I don't "rate" books that I am hired to help promote but I do sometimes write about them.
Like most Americans, I was unfamiliar with the work of J.M.G. Le Clezio. When he won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2008, I probably glanced at the coverage in the New York Times and NPR but "Bitna" is the first Le Clezio book I have read and it likely not the last.
For starters, Le Clezio's personal background is a little complicated. "I've always felt very much from a mixed culture – mainly English and French, but also Nigerian, Thai, Mexican. Everything's had its influence on me," he told "The Guardian" in 2010.
So what, I wondered, does a European man in his 70s, have to say about life in modern-day Seoul, and why write the novel through the lens of a young Korean student? Well, what Le Clezio has to say here is subtle and tender, as Bitna navigates a new life in Seoul. Bitna is from the countryside and eager to learn French and have a life different from her parents, in their small town. By chance, a wealthy dying woman hires her to tell her stories.
This is why I enjoyed reading "Bitna." It does not feel like Le Clezio has an agenda. Bitna is simply young and tough and trying in the face of many pains and some joys too, to live her life...to survive.
There is a lot of agenda in what I read in this moment and this felt to me like a way to glean a bit of a culture I know little about as uninspired news stories about Korea dominate. Reading about Seoul from the lens of Le Clezio, who btw is fluent in hangueo, (a South Korean term for the Korean language) led me to want to read the work of Hang Kan, who won the Man Booker Prize in 2016 for her book, "The Vegetarian." I love it when literature does that, ignite in my an interest to learn more about a person or a place.
There is a line from Colin Marshall's review of "Bitna" in "The Los Angeles Review of Books," that really resonates with me, it feels true of my own experience as a person who traveled a fair amount in my 20s.
"But then, it often takes an outsider to see clearly those aspects of a city that the natives regard as mere utilities, and that goes as well for transit infrastructure as it does for its most familiar forms of commerce: Le Clézio at one point has Salome, the terminally ill woman who hires Bitna to tell her stories, serve cookies from Tous les Jours, one of the chain bakeries seen in every Korean city, and which in Seoul seems to pop up every few blocks. I often wonder what visitors from Francophone countries make of them, but the internationally minded Le Clézio, no cultural chauvinist, doesn’t render judgment on their sometimes questionable pastries, instead using them as one of a few subtle signifiers of a story that inhabits a kind of France within the Korean megalopolis."
If you're looking for a read that has a hard-charging message to convey about Seoul, this is not the read for you. This novel rekindled an interest in Korean culture, and it reminds me of that feeling of being in the presence of a masterful, careful and "gentle" storyteller.