine times rubbing the tea leaves roasted in an iron cauldron and moved onto a straw mat.

Seoul

Zen Master Choui was born in Singi Village in Muan County, on the southwest coast. Farther south, on Jin Island, is Ullim Sanbang, where Heo Ryeon (style name Sochi, 1809-1892), spent his later years.

Sochi was a foremost master who learned teamaking, painting, and writing from the Venerable Choui and Kim Jeong-hui (Chusa, 17861856), an eminent calligrapher, epigrapher, and scholar of the late Joseon period. Ullim Sanbang, or the “Cloud Forest Mountain Studio,” is a gorgeous site with a pond on the grounds and wild flowers all around, even more picturesque, some say, than a painting by Sochi.

Mt. Mudeung Gwangju Yeongam Mt. Wolchul

Seomjin River Hadong Boseong

Haenam

Gangjin: Elite Connoisseur’s Home in Exile Back on the mainland, in Gangjin, located along the crook of a bay on the rump of South Jeolla Province, you simply must stop by the historic Dasan Chodang, the house of Jeong Yak-yong at the foot of Mt. Mandeok behind Gyuldong Village in Mandeok-ri. Dasan lived in this house during his 18-year exile, where he wrote prolifically and taught students, with whom he shared his passion for tea. He met the Venerable Choui there and enjoyed drinking tea with the renowned monk, expressing his joy in poems. He came to know Choui through a mutual tea-drinking friend, the monk Hyejang of neighboring Baengnyeon Temple.

When Dasan was eventually released from exile and left for home, his students formed Dasingye , a fraternity of loyal followers. Their descendants still meet every year at the home of the clan head of their famed teacher’s descendants, to make tea and affirm their loyalty to Dasan. From the Cheonil Pavilion nearby, you can look out at Gugang Harbor, and farther into the distance about a hundred kilometers away at Heuksan Island, where Dasan’s older brother Jeong Yak-jeon was exiled. The brothers missed each other immensely, as documented in their writings, separated by the sea for the long years of their exile.

Dasan had a broad, flat rock in his yard atop which he would brew tea whenever he needed a break from his reading, burning pine cones to heat the water. On another rock behind the house, he carved Jeongseok (“Jeong Stone”) in Chinese characters, an enduring reminder of his presence there.

In Gangjin, if you take a walk through the camellia woods near Baengnyeon Temple you will come to the site of a storied celadon kiln of the Goryeo Dynasty. The area has long been the center of celadon production. Traditional kilns and workshops continue to be preserved here. A great number of the celadon works designated as Korean national treasures have originated from this region.

Haenam: Hermitage of the ‘Tea Saint’ Nestled at the mid-ridge level of Mt. Duryun, in Haenam, South Jeolla Province, Daeheung Temple was the home of Choui. He wrote extensively on the cultivation, preparation, and enjoyment of tea. His most celebrated work about tea is Dongchasong (Hymn in Praise of Koreana ı Spring 2013

Mt. Jiri

Gurye

Korean Tea), which consists of 31 passages on tea farming, how to brew tea, and old stories about tea. By walking about two kilometers further up from the temple, you arrive at the hermitage Iljiam, where the monk lived alone during his final years, savoring tea and writing poetry. He developed new methods for roasting and drying tea leaves, which are unique to Korea. In Dongchasong , he extolled the vibrant color and flavor of the tea he brewed. Sochi, mentioned earlier, often visited Choui to learn from him.

Hadong: Cradle of ‘The King’s Tea’ Across the Seomjin River at Gurye, South Jeolla Province, you reach Hadong on the opposite bank, in South Gyeongsang Province. The tea plantation of Hadong, nourished at the base of Mt. Jiri’s grandeur with constant mists rising from the 4-kilometer-long banks stretching from Hadong Harbor, is characterized by the countless terraces found on the hilly slopes.

Though without a level field area, the site is well chosen for its good tea-growing soil, which requires pebble fields to make rainwater drain easily.

Hwagae tea from Hadong is well documented in historical texts.

Choui wrote in his book that “Hwagae is the place with the biggest tea plantation, one about 40-50 ri ,” or some 15 to 20 kilometers in length.

In a document from the third year of King Heungdeok’s reign (828), in Samguk Sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms), there is a reference to “Daeryeom, an envoy to Tang China, who brought back tea seeds, and the king ordered them planted near Mt. Jiri.” For this reason, the people of Hadong refer to the local tea as “The King’s Tea.”

Tea Festivals Homage to the ‘Capital of Tea’ in Boseong A large tea plantation that produces more than one-third of the green tea consumed by Koreans is located in Boseong. Manicured hedges of green tea plants flourish on terraces wrapped around the lower reaches of Mt. Hwangseong and the surrounding hilly countryside, a magnificent sight beloved by tourists and tea enthusiasts. The residents of Boseong, proud of their reputation as the “Capital of Tea,” stage the Boseong Tea Fragrance Festival in May every year; 2013 is the 38th year of the festival (http://dahyang.boseong.go.kr). The festival features a variety of activities, such as picking tea leaves or making tea bowls, and sampling tea-flavored food (Boseong County Culture and Tourism Department, 061-850-5223).

Wild Tea under the Moonlight in Hadong The Hadong Wild Tea Cultural Festival is also held in May, and 2013 is the 18th year of this annual event (http://festival.hadong.go.kr).

The Moonlight Tea on the Seomjin River, a romantic cruise that features drinking “The King’s Tea” while taking in the river’s scenery under the moonlight, is a popular visitor event (Hadong County Culture and Tourism Department, 055-880-2375).

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along their own path

A Bookstore That Sells Memories Dae-Oh Bookstore, a candidate for “Seoul’s 1,000 Future Heritage Properties,” is more than an ordinary secondhand bookstore; it takes visitors back in time or a trip down memory lane. Kwon Oh-nam, the proprietor, has run this small bookstore for the past 60 years.

Kim Hak-soon Journalist | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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aredo, a city in Texas with a population of 250,000 residents, has no bookstores. In early 2010, Barnes & Noble, the biggest bookstore chain in the United States, closed down the only bookstore in the city because it was not making a profit. So anyone in Laredo who wants to buy a book has to drive 246 kilometers to the nearest city, San Antonio. The citizens of Laredo are collecting signatures to bring a bookstore back to their town, but to no avail.

With the onslaught of online booksellers and e-books, neighborhood bookstores are disappearing around the world. And Korea is no exception. Yeongyang County in North Gyeongsang Province, the birthplace of poet Cho Ji-hun (1920-1968) and novelist Yi Mun-yol (1948-), two of Korea’s literary giants, has been known as the “county without a bookstore” since 2009. Of the 249 municipalities and counties nationwide, four counties — Yeongyang and Ulleung in North Gyeongsang Province, Jindo in South Jeolla Province, and Ongjin in Incheon Municipality — have no bookstores, according to a recent survey by the Korea Publishing Research Institute. Another 30 or so cities and counties have only one bookstore each within their areas.

Lone Bookstore in Seochon Once there were about 10 bookstores in Seochon (West Village), Seoul, which attracts many foreign visitors. But today there is only one: Dae-Oh Bookstore, which opened 62 years ago. It has become famous not because it sells rare or high-quality books, but because it is a historical site and secondhand bookstore that stirs up memories of the good old days. Moreover, its location — 33 Nuha-dong, Jongno-gu — in an old neighborhood of Seoul, makes it all the more noteworthy. This neighborhood also includes the site of the house where King Sejong, Korea’s greatest ruler, was born; Jebi (Swallow) Coffee Shop, a renovated version of the old house where genius poet Yi Sang (1910-1937) lived; and the old home of the famed artist Yi Chung-sop (1916-1956). Cheong Wa Dae, the presidential mansion, and Gyeongbok Palace of the Joseon Dynasty, are also found in the vicinity.

The bookstore can only be found by dint of navigating a narrow alleyway, as if on a treasure hunt, and locating the signboard with its peeling lettering on the front of an old traditional-style house. It might easily go unnoticed to a passerby. A patina of dirt and grime on the signboard

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Kwon Oh-nam at her bookshop, Dae-Oh Bookstore, one of the famous attractions of Seochon, an old neighborhood in central Seoul. These days, more people come to look around the old house rather than to buy books from this small secondhand bookstore.

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stirs up memories of long ago. There are yellowed, musty old books stacked in a narrow space of about 7 square meters behind a hinged glass door, which replaced the traditional heavy wooden gate. After looking around for a while, disappointment might be the first reaction. The space is cramped and only a small number of books can be seen stacked on the bookshelves. Moreover, most of the books are decades-old literary magazines, novels, collections of essays, cookbooks, comic books, and reference books for students. There are few rare books that might pique the interest of true booklovers.

The proprietor Kwon Oh-nam, 83, has operated the bookstore for over 60 years. Being old and feeble now, she no longer buys used books to sell. Since 1997, when her husband and co-owner died, she has been running the bookstore alone, and only collects the used books that neighbors or acquaintances bring.

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Since the Korean War Kwon came to this house in central Seoul 62 years ago when she got married at the age of 21, leaving her hometown of Wondang, in Gyeonggi Province. She has lived here ever since. With her marriage, which took place in 1951 during the Korean War, she became the proprietor of Seong Kwang Dang bookstore, along with her husband. Later, when her husband, Cho Dae-sik, relocated the bookstore from the street side to the present location, it was renamed Dae-Oh Bookstore, taking a character from each of their names. “My husband used to work at a tax office,” Kwon said. “But he didn’t go back to his old job after being discharged from the Army. He opened this bookstore instead.” The rest is history.

Kwon and her husband were blessed with good fortune. Business was so brisk that they could afford to send all of their children, two sons and four daughters, to college. Kwon has 10 grandchildren now and is almost perfectly happy. But she regrets not reading more all this while. “I was too busy raising children and taking care of my in-laws and my husband to read many books myself,” she lamented.

After her husband’s death, she gave the store’s specialized books to one of her longtime regulars.

She placed the remaining books near the front door and here and there around the house. In the past, the bookstore occupied a larger space, but she partitioned off both sides and rented one side to a clothing store and the other to an accessory shop.

When she is at home, Kwon rarely keeps her eye on the bookstore because she believes there is nothing for anyone to steal. “I don’t throw unsold books away, but let them sit on the shelves like ornaments,” she said. Most visitors seem to buy books here more for “souvenirs” rather than for reading. And indeed, Kwon seems almost indifferent to the store’s business matters. She doesn’t care how many books are in inventory, how long the books have been around, or how much they cost.

She is pleased if customers buy a book every once in a while, but doesn’t mind if they don’t.

The bookstore is just like an old friend that she likes to have around. These days, visitors often come by not for the books but to look around the house.

Dae-Oh Bookstore’s worn-out sign blends well into the narrow, meandering alley in Seochon.

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Increase in Visitors In an ironic twist, since Kwon practically gave up on the bookstore as a business, there has been an increase in the number of visitors coming by. Some college students produced a documentary about her life story. Popular singers Yoon Jong-shin and Lee Seung-gi used the old store and traditional house as the backdrop for their music videos. Lee Hyo-jae, the so-called “naturalist life-stylist” who makes hanbok, traditional Korean attire, and wrapping cloths, shot a video here as well. Several architecture students even stayed here for a few days to study the house. “Young women ask me to sell them the chairs, duster, stepladder, and even the signboard. They say they love antiques,” Kwon said.

Visitors to the bookstore naturally look around the house. Just across the store’s threshold lies the yard of the old traditional house. This yard seems to be surrounded by bookshelves as books are stacked on the top and the sides of all the doors of the house and outside the kitchen as well. Bookshelves are found beneath the eaves in parts of the L-shaped house, with the area under the eaves of the main room looking like a swallow’s nest. Kwon said she believes the house was built about 100 years ago.

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“Young women ask me to sell them the chairs, duster, stepladder, and even the signboard. They say they love antiques,” Kwon said. The yard seems to be surrounded by bookshelves as books are stacked on the top and the sides of all the doors of the house and outside the kitchen as well.

An increasing number of mothers bring their young children to show them the bookstore. For a generation of children who are growing up watching animated cartoons like “Pororo,” it’s the perfect place for a taste of travel back in time. Some visitors just browse, take photos, and chat with each other, and leave.

A few years ago, a graduate of the prestigious Kyungbock High School nearby came to express his gratitude to her husband for letting him read novels at the store to his heart’s content. Some time ago, someone left some money and a letter of apology for having stolen a book a long time ago. “In retrospect, I regret not helping out poor students more,” Kwon said. Kwon became more well-known after KBS introduced this alley on the documentary program “Three Days” in 2010. Some people living in the United States and Japan even call her to ask for help in finding old books. In 2011, a man who had landed a job at Cheong Wa Dae came to give her a small gift in return for her husband’s generosity. Lying in the shadows of Mt. Inwang, where tigers used to roam about, the bookstore also draws hikers sometimes.

Seoul Heritage Candidate These days, when the weather permits, Kwon closes the bookstore and goes to nearby Sajik Park to play gateball in the afternoons. She began playing as a pastime after her mother-in-law died a few years ago, and is now rated as one of the top players of Hyoja-dong Club. Twenty years ago she had surgery on her knees due to degenerative arthritis. But aside from that, thanks to gateball, she does not suffer from any serious ailment. Indeed, she seems to be the picture of good health, which is fortunate for the future of Dae-Oh Bookstore.

Last year, the Seoul Metropolitan Government began receiving nominations for “future treasures” from citizens. The campaign seeks to identify less-known modern cultural heritage sites and relics that have existed since the 1890s, when Western influences first reached Korea in earnest, and to catalogue and preserve them for future generations. Thanks to this project, Dae-Oh Bookstore was placed on the list of candidates for “1,000 future heritage properties of Seoul” in late 2012. Since then, the bookstore has seen a pickup in visitor traffic. All this happened about a year after Kwon hung a “To Rent” sign on the front door, after her children advised her to close down the bookstore and just take it easy.

Although she has not yet received any formal notification from the city government, she decided to keep her bookstore open. This is partly because nobody has offered to rent this space. This may be a disappointment for Kwon, but good news for those who would like to see the bookstore preserved.

Amidst a mounting sense of crisis over the eventual “extinction” of bookstores, Dae-Oh Bookstore, which offers used books and treasured memories, will hopefully be around for the pleasure of booklovers for a long time to come. It doesn’t matter that, as Kwon says, there aren’t many books to read now because she no longer acquires used books for resale.

Upon finishing my interview with Kwon, I left her bookstore whistling cheerfully after buying two books as souvenirs. I suddenly remembered the words of the British poet William Wordsworth: “Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, are a substantial world, both pure and good.”

Then, the tagline of a big local bookstore chain, boasting, “Man makes books, and books make man,” flashed through my mind as well.

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Books & More 74

First Korean-English Series of Korean Novellas

‘Bilingual Edition: Modern Korean Literature’ “The Wounded” written by Yi Cheong-jun and translated by Jennifer Lee, 141 pages, 6,000 won, or US$7.00; and 14 other works, Seoul: Asia Publishers (2012)

An increasing number of foreign readers have recently been seeking out works of Korean literature.

Meanwhile, the number of foreign students studying in Korea is on the rise, and so is the demand for Korean language instruction and Korean studies courses at universities overseas. In response to this fast-growing interest in Korea, literature is thought to be an effective means to convey a deeper understanding of Korean culture and history. For instance, novelist Shin Kyungsook’s “Please Look After Mom,” now translated into several foreign languages, has helped to boost interest in Korean culture in general, while striking an emotional chord with readers worldwide.

Against this backdrop, “Bilingual Edition: Modern Korean Literature,” released by Asia Publishers in July 2012, aims to address the desire to know more about Korea through a literary lens. Asia Publishers (www. bookasia.org) is the publisher of “Asia,” Korea’s first literary magazine specializing in Asian literature and only Korean-English bilingual quarterly.

The bilingual literature project was carried out over five years with the participation of prominent Korean authors like novelist Bang Hyun-seok and literary critic Lee Kyung-jae. Other notable contributors include David McCann, Korea Foundation Professor of Korean Literature at Harvard University, and Bruce Fulton, a leading Korean literature translator and professor at the University of British Columbia, Canada. The editors selected about 100 short stories and novellas that were deemed to best represent the contemporary literary landscape in Korea.

The initial part of the series comprises 15 works by writers such as Pak Wan-so (Park Wan-suh), Oh Junghee, and Yi Cheong-jun, who were at the forefront of the post-colonial literary scene in Korea. In the first half of 2013, the second and third parts of the series, comprising 35 volumes, will be released. They include the works of leading writers such as Yi Munyol and younger authors like Kim Ae-ran, Park Min-gyu, and Kim Yeon-su. The works are grouped by theme such

as national division, industrialization, women in Korean society, life in Seoul, love, avant-garde, tradition, and diaspora. Upcoming editions will include short stories written prior to the end of World War II and Korea’s liberation from Japanese rule.

This author participated in the publication project as a member of the editorial board, carefully overseeing the translation and editorial processes to assure accuracy and convey the nuances of the original texts through extensive consultation between the writers and translators. Harvard University and Washington University selected the series as a textbook last year, and more American universities, including Columbia University, are set to do the same this year.

“Asia Publisher’s ‘Bilingual Edition: Modern Korean Literature’ in Korean and English makes a major contribution to readers of world literature, as well as for students who want to learn about Korean language and culture,” said Theodore Hughes, Korea Foundation Associate Professor of Korean Studies at Columbia University.

The bilingual series attempts to communicate more fully with global readers by providing the translated English text together with the original Korean text. Many non-English speaking countries in Asia and Africa have sought to penetrate major publishing markets by translating their literary achievements into the most widely read languages. Among such efforts, this bilingual series is unique for its attempt to provide two-way dialogue with foreign readers.

As this is the first such attempt to produce a bilingual anthology of Korean literature, the editors and translators ran across various problems, including the issue of Romanization, especially in regard to Korean proper nouns. The translations in the first edition utilize one of the three major Romanization systems. For practical reasons, no particular effort was made to adopt a uniform style across the 15 translated works. Starting with the second edition, however, the editorial board has decided to primarily utilize the McCune-Reischauer method, while maintaining the Korean government’s Romanization system for local place names. Increased efforts by academia, government authorities, and publishers are required to establish an improved Romanization standard for the Korean language.

Jeon Seung-hee Research Associate, Korea Institute, Harvard University

Exquisite Duet of Gayageum and Buk

‘Kim Hae-sook’s Gayageum Sanjo of the Choi Ok-sam School’ Gayageum by Kim Hae-sook, Buk by Yoon Ho-se, Paris: OCORA Radio France CD, 45 minutes 10 seconds, US$24.43

Sanjo is a genre of traditional Korean music that features a solo instrumental performance with a percussion accompaniment. This native music genre was created some 100 years ago based on the musical traditions of the southwestern region of Korea, and achieved remarkable development during the latter half of the 20th century. Considering that most Korean music genres that are still widely played are rooted in the music of the 17th and 18th centuries, sanjo is a relatively new creation. The reasons for this are explained by Kim Hae-sook, a professor and renowned gayageum (12-string zither) player, in the introduction to her latest CD release with OCORA Radio France.

Kim notes: “As the Korean musical traditions changed over time, musicians began to express personal emotion on stage. This led to the birth of new musical genres and the emergence of talented musicians with artistic virtuosity. Against this historical backdrop, the pansori narrative song enjoyed great popularity for its dynamic interaction between the singer and the audience, who were driven to tears and laughter. Sanjo appeared in line with this trend. Called ‘wordless pansori,’ sanjo adopted and transformed the musical techniques of pansori, and over the generations, impromptu sanjo performances came to attain formality. In this sense, sanjo is the condensation of the lengthy Korean music tradition in the form of an instrumental solo, resulting from changes in the flow of music history.”

Sanjo was first devised for the gayageum, which is said to have gained new life from sanjo. The new performance style then spread to other string instruments, such as the geomungo and ajaeng , as well as wind instruments like the daegeum and piri . Recently, experiments are being made to apply the sanjo style to piano and guitar. Sanjo is typically played in a duet form that combines the lead melodic instrument and a percussion instrument, most often the janggo (hourglass

drum) or buk (shallow barrel-shaped drum), which provides formal musical frames to the melodic flow.

Sanjo melodies reflect the sentiments of the Korean people and their history. Musicians do not simply repeat the melodies learned from their teachers but also make their own improvisations and interpretations. Many renowned traditional Korean musicians of the 20th century developed their own distinctive sanjo versions. This led to the founding of a number of prominent schools of sanjo in various areas of the country, each named after a distinguished performer. The Kim Jukpa (1911-1989) School for gayageum and the Han Gap-deuk (19191987) School for geomungo are two examples. Among the sanjo schools for various instruments, a large majority is devoted to gayageum.

This CD features Kim Hae-sook playing gayageum sanjo in the style of the Choi Ok-sam (19051956) School. This school enjoyed a renaissance thanks to maestro Ham Dongjeongwol (1917-1995), who taught Kim Hae-sook. Kim, who first received critical acclaim in her 20s, boasts exceptional mastery of the instrument among her contemporaries.

She is also a recognized music theorist.

This recording follows “Jongmyo Jeryeak,” the music for royal ancestral rites of the Joseon Dynasty, as the second release of the Korean music series launched by OCORA Radio France in 2010. Inviting the audience to appreciate the quintessence of traditional Korean music from the 20th century, this CD is an exquisite 45-minute recording of Kim Hae-sook on gayageum and Yoon Ho-se on the buk. The album should be listened from beginning to end without a pause, because sanjo has an epic format that embodies the musician’s life story and attitude toward life and the world.

Jeon Ji-young Music Critic

Entertainment

Public Broadcaster’s Bold Endeavor to

Encourage Reading

An innovative campaign by a radio broadcaster is betting on the appeal of storytelling to enrich people’s cultural life through book reading. For 11 hours, Monday to Friday, the EBS (Educational Broadcasting System) FM radio narrates books to listeners at 104.5 MHz. On Saturdays, it offers a live program to discuss messages from listeners and on Sundays, summarized versions of the week’s selections are aired. This experimental program marks its one year of operation this March.

Lim Jong-uhp Staff Reporter, The Hankyoreh

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oreign language programs for improving reading and speaking skills, a great majority of them in English, were broadcast for up to 21 hours a day on EBS FM channels for many years. Audience ratings were paltry at about 2.0 percent, but the programs retained highly loyal listeners who were striving to learn foreign languages. In March 2012, EBS replaced as many as 11 hours from its foreign language broadcasts with book reading programs. This was a revolutionary attempt since most TV or radio programs related to book reading would air for about 15 minutes a day or less than one hour per week. Initial responses from listeners were largely divided into two opposing views: “innovative” and “insane.”

They Don’t Read? Then They Can Listen!

According to a joint survey conducted by the Korea Publishers Society and the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism, the number of book purchases in 2010 decreased 8.5 percent from the previous year. In 2011, this figure slumped another 7.8 percent, and the year-on-year decline is estimated to be about 10 percent for 2012. In the past eight years, the number of neighborhood bookstores has contracted by some 29.3 percent. This steady slump has been attributed to online bookstores that offer big discounts against the industry’s longstanding tradition of selling books within a standard price range. Amid the market disruption, publishers found it increasingly difficult to survive, let alone put out books on diverse subjects, as ever more readers tend to favor books on self-improvement and worldly wisdom, which are typically heavily discounted.

Furthermore, students have been drifting away from books under the stress of the national examination for university admission, which rewards rote learning and memorization. The Internet and smart phones appear to have also played a significant role in the consistent decline in book reading. Thus, the “book reading radio” project was actually an initiative to revive the flagging demand for books and reverse the downward trend in book reading.

“With a sharp decline in the ratings and influence of radio, while searching for a breakthrough we reached a consensus on the touching effect of sto-

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rytelling. But most radio programs had already been using the personal stories of listeners as their material. That’s why we decided on books. We branded it ‘book reading radio’ to differentiate it from other programs. We thought radio, as an emotional medium, could produce positive synergy from books,” explained Kim June-bum, production manager at EBS.

Read the Original ‘As Is’ The book reading broadcast opens with “Fairy Tale for Adults” at 10 a.m. and closes with “British and American Literature” at 11 p.m., Monday through Friday. The hours in between are filled with such segments as “Poetry Concert,” “Essay Concert,” “Short Story Hall,” “A Book Narrated by a Celebrity” (or a Listener), “Reading from the Classics,” and “Book Café.” Weekend programs, from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., are dedicated to going over messages from listeners and recaps of the week’s readings.

The books that are read on air are selected from lists suggested by listeners, of books they have already read or titles they have at least heard of, in order to attract the interest of a broader audience. Books that have been narrated thus far include full-length novels and short stories written by authors who stand out in the history of modern and contemporary Korean literature, as well as books by well-known writers whose works you might find at the front of bookstores, and the masterpieces by globally renowned literary figures like Henrik Ibsen and O. Henry.

The broadcast has also featured serial novels that were later published as books, such as “If Waves Belong to the Ocean” by Kim Yeon-su and “The Sound of the Rapids” by Hwang Sok-yong. A basic principle is that the books must be read exactly as in the original. When reading dialogue, narrators perform dramatically for added effect. The program hosts and book narrators include EBS announcers, theatrical actors, voice-over actors, singers, and writers. Since the sensitivity and skillfulness of narrators help to pique and maintain the attention of listeners, the production team is quite particular when selecting narrators. Air time for individual episodes can run for 20 minutes to two hours.

Experts say that a listener can concentrate on a narrated book for a maximum of 15 to 20 minutes. However, the EBS staff have been pleased with the positive feedback from listeners that they can remain interested for 1 to 2 hours. Son Hee-joon, the production director of the two-hour program “Book Café,” says, “At first I was worried the audience would show a tepid response, but I came Koreana ı Spring 2013

to realize that our listeners connected with the lead characters of the books and maintained a consistent focus.”

Based on the performance record and audience responses to date, production team members believe that the relatively stable program ratings are ascribable to listeners with a keen intellectual curiosity and those with a need for diversion to forget loneliness.

They say that some listeners who comment about the morning program, through the listeners’ corner or online message board, will also listen to the evening program. For added enjoyment, they recommend going over a summary of the previous day’s reading right before the current day’s episode, along with the reviews of listeners. And quiz contests are held from time to time to encourage listener interest. One listener says the “book reading radio” promotes “reading by listening.” He explains, “When you read a book, you can always go back if you didn’t understand some part. But on radio, you cannot go back if you miss a part. So I get to really concentrate.

I’d like to call it active reading.”

‘Book Reading Cabs’ You can also listen to “book reading radio” online or on your mobile phone by downloading the “EBS bandi” program application (http://home.ebs.co.kr/ bandi). Archived programs are available (http://www.ebs. co.kr/index.jsp) for on-demand listening, like a free audio book.

In the spring this year, EBS plans to launch another new initiative. For 10 hours on Saturday, instead of discussing listener messages, the new program will feature the reading of selected creative works that have yet to be published. These works will then be published and released as new books, with the radio broadcaster serving as a gateway for amateur writers to embark on writing careers. There are also plans to dramatize Korean classics, such as “The Story of Hong Gil-dong,” “The Story of Chunhyang,” and “The Story of Sim Cheong,” into modern adaptations in foreign languages, so as to provide non-Korean audiences with a glimpse into classic Korean literature.

It is too early to say whether this innovative radio broadcasting format is a success or a failure. There are no visible indicators yet of its effectiveness, such as a noticeable rise in ratings or one of the books read on air becoming a bestseller. Still, it certainly is encouraging to see some taxis that keep their radios tuned to this channel all day long, with “Book Reading Taxi” stickers on their windows.

Taxi drivers in Seoul, who can now “read” books while driving thanks to this radio program, kicked off a “book reading taxis” campaign on September 20, 2012. Today, they are driving through the streets of Seoul while “reading” books to their passengers.

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Gourmet’s Delight

Egg-laden Female Crab in Spring, Crab stew (kkotkyetang ) and seasoned raw crab (gejang or kejang) are two savory crab dishes beloved

among Koreans. In particular, seasoned raw crab marinated in soy sauce is such a delectable side dish that it will often cause people to consume extra servings of rice. Hence it is called a “rice thief.”

Ye Jong-suk Food Columnist and Professor of Marketing, Hanyang University | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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Meaty Male Crab in Fall P

eople everywhere love to eat crab, whether simply steamed or boiled, or elaborately prepared as a specialty dish. Around the world, where the ocean waters yield an abundance of crabs, seaside residents take great pride in their signature crab dishes. In coastal cities, you will always find market areas with bountiful seafood, such as Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco and Lei Yue Mun in Hong Kong. In the restaurants and shops there you can see huge mounds of local crabs, for the meals of diners or for customers to purchase.

In Japan, where crab is especially beloved, large crab replica signs make clear a restaurant’s specialty. As for their fondness of crab, Koreans consider themselves second to none among crab lovers worldwide.

Crab Stew and Seasoned Raw Crab Koreans’ affection for crabmeat has been noted in records dating back several centuries. Kim Jong-jik (1431-1492), a government official of the early Joseon Dynasty, sang high praise of the crustacean in verse: “Cut claws, chopsticks chase white meat, / Cut open abdomen, find bounty of gold.” Even earlier, Seo Geo-jeong (1420-1488), another scholarofficial, likewise extolled the virtues of crab: “The hermit poet Dongpo was said to much enjoy crab, / I too have grown to love it dearly.”

Koreans seem to have long been fond of crab, creating and enjoying a wide variety of dishes, thereby expanding its appeal and popularity. In the late 19th-century cookbook Sieui Jeonseo , a “compendium of proper cookery,” various crab recipes are described in detail for the preparation of fried crab, flour-coated fried crab, pickled crab, steamed crab, crab soup, and dried crabmeat. Similarly, in Gyuhap Chongseo , an encyclopedic homemaking guide for women written in 1809, there are recipes for crab dishes along with tips on how to handle live crabs, the foods that should not be served with crab, the best time to eat crab, ways to recognize non-edible crabs, and methods to preserve the juiciness of seasoned raw crab.

This plethora of dishes led Tim Alper, a British food columnist residing in Korea, to remark: “Whereas most Westerners will just steam most varieties of crab, Koreans have developed two of the world’s superlative crab recipes, kkotkyetang and kejang , which along with the Thai wonder-dish poo pad pong garee (crab stir-fried in curry), make up possibly the planet’s top three crab dishes for me.” He is amazed by the savory taste of kejang , describing it as “incredibly luscious; the idea of preserving raw crab in soy sauce is so simple, but [the result is] so marvelous, I can’t believe that no other country has been able to come up with the idea.”

Crab stew (kkotkyetang ) made with fresh egg-laden female crabs. Soybean paste and red pepper are mixed in a pot with water, sliced radish and fresh crabs are added, and the mixture is brought to a boil. Crabs are then taken out to remove their hard back shell and cut into serving pieces and then placed again in the pot to boil longer, along with onion, red and green chilies, and crown daisy, among other vegetables.

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1. Gejang (or kejang ). Seasoned raw crab, a unique Korean crab dish, is prepared with soy sauce boiled with other ingredients, such as onion, whole pepper, and garlic. It is eaten after marinating long enough.

2. In spring and fall, fresh crabs delivered straightaway from the sea can be purchased in urban fish markets.

‘The Crab Tastes Sweet’ More than 4,500 species of crabs are found throughout the world, of which about 180 types are found in Korea’s seas, with the favorite among these being the blue crab, or kkotkye (meaning “flower crab”) in Korean. The best time for catching blue crab is the spring, for egg-filled female crabs before they lay their eggs, and the fall, for meaty male crabs when the waters get cold. Crab gender can be distinguished by inspecting the abdominal covering: the male has a narrower, triangular shield, while the female sports a broader, rounded apron.

The blue crab, also known elsewhere as “swimming crab,” goes by various names in Sino-Korean, such as yumo (youmou in Chinese), baldo (bozhao ), and sihae (shixie ), as well as Korean names like geotchire , salgwoe , and gotge . It is also called nalgae kkotke , or kkotgeu in certain regions. In Jasan Eobo , an 1814 book about marine life around Heuksan Islands off the southwest coast of Korea, Jeong Yak-jeon writes: “Crabs can usually crawl around well, yet cannot swim well, but this crab can swim quite well by spreading its legs wide like a fan.” Jeong adds: “When it swims in the sea, this is a sign of strong winds approaching. The crab tastes sweet.”

But even during the peak seasons for blue crab, Koreans cannot always enjoy it in abundance. The harvest and availability of blue crab is closely intertwined with the political situation on the Korean Peninsula, due to the seemingly never ending North-South confrontation. More than half of Korea’s blue crabs are caught in the West Sea area around five islands administered by the Ongjin and Ganghwa districts of Incheon City, but since this area is close to North Korea, there is a constant concern of a military incident.

Whenever North Korea engages in provocation, the area becomes strictly off-limits to vessels, including crab fishing boats. When North Korea shelled Yeonpyeong Island, one of the five islands, in 2010, fishing was prohibited throughout the area for a rather lengthy period, causing the price of blue crab to skyrocket, to the chagrin of crab lovers. The political situation of our divided country can thus be felt even at the dinner table.

Freshness is Paramount To maximize your enjoyment of crab dishes, they must be prepared with freshly caught crab. During long-distance transport, they tend to lose freshness and the meat can shrink somewhat, which makes it less tasty. The No. 1 Korean crab dish is a stew made with fresh crab, which has a sweet flavor but no fishy smell.

Crab stew made with fresh crab from the West Sea is highly prized

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To maximize your enjoyment of crab dishes, they must be prepared with freshly caught crab. The No. 1 Korean crab dish is a stew made with fresh crab, which has a sweet flavor but no fishy smell. Crab stew made with fresh crabs from the West Sea is highly prized for its sumptuous flavor. for its sumptuous flavor.

An old recipe from Sieui Jeonseo advises: “For a soup, the meat of both yellow and dark organs is used. The yellow organ meat, however, is first mixed with egg and seasoned with salted oil. The soup is boiled with green onion and ginger, and seasoned with pepper. When it has been boiled long enough, beaten egg is added.”

From this text, it seems that this crab soup would only include the crab organ meat. Perhaps, it was prepared in this way so that it could be consumed by the nobility in a dignified manner. For modern Koreans, however, there are no such reservations about enjoying crab to the fullest by extracting every bit of white meat from the shell.

For a basic dish, soybean paste and red pepper powder are combined with water in a pot. Then fresh blue crabs and sliced radish are added and heated to a boil. After boiling, the hard carapace is removed from each crab and the tips of claws are clipped. The crabs are returned to the pot, along with onion slices, red pepper, and crown daisy, plus other vegetables, and boiled longer.

Among the crab specialty restaurants in Seoul, several establishments along Sinsadong alley in Gangnam are famed for their raw seasoned crab. There is also a popular “blue crab alley” in Majang-dong. These days, freshly caught crab can be delivered to your home in an iced package. In this way, the spring and fall season’s crabs can be enjoyed, steamed or cooked in a stew, or marinated for later consumption. In urban fish markets, you can purchase crab by the box or by weight, fresh from the sea. Thanks to such convenience, it is easier than ever for Koreans to enjoy fresh seasonal crab to their heart’s content.

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Lifestyle

Baby Boomers Care for Grandchildren as Daughters Pursue Careers Working mothers unanimously agree that raising children is like war. They have to fight for the spare time needed for their children, fight in a workplace inconsiderate of working mothers, and fight against the temptation to give up a career for child raising. Their auxiliary troops are their baby boomer parents.

Kim Eun-ha Staff Reporter, JTBC (JoongAng Tongyang Broadcasting Company) | Ahn Hong-beom Photographer

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s. Lee, 66 years old, seems to be living her life all over again. After raising her two children and seeing them get married, she has been playing the role of a mother again for the past 10 years. Her daughter, Ms. Cho, is a medical doctor at a university hospital in Seoul, and mother of two children, who are fifth and second graders. While Ms. Cho works at the hospital during the day, Ms. Lee takes care of her grandchildren. Ms. Cho leaves home at 7 a.m. and returns home around 8 p.m. at the earliest. She cannot possibly care for her children and prepare their meals. If she works a night shift or an emergency arises, her return home is even later. Her children come home from school between noon and 3 p.m. In place of Ms. Cho, her mother takes care of the children, preparing snacks and coordinating their after-school activities, such as taekwondo and piano lessons.

1 1. Grandparents-to-be learn things like changing diapers in a childcare class offered by 1 Seocho District Health Center in Seoul.

2. Working mothers can pursue their careers without anxiety only if they have a “second parent” handy in urgent situations.

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Learning about Childcare for First Time Although Ms. Cho has been married 10 years, she still depends heavily on her parents. And Ms. Lee might not have imagined that she would be caring for her grandchildren all this while.

She intended to help out until her daughter could place her children in daycare. But her daughter could not find a daycare center that provided extended hours of supervision. So she concluded that moving in with her parents would be the most practical solution. Her mother, understanding the situation, could not refuse. Besides, she enjoyed spending time with her lovely grandchildren.

Ms. Cho’s husband, for his part, had to accept living with his parents-in-law for the sake of the children, even if such an arrangement can cause occasional discomfort. In important family matters, such as the children’s education and personal pursuits, the mother-in-law’s word would often hold absolute sway. The couple, however, believes that they are fortunate. They know many working couples who struggle to take care of their children because none of their parents will help out with the responsibilities.

As ever more young couples rely on their parents to care for their children, an increasing number of men in their 50s and 60s have taken on childcare roles. In Korea’s aging society, with improved prospects of living until 100, middle-aged men who are retired find themselves with time on their hands and have thus come to look after their grandchildren.

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Retired two years ago, 62-year-old Mr. Kim is now wholly dedicated to raising his two-year-old granddaughter. He agreed to help out because his daughter-in-law needed to work when his son decided to belatedly attend graduate school. The daughter’s family lives in the same apartment complex as Mr. Kim and his wife, so the granddaughter is dropped off at their apartment in the morning and picked up in the evening. When the parents come home late, the girl stays with her grandparents overnight. Mr. Kim’s wife is not as physically capable, so he takes charge of physical activity with his granddaughter. He also searches the Internet to read up about childcare.

Feeling empty after retiring from his work of 30 years, he says, “I overcame my depression by enjoying my grandchild’s lovable antics.” He starts and ends each day playing with his granddaughter. Sometimes he goes out to play golf or to hike with friends, but he tries to get back early enough to pick up his granddaughter from the daycare center.

Mr. Kim explains, “I don’t have many memories of my own children growing up; from my 30s, I was always so busy.” He adds, “I’m learning about childcare for the first time through raising my granddaughter.”

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New Reality Requires ‘Second Parents’ Korean law provides for three months of maternity leave, and up to one year of childcare leave, so a total of 15 months can be used for staying home to care for a new baby. Korea is now facing the demographic dilemma that the world’s most economically advanced countries have also experienced. The country’s total fertility rate (TFR, the average number of births a woman can expect to have during her child-bearing years), which was over 6.0 in the 1960s, plunged to 1.08, one of the lowest in the world, as of 2006.

The Korean government has thus implemented various policy measures to encourage families to have more children. But the changes that make a real difference, particularly in the workplace culture, are always slower to take root than intended.

Most working mothers on maternity leave get a phone call from their workplace, asking when they are coming back, far earlier than the conclusion of their childcare leave. Although companies say that they just want to know how long the position will have to be left open, they often hint that working mothers should return as soon as possible if they don’t want to burden their colleagues; the implied message is they should quit if they want to stay away for so long. Undoubtedly, the situation today is far improved from that

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crimination in getting an education. On the other hand, the economic of just 10 years ago, when no such leave was offered. Few working activity rate of Korean women stands at a mere 49.7 percent, falling mothers, however, will dare to use the full period of leave authofar below that of Korean men (73.1 percent), and also lower than the rized by law, especially if the workplace’s prevailing practice is for average of OECD countries (61.8 percent). By looking at the statistimothers to return earlier. cal trends, you can find the reason for this situation. The economic But, in order to return to their workplace, they have to find a reliactivity rate of women in their 20s is 71.4 percent, relatively compaable childcare facility. Ms. Park, a working mother, registered her rable to that of men, but in their 30s, the rate plummets to 55.4 perchild at a daycare center near her home immediately after registercent. Between their late 20s and mid-30s, a substantial number of ing the birth itself, but she received number 310 on the waiting list. women exit the workforce due to marriage and childcare.

Ms. Park wants to leave her child in daycare in two years, but she was told that she cannot be assured of her child’s admission at that time. Ms. Park says, “If there is a good daycare center that will take Live-in Help Not a Feasible Option my child, I am willing to move near there.”

Working mothers who don’t give up and keep struggling have to There are 39,842 daycare centers throughout the country, not choose between living with parents and hiring a full-time babysitter a small number in light of Korea’s low fertility rate (1.2 in 2011), or live-in nanny. Not all working mothers, however, can seriously which is far short of the replacement level of 2.01 births per female. consider these options. In order to live with parents, their agreeBut the number of daycare centers that mothers would prefer is ment and support is required, whereas a live-in nanny is beyond far fewer as not all daycare centers provide quality childcare. Every the means of most families. year, accidents from unsafe conditions and child abuse incidents Take the case of 34-year-old Ms. Lee, an office worker. She has make the news, which make mothers even more selective. The two boys, four and two years old. The end of her workday is varinumber of reliable public daycare centers operated by the govable. Even after her regular workday, there are evening get-togethernment is only 2,116, less than 5 percent of the total. That is why ers, and she often has to work on weekends. In her case, she has increasing the number of public daycare centers is one of the basic a live-in babysitter. She had hoped that her parents or her in-laws campaign pledges that politicians emphasize in every election. would help care for her children, but in the end everyone refused The problem of childcare, however, is not entirely solved even to make such a commitment. Her mother-in-law had already told if a child is admitted to a reputable daycare facility. Most daycare her before the wedding that she doesn’t want to sacrifice her midcenters conclude their regular programs at 3 p.m. So for parents life freedom because of grandchildren. Ms. Lee’s mother, who had who have to pick up their child later in the evening, some facilities already helped out her two older sisters, adamantly said, “No more provide extended hours, but even those will close by 7 p.m. sacrifices.”

The problem is that daycare centers strictly enforce their closing time, while this is not true of workplaces. Officially, “I don’t have many memories of my own children growing up; the typical workday ends about 6 p.m., but leaving the workplace promptly at that from my 30s, I was always so busy. I’m learning about childcare for time can be a challenge. Meetings that run late or get-togethers with co-workers the first time through raising my granddaughter.” can create problems for working mothers as well. A client meeting sometimes extends to dinner. There are very few family-friendly workplaces Ms. Lee pays her Korean-Chinese nanny 1,800,000 won (about where a mother can easily call in late or be excused when a child is $1,700) a month, more than a third of her salary. For a Korean sick, or leave work to attend a school activity. The Ministry of Genbabysitter, she would have to pay at least 20 percent more than der Equality and Family provides encouragement to such workthat. In the past two years, she changed babysitters three times. places through the award of “Family-Friendly Enterprise” certifiShe had to terminate the first babysitter for incompetence, while cates. The fact that such an award even exists proves that there are the other two quit because the job was too demanding. Ms. Lee not many companies that offer such flexibility. says, “There are few choices, even if you can pay a lot. The key is Working mothers who lack “second parents” ready and able to maintain a good relationship with the babysitter. Working mothto help out at any time have little choice but to surrender. Statistics ers who have to put their kids in someone else’s care are in a weak starkly show how young Korean women’s career aspirations are position.” drastically curtailed around the time they marry and start raising a Even for couples who can leave their children in their parent’s family. The university entrance rate for girls in Korea is 75 percent, care, things don’t always go smoothly. When a mother or a mothhigher than that for boys (70.2 percent). So there is no gender diser-in-law assumes responsibility for her grandchildren, she also

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expects to exercise influence, which can lead to tension and conflict. The authority of the child’s parents can be undermined, while placing significant demands on the grandparents. Internet communities that provide forums for working mothers are invariably swamped with complaints about the stress which results from their need for childcare and interference from their otherwise wellmeaning parents and in-laws. For some women in their 50s and 60s, taking care of grandchildren can take a toll on their health; they often complain about depression.

According to “Leisure Activities of People in their 50s in Urban Areas,” a study published by the Korea Institute for Health and Social Affairs, more than half (52.3 percent) of the survey respondents said they rarely engage in outdoor or sport activities, such as fishing or hiking. Only 22.7 percent have more than one or two outdoor activities every six months; even fewer, a mere 15.2 percent, have one or two activities a month. These statistics are based on a survey of 453 Korean men and women born between 1955 and 1963. The study suggests that because this generation lived their childhood immediately after the Korean War, they not only tend to care less about how to spend leisure time, but they also have little leisure time because they are busy helping to care for their grandchildren.

Return of Extended Families Raising grandchildren can be a benefit for retired couples because it offers a helpful means to earn pocket money to supplement their income. Young couples who place their child in their parent’s care are often generous in paying compensation to their Koreana ı Spring 2013

For many retired men, caring for their grandchildren often revives their zest for life.

parents, but it’s still cheaper than having a babysitter. Many retirees prefer to babysit their grandchildren, as a source of regular income, than having to work as a security guard for an apartment complex or as a cashier at a grocery store. The childcare situation thus has led to a revival of the traditional extended family, which had been, on the whole, displaced by the nuclear family in modern Asian countries. When three or more generations can live together under one roof or close by, the family can share parenting responsibilities so that children can be nurtured in a safe environment, young couples can pursue their careers without undue worry, and elderly couples get financial aid and self-satisfaction.

Even with the government’s campaign to boost the number of births, the country’s fertility rate in 2011 stood at only 1.24, still at the bottom of OECD countries (a newspaper recently reported that Korea’s TFR may have reached 1.3 in 2012). Although the education level and economic activity rate of women have risen dramatically, the rate of social change remains slow. Parents of the baby boomer generation have become the “reserve parents” for their grandchildren, by attending childcare classes offered by district governments and preparing themselves to care for the baby expected by their working daughter. Working mothers, in their endeavors to balance work and family, are helping to revive and redefine the traditional extended family in the 21st century, thanks to their parents’ sacrifices.

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Journeys in Korean Literature

Critique

Perturbing Insight about Human Nature Uh Soo-woong Arts & Culture Reporter, The Chosun Ilbo

J

anuary 22, 2013 was the second anniversary of the death of the writer Park Wan-suh (1931-2011). Around that date I phoned her elder daughter, Ho Won-suk, after several months’ silence.

Nowadays, she looks after the author’s neat little house in Achiul, Guri City, to the east of Seoul. It is the house mentioned at the start of “That Boy’s House” (which was published in 2007 as part of the collection “Kind Bok-hui”): “I too, several years ago, had brought to an end a lengthy period of life in an apartment and moved into a house.”

Korean readers tend to refer to Park Wan-suh as a popular writer but that is too general a designation that makes me want to add something more. To borrow an expression from the poet Jang Seok-ju, she is a “fountainhead of Korea’s maternalist literature.”

In the Korean literary scene, novels that perpetuate patriarchy have long formed the mainstream. Park’s works deal with the stories of women who are bound to suffer alienation in our patriarchal society. She unfolds bundles of tales about daughters rather than sons, mothers rather than fathers, wives rather than husbands.

There are large numbers of women writers in Korea who produce this kind of writing, but the stories from Park Wan-suh’s oeuvre are especially sensitive and abundant. Her insight into human nature is actually frightening. Works that see through the falsity of petit-bourgeois happiness while penetrating human hypocrisy and duplicity have become Park Wan-suh’s patented trademark. “That Boy’s House” is a fine example in which the author shows her willingness to face that piercing gaze, even in regard to herself.

The story was originally published in the summer 2002 issue of the review publication Munhak-gwa Sahoe (Literature and Society), when the author was 70. I recall vividly how delighted I felt, how refreshing it was to see a septuagenarian writer standing side-byside with younger colleagues and boldly presenting such a story, at a time when the Korean literary scene was crowded with so many prematurely aged writers.

The theme of this issue of Koreana is “aspects of Seoul that even Koreans do not know about.” This story by Park Wan-suh can be

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seen as a study of modern social phenomena, an account about the everyday customs of a Donam-dong neighborhood that even Koreans are in large part unaware of. Beneath the surface, it seethes with physical desire and bitterness. It is a sharp denunciation of a woman’s desires and sense of guilt, and of false human consciousness, the author’s own included.

The story’s setting is the war-devastated city of Seoul in the early and late 1950s. Its starting point is a visit, by the now elderly main figure, to the neighborhood along the Angam Stream in Donamdong where “that boy,” who was her first love, used to live. She too spent part of her youth there, such that she is able to assert, “I was very familiar with that area.” In those days, when she was still a high school student, a distant relative of her mother moved into the neighborhood. That refined household included a boy of her age. In those days, boys and girls were strictly segregated, so they acted as though they did not know each other until a year or two later when they met again by chance. The narrator, now a university student, is working at a U.S. army base when she meets that boy by chance on a tram on her way home from work, and they begin to talk.

Amorous feelings start to develop. They become sweethearts and spend a happy winter wandering around together in Seoul. But the boy is unemployed, while she is effectively the head of a family of five for whom she is the main income earner. As a result of the ongoing Korean War, all the menfolk had left for the front lines and the world beyond, while only the women and children remained at home. Still, the desires and passions of love are ineluctable.

With the menfolk of her family having fallen victim to the war, this young girl is in charge of her household. She thus feels a sense of guilt when amorous desires arouse her body. The narrator recalls: Once May came, the garden erupted in blooming profusion.

I had not realized there were so many kinds of flowering trees and plants. In addition to the intensely fragrant white lilac and the purple iris, flame-like azaleas, sensuously scented oleanders, pomegranates with flowers like the lamps in the red-light quarter, and breathless gardenias, all flung their blossoms wildly and passionKo re a n Cu l tu re & A rts

Park Wan-suh Park Wan-suh is at the forefront of Korea’s maternalist literature ― that is, writing through the prism of the female worldview. There are large numbers of women writers in Korea who produce this kind of writing, but the stories from Park Wan-suh’s oeuvre are especially sensitive and abundant. Her insight into human nature is actually frightening.

The following short story, “That Boy’s House,” is a fine example in which the author shows her willingness to face that piercing gaze, even in regard to herself.

Koreana ı Spring 2013

ately, as if flirting with abandon.

The intersection of passion and guilt is one of the clearest themes of this story. Even non-Korean readers unfamiliar with Korean history will be able to sense the underlying sentiments of han (bitterness, resentment) common to most Koreans aged 60 or more. As in this story, the tragedy of the fratricidal conflict known as the Korean War frequently turned members of a single family into mortal enemies. In those anguished times, as the Southern and Northern armies advanced and retreated time after time, the world was repeatedly turned upside down, and each individual’s inner world, too.

At the end of the story, the narrator, who has been ablaze with passion, betrays the boy. In this way, the story conveys a universal theme of world literature. The true reason why she deceived herself and then betrayed the boy, she says, is because she was a snobbish and pragmatic conservative. She had the heart of a mother bird, who seeks a comfortable life with her chicks in a solidly built nest, no matter how tiny it might be. This kind of insight into life can be disconcerting.

On the second anniversary of the author’s death, I read the following lines in an autobiographical text she once wrote: “Raising our youngest child with no lessening of care, I began to grow bored.

The boredom suddenly turned into an intense unhappiness overwhelming me. The children were no longer children needing my care at every moment of the day and night. The realization that the children, and my husband too, were increasingly occupied away from home, more and more, and that the only thing left to me was to spend my days looking after them and waiting for them, made me feel wretched. I started to think that I too had to have something of my own to do. If a woman as passionate as I was spent all that passion just on her family, eventually family life would turn into a kind of hell.”

I love that self-revealing confession by Park Wan-suh. There may be differences of degree, but no human being can avoid that kind of limitation. May she rest in peace.

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IMAGE OF KOREA

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ver 10 million people reside in Seoul. Amid the teeming, pulsing cacophony of the city’s vibrant boulevards and maze of ancient alleys, there is one area where you can take long walks, lost in your own thoughts, unhindered by modern-day obstacles ― cars and buses, traffic lights, crowds, and crosswalks: here, along the banks of a bucolic stream called Cheonggyecheon, or the “Clear Valley Stream.” Burbling gaily down its ancient meandering course from west to east for 10.8 kilometers through the heart of the city, this waterway and its verdant walkways form a magical garden where you can forget for a moment the bustle of the urban jungle ― then return, refreshed, to the city’s dynamic embrace.

The Joseon Dynasty, founded in 1392, soon chose Seoul as its capital. The city was built in a broad basin between a high mountain to the north and a lower mountain to the south. Thirty tributary streams that flow down from the mountains met in the city center to become this waterway, which flowed across the city before turning south to make its way into the Han River. This natural stream was dry most of the time, but during the rainy season it would suddenly swell, flooding the houses that lined its banks.

The past 60 years have brought the most rapid and relentless waves of change to Cheonggyecheon, making it a mirror of Seoul’s modern history. By 1953, around the end of the Korean War, this storied waterway was a warren of shantytowns overflowing with refugees and misery. Enormous quantities of sewage and waste dumped heedlessly clogged up the stream, causing it to fester and reek.

In 1958, work began to cover up the stream; it was a halfhearted attempt to hide the hideous blight it had become. Thereafter, Seoul developed at a frenetic pace, entering an era of rapid industrialization.

In 1967, construction began on the Cheonggye Overpass, a freeway 16 meters wide and 5.65 kilometers long that was built above the stream entombed in concrete. With this, it became possible to travel across the metropolis in only 10 minutes. The overpass was completed nearly 20 years after construction began to cover up the stream.

In less time than that, the overpass had outlived its usefulness; its crumbling structure became a hazard and unsightly gash on the face of an emergent world capital. The city came to realize that Cheonggyecheon had to be brought back to life in order for Seoul to survive. In 2003, the overpass and the structures that covered the stream were torn down, and 22 bridges were built to reconnect the sundered downtown. In October 2005, the clear waters of Cheonggyecheon again flowed freely. The waters glistened in the sunlight as it flowed toward the great Han River, as if it had been flowing all this while without a pause. The faces brighten of those who stand by the flowing waters, shedding the darkness of days gone by.

Again, the Stream Flows Freely Kim Hwa-young Literary Critic; Member of the Korean National Academy of Arts

Koreana ı Spring 2013

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