Yom Sang-seop’s novel was first serialised in the early 1930s in a popular Korean newspaper. Yom later revised and then published this in book form after WW2. It’s a claustrophobic portrait of colonial-era Seoul centred on three generations of a middle-class, Korean family. Jo Deok-gi is caught between his grandfather and father’s values, his grandfather’s traditional neo-Confucianism clashing with his father’s apparent embrace of Christianity. Deok-gi splits his time between his grandfather’s house in Korea, where Deok-gi’s wife and child also live, and his studies in Japan. When in Korea Deok-gi spends his spare hours with Byeong-hwa, a now-impoverished radical with close ties to Korea’s underground resistance movement. Their circle extends to factory girl Pil-sun and fiercely independent Gyeong-ae, Deok-gi’s peer and his father, Jo Sang-hun’s former lover.
Through his tight-knit cast of characters Yom charts emerging tensions and shifts in Korean society as the Jo family gradually become embroiled in a vicious inheritance battle. Yom’s Seoul is a place of sharp divides: between wealthy and poor Koreans, between Koreans and Japanese occupiers, between radicals and conservatives, between men and women. It’s an isolated, segregated city but it’s one in which appearances matter, strongly influenced by the growing consumer culture deliberately promoted by Japan - Yom devotes a surprising amount of space to describing his characters’ adoption or rejection of clothing styles and fashions. I found Yom’s contradictory portrayal of women particularly striking. One group’s embedded in the Korean family system, often unnamed other than as mothers, aunts or sisters, spending most of their time confined to domestic spaces. They seem to have little or no agency, other than in relation to men, condemned to the role of virtuous wife or, like the grandfather’s new partner known only as the "Suwon woman", grasping harridan. Then there are the ‘modern girls’ like Gyeong-ae reminiscent of the outsider women featured in Irmgard Keun’s novels of 1930s Germany. Korea’s ‘modern girls’ were liminal but conspicuous figures, ditching the hanbok for Western-inspired outfits copied from Hollywood movies and fashion magazines, cutting their hair and wearing make-up, scandalous to some, iconic to others. Like many real-life ‘modern girls’, Gyeong-ae has very little money but uses what she has to frequent cinemas and bars. But although she may seem to reinforce the stereotype, her subsequent actions go against it.
Surveillance in various forms is key to Yom’s narrative. His version of the Korean middle-class is one invested in appearances, apparently devoted to upholding a rigid set of social conventions yet happy to flout them when nobody’s looking. Jo Sang-hun is a prime example of this type of hypocrisy, “passing” as an upstanding church member but actually addicted to alcohol and the pursuit of vulnerable, younger women. A more sinister form of surveillance stems from Japan’s attempts to control Korean culture and thought, Yom’s is a world in which informants may be anywhere or anyone, and police are omnipresent, threatening figures lurking outside houses and bars, ready to round up anyone suspected of nationalist tendencies. Yom’s novel’s riddled with cliffhangers that betray its episodic origins and it can be dry in places but I found it incredibly compelling. The closing scenes in which police finally catch up with Yom’s main characters were close to devastating. As this unfolded, I was increasingly invested in a number of Yom’s characters so the abrupt ending was a definite blow. Most of Yom's plotlines are tied up but others are left unresolved - possibly because the likely fate of those involved would mar Yom’s attempt to provide 1940s’ readers with an optimistic ending. Translated by Yu Young-nan.
Rating: 3 to 3.5