I can't speak to the quality of the translation, as this is the first version of this book I've read, and I can't read Korean. Typos are certainly present, at least 3 or 4 a story, but usually you can infer the meaning.
The book itself is a selection of stories all very similar-feeling, mostly about a young, unemployed 20-something year old man who feels himself a failure and morosely observes his wife's infidelity.
All the stories are very voice-driven, think Notes from the Underground or Hamsun's Hunger. The internal monologue and the technique of breaking the material of the story into pieces colored by the eyes of the narrator is deftly handled. A deep current of muted emotion is unmistakably felt throughout the stories, a stillness always on the point of breaking into either violence or revelation, but any moment of emotional catharsis is stifled under what is felt to be an inevitable inability to act.
Yi Sang captures this deeply complex emotion with narrative cuts that highlight the banality and material poverty of his days and contrast this with the almost reverential awe he has for the object of his desire, always a young woman, who is either married to another man or a prostitute (never explicitly said, but implied.) His portrayal of the female counterpart to his author stand-in is always well executed, she has the feeling of being a fully independent person in each story, and behaves realistically, growing resentful and fed up with his immobility and slothfulness. This is tempered with loving acts which hint at a protective care she feels for him, although in some stories it seems like this is all she gets out of the relationship, a feeling of giving and in return being admired. Which is perhaps realistic, another large theme is the confusion of being a human in a commodifying, automating culture. Where one goes for love when traditional systems are being either repressed, outlawed, or segmented into unrecognizability. Yi Sang is also writing out of a historical moment of brutal oppression and occupation by Japan.
The stories are sometimes used as an example of the Korean idea of "Han," a difficult concept that incorporates feelings of helplessness, oppression and isolation. I'm hardly an expert on that, but if you're interested it might be illuminating to look it up and gain an extra perspective on the work.
The best story is the first one, The Wings. The relationship between the author surrogate and his wife is rendered so precisely that each interaction is charged with pathos, from the coins she leaves him by his bedside, to his willful avoidance of her during the nights when she is entertaining her stranger guests. The implication of infidelity is allowed to linger and permeate, but it is always kept out of the center of the story, and the reader experiences the same willed blindness that the main character lives with. When he begins to rebel and "accidentally" passes through her room while she is "entertaining," we feel the same relief and happiness he does when his wife responds by caring for him more, and then immediately are born down by the shame of needing her to give us money so we may go out the next night and not disturb her. Maybe I see a lot of myself in the main character, and that's why identification comes so easily to me, but I feel that Yi Sang's writing style by itself does an incredible job, especially in this first story, of implicating the reader and getting them to inhabit the skin of his narrator. Bodily illness and anhedonia fill the pages, and this malaise passes from the book into the reader, so that moments of desperation strike more immediately. This is accomplished with sentence-by-sentence descriptions of rising and walking mixed with boredom and disorientation, leading into passages of protuberant emotion that never break into expression, but push against the skin.
I won't spoil the incredible climax, but the feeling of release and hope at the end is easily worth the price of the book and the time taken reading it. Yi Sang uses the epiphany ending popularized in Western literature around the end of the 19th and start of the 20th century for all of his short stories, which is perhaps why they feel so contemporary to me, because that is a style that has continued into present day. The ending of The Wings is a true epiphany however, and one can see why he is so influential for so many contemporary Korean writers.