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Patterns of the Heart and Other Stories
Korean writer Ch’oe Myŏngik was a lifelong resident of Pyongyang, a city his short stories masterfully evoke in exquisite modernist prose. His career spanned decades of tumult, from his debut in the 1930s while Korea was under Japanese colonial rule through the Asia-Pacific and Korean Wars and the early years of the Democratic People’s Republic. As Pyongyang transformed from Korea’s second city, peripheral to the Seoul-centered literary scene, into a socialist capital in the late 1940s, Ch’oe briefly ascended to the center of North Korean culture. Despite the vitality and originality of Ch’oe’s writing, Cold War politics and censorship, including South Korea’s anticommunist laws, consigned his work to obscurity.Patterns of the Heart and Other Stories presents a selection of Ch’oe’s short fiction in translation, including later works from hard-to-find North Korean publications. These cinematic, keenly observed tales explore Pyongyang in meticulous detail, depicting the city’s transformations and the conflicts between old and new. They pay close attention to the lives of the disaffected and the a drifter confronts a former revolutionary dying of heroin addiction; a sex worker is trafficked across the border aboard a train, amid the indifference of her fellow passengers. Later stories provide a striking glimpse of the Korean War—the occupation of Pyongyang, U.S. fighter jets bombing civilian refugees, guerrilla heroics—from a North Korean perspective. Hidden treasures of world literature, these stories offer new perspectives on Korea’s turbulent twentieth century, across political divides still in place today.
- GenresFictionShort Stories
304 pages, Paperback
Published April 9, 2024
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
January 19, 2024
The awful news of the typhoid epidemic died down after a while. There was no flood, and the tedious rainy season began to look as if it might end soon. Even when Pyŏngil was caught in a late rainstorm he did not seek shelter under any eaves. He wanted strangers on the roadside to remain strangers on the roadside forever. And he walked that road planning from then on to devote himself to his books.
Patterns of the Heart and Other Stories is a translation by Janet Poole of a series of stories by North Korean writer 최명익 (Ch’oe Myŏngik) born in 1903 - 8 stories in all over 270 pages, together with a illuminating introduction to the author and his works from Poole.
The stories offer a fascinating insight into the 1936-1951 period in which they were published, with three very distinct periods:
- 5, published in 1936-1941 set in the pre-Pacific War, colonial occupation period, with Pyongyang on the Busan-Seoul-Pyeongyang-Harbin path;
- 1 published in 1947, which covers the early-1945 to 1947 period, and captures both the collapse of colonial rule, at first gradual then sudden with the news of the unconditional surrender, and then the early, optimistic, days of the new regime in the North and land reform;
- 3 published in 1951-2, focused on the aftermath of the Korean war, in particular the devastation wrought by the American troops when the counterattacked into the North.
But these are also highly worthwhile in purely literary terms, the pre-war stories in particular with a strong influence from the very "unwholesome sounding fin-de-siècle titles" such as the works of Dostoevsky, Baudelaire and Nietzsche, which one character in the dying days of the Japanese empire is criticised for reading:
Such books were not exactly banned, but their unwholesome sounding fin-de-siècle titles had aroused the thugs, who appeared to have confiscated the books on the suspicion that they were somehow acting as camouflage for something else, given their distance from the urgency of the current situation.
And the importance of literature runs as a thread through much of the collection:
Occasionally, he would enter a bookstore on these wanderings. This was the one habit that still remained from his student days. But now this habit was drenched in nostalgic sentiment. He was no longer searching for a vital book, given that any structured research and plan for reading had long since evaporated. He would absentmindedly cast his eyes over the books leaning aslant on the tall, wide bookshelves, and he would gaze at their covers: the classic Ming-style type and the new sensibility of cursive writing, which looked as if the ink had only just dried. A vague glance at a newly released collection of writing from someone he had once loved and respected would evoke a sensation of remembrance, like the body warmth of a woman who had once captivated him. Occasionally he would pull out a newly published book by an author whose name he recalled from something he had read in the past and peruse the table of contents, only to discover a missing link far too gaping to allow for any connection with the book. He would return the book tidily to its place and gaze up at the bookshelf in frustration, as if he faced a wall he could not break through no matter how many times he threw his own bloated body against it. And yet, when he took a step back and looked up at the bookshelf again, he could also feel a sense of joy and majesty, as if he were gazing upon the pyramids or the grandeur of the Great Wall.
Recommended - thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC.
Patterns of the Heart and Other Stories is a translation by Janet Poole of a series of stories by North Korean writer 최명익 (Ch’oe Myŏngik) born in 1903 - 8 stories in all over 270 pages, together with a illuminating introduction to the author and his works from Poole.
The stories offer a fascinating insight into the 1936-1951 period in which they were published, with three very distinct periods:
- 5, published in 1936-1941 set in the pre-Pacific War, colonial occupation period, with Pyongyang on the Busan-Seoul-Pyeongyang-Harbin path;
- 1 published in 1947, which covers the early-1945 to 1947 period, and captures both the collapse of colonial rule, at first gradual then sudden with the news of the unconditional surrender, and then the early, optimistic, days of the new regime in the North and land reform;
- 3 published in 1951-2, focused on the aftermath of the Korean war, in particular the devastation wrought by the American troops when the counterattacked into the North.
But these are also highly worthwhile in purely literary terms, the pre-war stories in particular with a strong influence from the very "unwholesome sounding fin-de-siècle titles" such as the works of Dostoevsky, Baudelaire and Nietzsche, which one character in the dying days of the Japanese empire is criticised for reading:
Such books were not exactly banned, but their unwholesome sounding fin-de-siècle titles had aroused the thugs, who appeared to have confiscated the books on the suspicion that they were somehow acting as camouflage for something else, given their distance from the urgency of the current situation.
And the importance of literature runs as a thread through much of the collection:
Occasionally, he would enter a bookstore on these wanderings. This was the one habit that still remained from his student days. But now this habit was drenched in nostalgic sentiment. He was no longer searching for a vital book, given that any structured research and plan for reading had long since evaporated. He would absentmindedly cast his eyes over the books leaning aslant on the tall, wide bookshelves, and he would gaze at their covers: the classic Ming-style type and the new sensibility of cursive writing, which looked as if the ink had only just dried. A vague glance at a newly released collection of writing from someone he had once loved and respected would evoke a sensation of remembrance, like the body warmth of a woman who had once captivated him. Occasionally he would pull out a newly published book by an author whose name he recalled from something he had read in the past and peruse the table of contents, only to discover a missing link far too gaping to allow for any connection with the book. He would return the book tidily to its place and gaze up at the bookshelf in frustration, as if he faced a wall he could not break through no matter how many times he threw his own bloated body against it. And yet, when he took a step back and looked up at the bookshelf again, he could also feel a sense of joy and majesty, as if he were gazing upon the pyramids or the grandeur of the Great Wall.
Recommended - thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC.
January 26, 2024
4.5 rounded up. Patterns of the Heart is an often bleak yet invaluable collection of 8 short stories by Korean author Ch’oe Myongik.
Stories are ordered according to publication dates beginning in 1936 and ending in 1952.
The short story for which the book is named, “Patterns of the Heart,” concerns the demise of a once revered revolutionary hero and his current dismal daily existence as a heroin addict.
As the translator writes in the introduction, it could be said “ to signal that the revolutionary spirit, while violently suppressed, did not die but lived on in the shadows.” This story, however, is about so much more than the revolutionary turned addict and the chaotic wartime climate. Themes include how times and people change, lost hope, resignation and defeat and the sometimes inherent tragedy of love and love lost. The author was gifted at illustrating both the subtleties and complexities of human nature.
A few of the other stories that stood out to me include: “The Engineer,” “Young Kwon Tonsu” and the closing story “Voices of the Ancestral Land. “ This final wartime piece is incredibly moving in its portrayal of the destruction and terror experienced by those who were forced the flee their homes to escape mission-bombing from the front lines.
All in all, this collection of stories provides an insightful introduction by the translator and sheds a rare light on daily life in Korea during the Japanese occupation and into the Korean War era.
l was not expecting to stumble upon such a great collection. As Janet Poole states, “Ch’oe Myongik garnered a reputation as an exquisite architect of the short story form,” and thankfully it can now be shared with us in this English translation.
Stories are ordered according to publication dates beginning in 1936 and ending in 1952.
The short story for which the book is named, “Patterns of the Heart,” concerns the demise of a once revered revolutionary hero and his current dismal daily existence as a heroin addict.
As the translator writes in the introduction, it could be said “ to signal that the revolutionary spirit, while violently suppressed, did not die but lived on in the shadows.” This story, however, is about so much more than the revolutionary turned addict and the chaotic wartime climate. Themes include how times and people change, lost hope, resignation and defeat and the sometimes inherent tragedy of love and love lost. The author was gifted at illustrating both the subtleties and complexities of human nature.
A few of the other stories that stood out to me include: “The Engineer,” “Young Kwon Tonsu” and the closing story “Voices of the Ancestral Land. “ This final wartime piece is incredibly moving in its portrayal of the destruction and terror experienced by those who were forced the flee their homes to escape mission-bombing from the front lines.
All in all, this collection of stories provides an insightful introduction by the translator and sheds a rare light on daily life in Korea during the Japanese occupation and into the Korean War era.
l was not expecting to stumble upon such a great collection. As Janet Poole states, “Ch’oe Myongik garnered a reputation as an exquisite architect of the short story form,” and thankfully it can now be shared with us in this English translation.
October 4, 2024
This volume single-handedly put a stop to my NetGalley rhythm for months on end. I've been reading it on and off since February, I think, and it's now October. Every time I wanted to pick up a different book, I returned to "Patterns of the Heart". Every time I picked up "Patterns of the Heart", I put it down.
Ch'oe Myongik (1903-?) was a Korean writer of some success in the 1930's, but his trail gets lost (for us, at least) because after Korea split in half, he remained in the North. And North Korea is a dark world; little gets in, little gets out.
"Patterns of the Heart" is subtly heartbreaking, which isn't something one would expect me to say of a short story volume, I'd assume. It contains nine short stories published between 1936 and 1952.
Walking in the Rain is a story about a young man whose legs are affected by beriberi and who can barely walk; nonetheless, he *must* walk to work through dirty Pyongyang slums to get to work, witnessing a crowded, unpleasant city being built. He's a conflicted, tortured intellectual. One day, he meets a loud photographer who believes in gaining riches and who seems happy with his life, but who's very judgmental. A typhoid fever comes and carries the photographer away.
A Man of No Character has another young man abandon his dying lover to see his dying father.
Spring on the New Road describes two young women in a village, both newly married - one to a boy, another to a drunkard. A young man from Pyongyang comes riding in his car every day. One of the women is seduced, and dies after a tryst outside, about at the same time as a calf. The calf's death is announced in the newspaper, blaming it on the calf eating the poisonous bark of an acacia tree brought from the West, like all troubles.
Patterns of the Heart is about a middle-aged artist who meets his former lover again, after she left him because he kept drawing her like his dead wife. She's now the mistress of a washed-out, opium-addicted revolutionary, and has become an addict for his sake.
Ordinary People describes a train ride. In a compartment, "ordinary people" witness a woman being dragged back into a life of forced prostitution and do nothing.
The Barley Hump is about an intellectual suffering from beriberi who is being hounded by the police for owning books, and who's taken to task for not writing for the Patriotic Corps. He eventually retreats to the countryside, where he's witness to the struggle of peasants at the hand of the authorities. It ends on a note of propaganda for communism, as the old order is upended and the peasants come together to right the former wrongs with the help of students working in the fields. The intellectual gets a job with writing teaching materials for Korean.
The Engineer is about a train engineer who sabotages a train in a suicide mission to harm the enemy forces.
Young Kwŏn Tongsu is about a collective escape from a prisoner of war camp.
Voices of the Ancestral Land shows people running from airplanes and an army hounding them down. As the civilians flee, the soldiers in the People's Army rush back to fight.
The reason the collection breaks my heart is that Ch'oe Myongik starts as a decent author with insight into people's hearts. He's interested in internal conflicts, and he keenly describes the lives of his characters. You can see Korea through his eyes, you can feel the world of poor villages, you can understand the struggles of those he chooses to follow. His stories are atmospheric and poignant; they're memorable and haunting.
There's no way of knowing how much of his own feelings are represented by the intellectual in "The Barley Hump", but I couldn't help but notice how the story starts... not explicitly critical of the way the main character is hounded, but implicitly so. Why won't he write propaganda? He should make an effort! And then, in the narrative itself, we have heavy-handed propaganda, such as when Sangjin suddenly thinks of Kim Il Sung:
And then again as he thinks of Kim Il Sung some more:
This reminds of nothing more than the random communist propaganda inserted in a communist-era mystery novel in which the bad guys murdered someone for personal revenge... but also to destroy the socialist order!
What passes censorship? What appeases the mighty gods of the dictatorship? Ch'oe Myongik's attention to psychology then vanishes with each story, replaced more and more by propaganda. If anything, "The Barley Hump" seems to me to be a cry for help, as well as an explanation of what's going on: is he an author forced to publish by the regime, his thoughts censored, his hand forced between the reward of a cozy job and the threat of never making a living again and being carried off by the authorities? It might just be me, reading too much into this. Nonetheless, my heart breaks for him.
I would like to thank NetGalley and the publisher for offering me a free ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Ch'oe Myongik (1903-?) was a Korean writer of some success in the 1930's, but his trail gets lost (for us, at least) because after Korea split in half, he remained in the North. And North Korea is a dark world; little gets in, little gets out.
"Patterns of the Heart" is subtly heartbreaking, which isn't something one would expect me to say of a short story volume, I'd assume. It contains nine short stories published between 1936 and 1952.
Walking in the Rain is a story about a young man whose legs are affected by beriberi and who can barely walk; nonetheless, he *must* walk to work through dirty Pyongyang slums to get to work, witnessing a crowded, unpleasant city being built. He's a conflicted, tortured intellectual. One day, he meets a loud photographer who believes in gaining riches and who seems happy with his life, but who's very judgmental. A typhoid fever comes and carries the photographer away.
A Man of No Character has another young man abandon his dying lover to see his dying father.
Spring on the New Road describes two young women in a village, both newly married - one to a boy, another to a drunkard. A young man from Pyongyang comes riding in his car every day. One of the women is seduced, and dies after a tryst outside, about at the same time as a calf. The calf's death is announced in the newspaper, blaming it on the calf eating the poisonous bark of an acacia tree brought from the West, like all troubles.
Patterns of the Heart is about a middle-aged artist who meets his former lover again, after she left him because he kept drawing her like his dead wife. She's now the mistress of a washed-out, opium-addicted revolutionary, and has become an addict for his sake.
Ordinary People describes a train ride. In a compartment, "ordinary people" witness a woman being dragged back into a life of forced prostitution and do nothing.
The Barley Hump is about an intellectual suffering from beriberi who is being hounded by the police for owning books, and who's taken to task for not writing for the Patriotic Corps. He eventually retreats to the countryside, where he's witness to the struggle of peasants at the hand of the authorities. It ends on a note of propaganda for communism, as the old order is upended and the peasants come together to right the former wrongs with the help of students working in the fields. The intellectual gets a job with writing teaching materials for Korean.
The Engineer is about a train engineer who sabotages a train in a suicide mission to harm the enemy forces.
Young Kwŏn Tongsu is about a collective escape from a prisoner of war camp.
Voices of the Ancestral Land shows people running from airplanes and an army hounding them down. As the civilians flee, the soldiers in the People's Army rush back to fight.
The reason the collection breaks my heart is that Ch'oe Myongik starts as a decent author with insight into people's hearts. He's interested in internal conflicts, and he keenly describes the lives of his characters. You can see Korea through his eyes, you can feel the world of poor villages, you can understand the struggles of those he chooses to follow. His stories are atmospheric and poignant; they're memorable and haunting.
There's no way of knowing how much of his own feelings are represented by the intellectual in "The Barley Hump", but I couldn't help but notice how the story starts... not explicitly critical of the way the main character is hounded, but implicitly so. Why won't he write propaganda? He should make an effort! And then, in the narrative itself, we have heavy-handed propaganda, such as when Sangjin suddenly thinks of Kim Il Sung:
Sangjin pictured the figure of a fighting hero lighting a beacon for the liberation of their homeland on behalf of all his compatriots on ton of Mount Paektu
And then again as he thinks of Kim Il Sung some more:
Sangjin could feel a window open in his heart, too, at the thought of the heroic Kim Il Sung lighting a beacon for the nation so high up and far away that its light could shine into their windows and the shouts of his troops could rouse young hearts. The freedom and liberation of the nation was being won through the efforts of Sangjin's compatriots at this very moment. Because of the one and only Kim Il Sung, we were no longer a nation in shame.
This reminds of nothing more than the random communist propaganda inserted in a communist-era mystery novel in which the bad guys murdered someone for personal revenge... but also to destroy the socialist order!
What passes censorship? What appeases the mighty gods of the dictatorship? Ch'oe Myongik's attention to psychology then vanishes with each story, replaced more and more by propaganda. If anything, "The Barley Hump" seems to me to be a cry for help, as well as an explanation of what's going on: is he an author forced to publish by the regime, his thoughts censored, his hand forced between the reward of a cozy job and the threat of never making a living again and being carried off by the authorities? It might just be me, reading too much into this. Nonetheless, my heart breaks for him.
I would like to thank NetGalley and the publisher for offering me a free ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
February 1, 2024
I was looking forward to reading this book. What's not to be excited about? A series of short stories written by a North Korean author, before, during, and post the war that created the two Koreas of today. The opportunity to look at life and events through the lens of someone not from the world that we know, for better and for worse.
In some ways, these stories lived up that expectation. I loved the unique perspective offered by the author. Especially the first few stories, describing the lives of simple people suffering under Japanese rule, are illuminating. They have an intrinsic simplicity that hides depth and thoughtfulness, reminding me of some of the works of the Russian greats at the end of the 19th century.
That being said, I struggled with this collection, and, while I'm happy I read it, I'm not I'd recommend it. The main issue I had is the quality of the storytelling. Indeed - it's incredibly difficult to separate the quality of the translation from the original text, but the result is nonetheless wooden and mechanical. The rhythm of the words and the sentences, and the resulting flow of each story felt imposed and artificial. While the content was great (in most cases), the form it took made it very difficult to enjoy the experience altogether.
The other reason I struggled is that the stories in the book became increasingly propagandist in style and substance in the 2nd half of the book. The author moves away from describing the impact of the terrible years of Korean subjugation on the individual to glorifying events of vengeance by people who could harm either the South Koreans or the Americans. While nothing wrong in telling these stories, and, indeed, propaganda can be done well (Gorky comes to mind), these stories felt like advertisements for the North Korean regime vs substantive explorations of human nature. Almost as if the author was paid to write them. I just didn't enjoy them, and, perhaps even worse, found them sickening.
Overall, can only recommend it to avid fans of Korean history, and perhaps those who want to find out more about propagandist literature. This is not an enjoyable read (again, perhaps due to the terrible translation).
My thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for providing me with an early copy of the book in return for an honest review.
In some ways, these stories lived up that expectation. I loved the unique perspective offered by the author. Especially the first few stories, describing the lives of simple people suffering under Japanese rule, are illuminating. They have an intrinsic simplicity that hides depth and thoughtfulness, reminding me of some of the works of the Russian greats at the end of the 19th century.
That being said, I struggled with this collection, and, while I'm happy I read it, I'm not I'd recommend it. The main issue I had is the quality of the storytelling. Indeed - it's incredibly difficult to separate the quality of the translation from the original text, but the result is nonetheless wooden and mechanical. The rhythm of the words and the sentences, and the resulting flow of each story felt imposed and artificial. While the content was great (in most cases), the form it took made it very difficult to enjoy the experience altogether.
The other reason I struggled is that the stories in the book became increasingly propagandist in style and substance in the 2nd half of the book. The author moves away from describing the impact of the terrible years of Korean subjugation on the individual to glorifying events of vengeance by people who could harm either the South Koreans or the Americans. While nothing wrong in telling these stories, and, indeed, propaganda can be done well (Gorky comes to mind), these stories felt like advertisements for the North Korean regime vs substantive explorations of human nature. Almost as if the author was paid to write them. I just didn't enjoy them, and, perhaps even worse, found them sickening.
Overall, can only recommend it to avid fans of Korean history, and perhaps those who want to find out more about propagandist literature. This is not an enjoyable read (again, perhaps due to the terrible translation).
My thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for providing me with an early copy of the book in return for an honest review.
April 18, 2025
Patterns of the Heart and Other Stories is the first book I have read by a North Korean writer after consuming a number of South Korean texts. It was interesting to read these tales coming from a different perspective. The book's translation incorporates the less good, older Korean romanisation system; however, it is the system still used in North Korea, so from that point of view the choice probably makes sense, even though the result is cumbersome. That aside, this was a fascinating collection of stories, each with something different to offer. As with any such anthology, some of the stories captured my interest more than others, but they were all worthwhile reading. I am giving this book 4 stars. Worth a look if you like short stories and have an interest in 20th century Korean history.
April 17, 2024
Thank you to NetGalley and Columbia University Press for sending me an advanced reader copy in exchange for my honest review!
Unfortunately I do not recommend reading this collection. I really struggled with this book and didn't enjoy many of the stories. Perhaps the translation was lacking, but the writing felt stiff and artificial. I also didn't enjoy or feel like I gained anything from reading the subject matter, especially in the 2nd half of the book.
Unfortunately I do not recommend reading this collection. I really struggled with this book and didn't enjoy many of the stories. Perhaps the translation was lacking, but the writing felt stiff and artificial. I also didn't enjoy or feel like I gained anything from reading the subject matter, especially in the 2nd half of the book.
March 14, 2024
Reviewed for Cha: An Asian Literary Journal. See the link for the full review. https://chajournal.blog/2024/03/13/pa...
to-read-actual
October 21, 2024Pub 2024
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