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I'll Go On
Winner of the Daesan Literary Prize.
"That’s how it generally is with Aeja’s stories. They’re as potent as a putrid peach. Listening to her words your head starts to droop with their sticky juice trickling down your ears, until all you can do is succumb to the saccharine flow."
From one of South Korea’s most acclaimed young authors comes the story of two sisters, Sora and Nana. When Sora was ten years old, and Nana was nine, their father died in a freak accident at the factory where he worked, his body sucked under a huge cogwheel, crushed beyond recognition. Their mother Aeja, numb with grief, gives in to torpor, developing an unhealthy obsession with the paradoxical violence implicit in life.
Now adults, Sora finds herself dreaming of the past when she discovers that Nana is pregnant. Her initial reaction is shock – though they live together, she never even realised her younger sister had a lover – and Nana’s icy response to her attempt at being considerate (‘You hate this, so don’t pretend like I’m some poor pregnant woman you have to pity’) drives a wedge between the two. Can Naghi – the boy who shared their childhood, and the simple, nourishing meals cooked by his mother – help the sisters break free of Aeja’s worldview in which life is ultimately futile and love is always doomed?
A delicate stylist with an unflinching social gaze, in I’ll Go On Hwang Jungeun has crafted a poignant novel with an uncanny ear for the unspoken secrets and heartaches buried beneath daily life and family ritual. Above all, it is a stunning exploration of the intensity of early bonds – and the traces they leave on us as we grow up.
"That’s how it generally is with Aeja’s stories. They’re as potent as a putrid peach. Listening to her words your head starts to droop with their sticky juice trickling down your ears, until all you can do is succumb to the saccharine flow."
From one of South Korea’s most acclaimed young authors comes the story of two sisters, Sora and Nana. When Sora was ten years old, and Nana was nine, their father died in a freak accident at the factory where he worked, his body sucked under a huge cogwheel, crushed beyond recognition. Their mother Aeja, numb with grief, gives in to torpor, developing an unhealthy obsession with the paradoxical violence implicit in life.
Now adults, Sora finds herself dreaming of the past when she discovers that Nana is pregnant. Her initial reaction is shock – though they live together, she never even realised her younger sister had a lover – and Nana’s icy response to her attempt at being considerate (‘You hate this, so don’t pretend like I’m some poor pregnant woman you have to pity’) drives a wedge between the two. Can Naghi – the boy who shared their childhood, and the simple, nourishing meals cooked by his mother – help the sisters break free of Aeja’s worldview in which life is ultimately futile and love is always doomed?
A delicate stylist with an unflinching social gaze, in I’ll Go On Hwang Jungeun has crafted a poignant novel with an uncanny ear for the unspoken secrets and heartaches buried beneath daily life and family ritual. Above all, it is a stunning exploration of the intensity of early bonds – and the traces they leave on us as we grow up.
283 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2014
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About the author
Hwang Jungeun
12 books88 followersHwang Jung Eun is a South Korean writer and podcast celebrity.
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June 9, 2025
‘People are trifling, their lives meagre and fleeting. But this, Nana thinks, is also what makes them loveable.’
Some books have the ability to harmonize with your emotional currents, casting you about in their waves but before dashing you upon the rocks drift you safely to a glorious shore of understanding. Books you don’t simply read but experience. Hwang Jungeun has managed to craft precisely that kind of book with I’ll Go On, a book about two sisters and their lifelong friend as they question meaning in life and love, and a book that dominated my thoughts through early summer and left me so speechless I’m only now writing about it. This very lyrical novel is brilliantly translated by Emily Yae Won and conveys a linguistic playfulness in styles and structures that differentiate the internal monologues of the three characters. Social criticism abound in this novel, which feels like a cross between the themes in both Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami and Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo yet, perhaps even more effectively orchestrated despite being less overt. This melancholy but poignant and poetic novel takes aim at social constructs of family while examining the ways trauma and close-bonds travel with us throughout our lives, asking us what to make of our experiences in this vast world.
‘Don’t erase things from the world just because you are incapable of imagining them.’
This novel came to me highly recommended by Emily and her review is outstanding. I had to immediately order this, particularly as Tilted Axis Press is an incredible little publisher out of the UK with a mission statement about atoning for the harm of imperialism on global literature through centering translations of underrepresented writers, particularly women. This novel by South Korean author Hwang Jungeun perfectly fits that mission, with depictions of lower class working women—the sisters Nana and Sora—and a queer male character in Naghi, their lifelong friend. The inclusion of the queer perspective adds such a necessary and important voice to the prevailing themes of trauma and non-traditional family and is perhaps the most powerful section of the novel. Which is saying something as at the end of each section it seemed impossible for it to get any better but Hwang manages to consistently transcend.
Central to the novel is a trauma from childhood. The sister’s father has been killed in a workplace accident—devoured by the gears of a large machine—and their mother, Aeja, slips into depression and abandons her will to live, leaving the young girls to take care of themselves and each other.
Listening to their mother talk about the meaninglessness of life, ‘futile to the end - that’s human life for you and there’s no use fighting it,’ she says and her nihilistic worldview begins to seep into their lives while also fearing becoming the empty husk like their mother. Luckily they move into a shared building where they meet Naghi, who has also lost a father. Through shared meals, struggles and jokes, the three form a lasting bond, a ‘tribe’ they like to call it. As they grow up, they grow apart and Sora is shocked to discover through intuition that Nana is pregnant.
How to care for another person is a theme pulsing through the novel. Sora’s attempts at closeness are resisted by Nana who claims ‘you fake kindness, hiding your resentment and pretending to look out for me.’ The neglect from early life has left them timid of care from others, pushing people away when knowing they need them. Nana finds she is ‘between wishing for things to remain as they are and desiring just as strongly to smash things up, to break everything apart…’ There is a strong social insistence on marriage and family, particularly if a woman is pregnant or has a child, yet Nana’s section explores her fears of losing herself in the notion of a family. Hwang takes aim at patriarchal family structure, with Nana repulsed that her boyfriend’s father has a chamber pot only he uses but makes his wife clean for him. She is doubly repulsed when her boyfriend does not find this strange. ‘That's what family means to him: no longer counting as other people.’ She resists being married for the sake of family, numbing yourself into oblivion with a glazed gaze into a TV all day, everyday as your family members meld into a malaise of strangers around you like his family. But, if not family, what then?
The original title, Soranananaghi, combines the character names and references a drunk episode where Naghi makes three drops, each drop he names after the three of them, flow into one larger drop. While I’ll Go On is still a perfect title, being a mantra of Nana’s as well as the central statement of the book, this earlier title and scene show that family can simply be people who care about each other. Naghi acts as a caring father-figure to the girls, a stark contrast from his own abusive father. He works in a bar and is fond of preparing food, which becomes a symbol for shared love in the novel. This is particularly apparent in the three’s tradition to make dumplings together. They feed each other, they nourish each other, and through their shared strength each can say ‘I’ll go on.’
Contrasting to the nourishing of food is the way society consumes them. The father is quite literally consumed by a machine in the factory, a fairly direct criticism to the gears of capitalism devouring lives in labor to nourish itself in wealth much like Hwang examines in her other novel, One Hundred Shadows. In a quest for meaning in life, have we replaced meaning with consumption for the sake of consumption? Marketing of products tends to focus on the “experience” of the product or brand, targeting consumer psychographics for those most likely to be drawn into their mimicking of meaningfulness. But does it garner any real, authentic value in our lives? Hwang ask us to consider if we are all, like the father, the ones actually being consumed and digested by the machinations of capitalism.
Furthermore, she questions the ways we contort our own authentic experiences into ones that are better marketed through storytelling to achieve a purpose, such as the way Naghi distorts and escalates his father's flaws in order to impress the boy he likes until even he himself can't remember the truth. Storytelling is a way of passing on meaning, and Hwang caustions us that there is responsibilities to consider in such an art.
Society insists they act a certain way, marry a certain way, love a certain way, and those who are outcasts like the trio in this novel are assumed to be washed away into meaninglessness. Naghi can’t even love who he loves in the open. But love is what matters, and Naghi explains that pushing away those who truly care about you causes harm. Harm that lasts. In one of the most powerful scenes of their childhood he explains:
It is a plea to end the cycle of trauma, to not let one’s own hurt become a hurt to others. Each character has experienced their own share of grief, we all have in life, but smothering the grief in love and shared empathy is far more effective than allowing the grief to grow fangs and lash out at those around us.
‘Well, that’s how his words and his stories got to be in my blood and in my bones.’
There is a melancholy that seeps through the story and deep into the reader, but it is not one that saddens you so much as makes you slow down into it’s rhythm and feel the world pulse around you. It is kept upbeat and alive through the terrific wordplay and an introspective format that pushes the narrative forward while also mimicking interior conversations questioning the self. The translation is excellent and is careful to not overtranslate, keeping the culture within its own framing and allowing an outside reader to feel welcomed but allowing opportunity to dig into word meanings and cultural dynamics on their own time if they so choose. It’s a translation style I’ve come to appreciate most.
All this adds up to quite a remarkable novel and Hwang is able to fold a multitude of themes into the mix while successfully investigating all of them without it feeling overly stuffed. It wades into really nuanced examinations on society, womanhood, queerness, poverty and more and continuously returns with golden insights. While the book may seem dark, the tone is rather inviting and warm and so are the conclusions. Sure, life may seem meaningless, particularly for those on the outside of things, but, perhaps, nothing is all that meaningless. Perhaps the sheer act of going on amidst it all is what matters. Hwang has crafted a gorgeous novel that will inspire you and help you remember that you, too, can go on.
5/5
’all may well be insignificant so far as the world's concerned, mere fleeting and therefore inconsequential beings. But the more she thinks about it, the more it seems untrue that by the same token they're therefore not worth cherishing.’
Some books have the ability to harmonize with your emotional currents, casting you about in their waves but before dashing you upon the rocks drift you safely to a glorious shore of understanding. Books you don’t simply read but experience. Hwang Jungeun has managed to craft precisely that kind of book with I’ll Go On, a book about two sisters and their lifelong friend as they question meaning in life and love, and a book that dominated my thoughts through early summer and left me so speechless I’m only now writing about it. This very lyrical novel is brilliantly translated by Emily Yae Won and conveys a linguistic playfulness in styles and structures that differentiate the internal monologues of the three characters. Social criticism abound in this novel, which feels like a cross between the themes in both Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami and Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo yet, perhaps even more effectively orchestrated despite being less overt. This melancholy but poignant and poetic novel takes aim at social constructs of family while examining the ways trauma and close-bonds travel with us throughout our lives, asking us what to make of our experiences in this vast world.
‘Don’t erase things from the world just because you are incapable of imagining them.’
This novel came to me highly recommended by Emily and her review is outstanding. I had to immediately order this, particularly as Tilted Axis Press is an incredible little publisher out of the UK with a mission statement about atoning for the harm of imperialism on global literature through centering translations of underrepresented writers, particularly women. This novel by South Korean author Hwang Jungeun perfectly fits that mission, with depictions of lower class working women—the sisters Nana and Sora—and a queer male character in Naghi, their lifelong friend. The inclusion of the queer perspective adds such a necessary and important voice to the prevailing themes of trauma and non-traditional family and is perhaps the most powerful section of the novel. Which is saying something as at the end of each section it seemed impossible for it to get any better but Hwang manages to consistently transcend.
Central to the novel is a trauma from childhood. The sister’s father has been killed in a workplace accident—devoured by the gears of a large machine—and their mother, Aeja, slips into depression and abandons her will to live, leaving the young girls to take care of themselves and each other.
’Aeja, was someone who, true to her own name, once brimmed with love, was nothing if not love. And so upon losing that love, she endued up a curious thing: she ended up a mere empty husk.’
Listening to their mother talk about the meaninglessness of life, ‘futile to the end - that’s human life for you and there’s no use fighting it,’ she says and her nihilistic worldview begins to seep into their lives while also fearing becoming the empty husk like their mother. Luckily they move into a shared building where they meet Naghi, who has also lost a father. Through shared meals, struggles and jokes, the three form a lasting bond, a ‘tribe’ they like to call it. As they grow up, they grow apart and Sora is shocked to discover through intuition that Nana is pregnant.
How to care for another person is a theme pulsing through the novel. Sora’s attempts at closeness are resisted by Nana who claims ‘you fake kindness, hiding your resentment and pretending to look out for me.’ The neglect from early life has left them timid of care from others, pushing people away when knowing they need them. Nana finds she is ‘between wishing for things to remain as they are and desiring just as strongly to smash things up, to break everything apart…’ There is a strong social insistence on marriage and family, particularly if a woman is pregnant or has a child, yet Nana’s section explores her fears of losing herself in the notion of a family. Hwang takes aim at patriarchal family structure, with Nana repulsed that her boyfriend’s father has a chamber pot only he uses but makes his wife clean for him. She is doubly repulsed when her boyfriend does not find this strange. ‘That's what family means to him: no longer counting as other people.’ She resists being married for the sake of family, numbing yourself into oblivion with a glazed gaze into a TV all day, everyday as your family members meld into a malaise of strangers around you like his family. But, if not family, what then?
The original title, Soranananaghi, combines the character names and references a drunk episode where Naghi makes three drops, each drop he names after the three of them, flow into one larger drop. While I’ll Go On is still a perfect title, being a mantra of Nana’s as well as the central statement of the book, this earlier title and scene show that family can simply be people who care about each other. Naghi acts as a caring father-figure to the girls, a stark contrast from his own abusive father. He works in a bar and is fond of preparing food, which becomes a symbol for shared love in the novel. This is particularly apparent in the three’s tradition to make dumplings together. They feed each other, they nourish each other, and through their shared strength each can say ‘I’ll go on.’
Contrasting to the nourishing of food is the way society consumes them. The father is quite literally consumed by a machine in the factory, a fairly direct criticism to the gears of capitalism devouring lives in labor to nourish itself in wealth much like Hwang examines in her other novel, One Hundred Shadows. In a quest for meaning in life, have we replaced meaning with consumption for the sake of consumption? Marketing of products tends to focus on the “experience” of the product or brand, targeting consumer psychographics for those most likely to be drawn into their mimicking of meaningfulness. But does it garner any real, authentic value in our lives? Hwang ask us to consider if we are all, like the father, the ones actually being consumed and digested by the machinations of capitalism.
Furthermore, she questions the ways we contort our own authentic experiences into ones that are better marketed through storytelling to achieve a purpose, such as the way Naghi distorts and escalates his father's flaws in order to impress the boy he likes until even he himself can't remember the truth. Storytelling is a way of passing on meaning, and Hwang caustions us that there is responsibilities to consider in such an art.
Society insists they act a certain way, marry a certain way, love a certain way, and those who are outcasts like the trio in this novel are assumed to be washed away into meaninglessness. Naghi can’t even love who he loves in the open. But love is what matters, and Naghi explains that pushing away those who truly care about you causes harm. Harm that lasts. In one of the most powerful scenes of their childhood he explains:
’Anytime you hurt, remember that other people can hurt just as much. You've got to make that connection. But ...most of the time it might seem more natural to pretend otherwise. But that's why we've got to remember. Because if we don't, we'll forget, entirely.
And forgetting, that's how people turn monstrous.’
It is a plea to end the cycle of trauma, to not let one’s own hurt become a hurt to others. Each character has experienced their own share of grief, we all have in life, but smothering the grief in love and shared empathy is far more effective than allowing the grief to grow fangs and lash out at those around us.
‘Well, that’s how his words and his stories got to be in my blood and in my bones.’
There is a melancholy that seeps through the story and deep into the reader, but it is not one that saddens you so much as makes you slow down into it’s rhythm and feel the world pulse around you. It is kept upbeat and alive through the terrific wordplay and an introspective format that pushes the narrative forward while also mimicking interior conversations questioning the self. The translation is excellent and is careful to not overtranslate, keeping the culture within its own framing and allowing an outside reader to feel welcomed but allowing opportunity to dig into word meanings and cultural dynamics on their own time if they so choose. It’s a translation style I’ve come to appreciate most.
All this adds up to quite a remarkable novel and Hwang is able to fold a multitude of themes into the mix while successfully investigating all of them without it feeling overly stuffed. It wades into really nuanced examinations on society, womanhood, queerness, poverty and more and continuously returns with golden insights. While the book may seem dark, the tone is rather inviting and warm and so are the conclusions. Sure, life may seem meaningless, particularly for those on the outside of things, but, perhaps, nothing is all that meaningless. Perhaps the sheer act of going on amidst it all is what matters. Hwang has crafted a gorgeous novel that will inspire you and help you remember that you, too, can go on.
5/5
’all may well be insignificant so far as the world's concerned, mere fleeting and therefore inconsequential beings. But the more she thinks about it, the more it seems untrue that by the same token they're therefore not worth cherishing.’
July 28, 2023
’Don’t ever forget it. Anytime you hurt, remember that other people can hurt just as much. You’ve got to make that connection. But most of the time, that connection, it might not happen as often as we’d think. Most of the time it might seem more natural to pretend otherwise. But that’s why we’ve got to remember. Because if we don’t, we’ll forget, entirely. And forgetting, that’s how people turn monstrous.’
I don’t think Hwang had intended for this to be a ‘feminist novel’; it was just happenstance. Either that, or she wrote it so well that it doesn’t even felt like she ‘tried’. Hwang covers a whole set of domestic, political, and societal problems. The novel explores both women's and men’s issues in the public and domestic spheres. Extremely well-written. Translation’s absolutely fantastic, and the entire novel was so beautifully structured. I’d have been quite happy with just Sora’s story (first section), but Nana’s story came right after – which was mad brilliant, if not more brilliant than Sora’s. She wraps everything up with Naghi’s story which was just such a perfect way to conclude the novel. I expected a basic ‘dosirak’, but this was a glorious literary buffet that I almost feel undeserving of and was definitely unprepared for. Read it in less than 2 days.
‘You know how that sip of milk you have in the morning fattens up your blood and muscles? Well, that’s how his words and his stories got to be in my blood and in my bones, Aeja said, after which she seemed to sink back into her thoughts.’
I complained about Cho's Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 lacking a male perspective. I complained about (Breasts and Eggs) Kawakami’s characters being too in-their-own-heads. Kawakami’s story structure was a bit of a sticky mess, and it lacked control. Hwang is extremely meticulous when it comes that the structure and careful composition of the novel. The men in both Kawakami and Cho’s novel were so underdeveloped in terms of characterisation – they didn’t even feel ‘human’ enough. But I think for Kawakami, it’s not a men/women thing. It’s just what I’ve come to realise after reading her most recent novel, Heaven – that she tends to write freakishly ‘simple’ characters (which works for her novels; and which I sort of ‘get’ since it’s a play on ‘naivety’ – leading to again another kind of disparity/imbalance – socioeconomic status and despotism). I didn’t think at first, that my favourite character in Hwang’s novel would be Naghi. But she wrote him so well, it was very hard to not like him. Also, a queer perspective and character(s) in the novel was such a brilliant surprise. Hwang really outdid herself by going at the whole patriarchal tangle from so many angles.
‘Sometimes I refer to myself as Nana. Only people with an inflated ego call themselves by their own name, I’ve been told in one standoffish tone or another. But as far as Nana’s concerned, anyone who finds that much surplus ego offensive enough to point out, is bound to have an inflated sense of self, too. I am Nana. Nana is me. And Nana finds that the list of things about which she feels indifferent outruns the tally of her likes and dislikes. Liking, disliking: either way, one is bound to have to commit, to exert an effort. Better, then, to steer clear and remain ambivalent.’
‘To have a child is to be a mother, and to be a mother is to become Aeja. That’s how my circuit’s been set, twisted or not. Not so much in the way I think, but in the way I feel. And so it’s best not to make a baby in the first place. As long as there’s no baby there’s no mother-to-be, and as long as there’s no mother there’s no Aeja. Not anymore. It’s better that way. Aeja’s to be pitied, yes. She’s pitiful to such a degree that she’s almost loveable, but it’s better if she’s not around – better if she’s not in the world.’
Aeja is such a well-written character. I can’t think of a close contender in terms of problematic maternal figures in a work of literature that uses ‘neglect’ so effectively as a form of abuse – be it in a literal/emotional sense. Flynn executes brilliantly in her own way the characterisation of an abusive maternal figure in Sharp Objects. But Hwang’s portrayal is more subtle, therefore quietly and persistently, effectively disturbing. It reminded me of Miyazaki/Ghibli films where the source of terror/abuse is not the highlight of the show, but a forbidding background. Aeja ceased to truly exist after her husband’s gone because she was never really herself when he was there. She was just his ‘add-on’ in life – a missus something – a wife of a man. Because of this, the children are to her more like another set of ‘chores’ to complete. How many women have backed out of a divorce because the thought of handling their children on their own seemed too daunting – of a ‘chore’? Too much of a ‘burden’ to carry on their own? Why is that? If the children are so dear to them as they might claim, why did they place a bet on them on something so risky? Why does society frown upon single mothers who single-handedly, and intentionally take on that so-called ‘burden’ instead? And even worse on single parents who had chosen to raise their own children without a partner from the start – why?
‘Any more talk and Nana might burst into tears, and when Nana cries, Sora cries – which makes Nana cry in turn, and Sora will cry because now Nana is crying, which will make Nana cry which makes Sora cry. This is a given. There won’t be any stopping once it’s begun, like cogwheels, the mechanism of cogwheels that spin together and against each other on and on and on the moment, they’re set in motion. Nana knows this and Sora knows it too. This is why Nana hardly ever cries and why Sora hardly ever cries. Hardly ever. To give in to crying is plain unacceptable.’
Although Sora and Nana have struggled to relate or ‘be there’ for each other, in their own separately-hurting ways, they keep trying, keep going on. Others have complained that it’s bad ‘weird’ that one sister dreamt of the other being pregnant. But I think ‘realism’ is not quite the point of it. Sora and Nana’s relationship is painfully obligatory because they are the only ‘family’ they have – not by choice in every way. Their relationship is parasitic at times, but always symbiotic.
‘To invite him here and introduce him to Sora is to allow the softest, most tender part of Nana’s world to come into contact with Moseh ssi…The part of Nana that appears tranquil but is in fact forever quivering and vacillating – where the most sensitive of her scales are located. More than anything else, Nana’s not sure if she wants to open up Sora and Aeja and Nana herself to Moseh ssi, not so much the actual Sora, Aeja, and Nana, but as they exist for her, inside her. Between wishing for things to remain as they are and desiring just as strongly to smash things up, to break everything apart, Nana’s internal landscape has been in severe upheaval these days.’
I ache for a film adaptation of Hwang’s book, or at least a short TV series – like something with a similar quality to Gillian Flynn’s ‘Sharp Objects’ made even more glorious by Jean-Marc Valée. When the sisters go over to Sunja and Naghi’s house to make ‘dumplings’, it shows not just the passing of time, but also that they’ve made it through another year despite everything they’ve been through. They don’t just observe and feel the change in the seasons and time but also the change in each other. The acknowledgement of each other’s survival and the promise of living/existence – an unspoken contract to commit to this annual ritual. The unspoken promise to carry on regardless. To ‘go on’ – for another if not for oneself. In the end, it’s almost the same thing, isn’t it?
‘Eat mandu for the filling, eat songpyun for the skin. So Ajumoni declares as she pours in the final ingredient for the filling, long green onions, into the basin. These come last. Added too early, their hollow leaves will only become crushed and ooze out slime, making everything stick and smell. Nana learned this from Ajumoni. Now she deftly mixes in the onions with a few light movements, as she’s been taught to do. Next she picks up a piece of mandu skin that Oraboni and Sora are rolling out, lays it on the palm of her hand, fills it, then folds the ends together to seal it. As the two steps progress at different speeds, once there’s a pile of mandu skins Oraboni or Sora will switch to the filling, and switch back again when they start to run low. Once sealed, the dumplings must be pressed gently in flour before being laid out on the trays to prevent sticking. Arranged in neat rows, the dumplings made by Sora and Nana and Oraboni are all of a different shape.’
I love most kinds of dumplings - whether it be the suet-filled, bone marrow-filled dumplings in a dark, meaty stew; or a tenderly steamed delicate dough parcels carrying fermented vegetables and minced meat/fish. A close equivalent to ‘dumplings’ although not quite the same – would be pancakes/waffles. It’s transgressive; it’s not just a simple form of sustenance. There’s a warm, fuzzy intimacy in the process. I’ve learned from reading Hwang’s book about why sometimes my frozen dumplings would break when boiled. According to Sunja, having them par-steamed before freezing them helps prevent that kind of heart-wrenching disaster. Dumplings have been used in the media in so many different ways, and for different reasons. I watched ‘Dumplings’ (2004), by (Second Wave (arguably the ‘golden era’) Hong Kong filmmaker) Fruit Chan and so it’s long remained an awkward stain in my memory. But Hwang’s representation of dumplings will probably triumph all the others for me now.
‘By first light, half of them would need to be thrown out…The food bin will have to be packed full of mandu. It’s no use suggesting we try to make a bit less since there aren’t enough of us to eat it all: every year it’s the same. I wonder if she does this just to show me, if insisting on making more mandu than we can handle is her way of belabouring a point. A silent reproach implying that it’s my refusal to expand the family that leads to all this waste.’
Naghi having a parent with a substance abuse issue was an interesting choice on Hwang’s part because it’s such a prevalent issue; it’s extremely medieval, yet so contemporary. It’s hard to convey the everlasting effect it has on one (to someone else without a similar experience) because I suppose it’s not as direct and visible as being physically abused, yet it’s not quite the same as living with a mate who’s constantly shitfaced. Whenever I think about ‘abusive’ parents, I am reminded of the guinea pigs I had as a child. When one of them died, the other one starved itself to death. Call it romantic, but at whose expense? The bildungsroman subplot of Naghi’s story reveals a sensitive male character. Being sensitive is never a weakness but a strength. It allows one to navigate the ‘world’ better, communicate better, and inevitably understand better. I’d like to think that it’s not something one is ‘born with’. Like everything else it takes practice, and a deliberate, conscious choice to perpetuate the habit. The emotional distance between the characters in the novel may come across as being mildly triggering. But the ways in which they (individually) work to fill those gaps with light and love is something worth reading. It reminds me of my Hoya plants – to water only when necessary. To be fed gently, but consistently. Filtered light only, and not too harshly. Destroy all mealybugs, but not at the expense of the leaves. Each Hoya requires a different pattern of ‘care’ – but each a tender promise – and that’s the beauty of it all.
‘Tatami are tatami. The food was generally salty and didn’t suit me. The high streets were full of people. I worked, ate, slept, and yes, felt the occasional earthquakes. I suffered from skin problems. People tend to develop skin problems when they’re nutritionally deprived and under stress.’
‘Trifles and things of no consequence. That’s life for you: it can be halted at any moment, and trifles are all any human life ever amounts to, she says, and Nana does find herself, for the most part, agreeing with her. People are trifling, their lives meagre and fleeting. But this, Nana thinks, is also what makes them loveable. For keeping on amid the inconsequential.’
Cho’s Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 felt too one-sided; too little care and attention was given to the themes she was covering. It might have slightly underwhelming as a novel, but the film adaptation did it a grand favour by delivering what the novel didn’t/couldn’t – making the characters a lot more believable and humane. Cho’s novel/film adaptation works brilliantly as a social litmus test because the it was written in a more direct form – not as multi-layered as Hwang’s. I appreciate how both Cho and Hwang portrayed the maternal figure as a primary source of trauma for daughters (an actually too common concept/issue that is often overlooked/ignored). Abusive neglect, misplaced priorities, preferential/biased feelings and decisions; and mental/emotional battering with everlasting aftershocks. To treat the daughters like a societal burden while the sons are always perceived as an ‘auspicious’ symbol and a ‘priority’. It’s not very long ago (esp. in Asia) that daughters were illegally and legally aborted, and in more rural or poverty-stricken areas – just tossed away and let die. And like instead of questioning it, the society just let that slide and be like ‘yea, makes sense’. Hwang covers both the cultural and political situation of the problem. She takes the primary and secondary ‘caregivers’ in and out of the picture and composed the whole thing brilliantly. I’ve certainly underestimated Hwang, and I feel utterly ashamed, apologetic. I’m both embarrassed, and in utter awe, in the best possible way.
‘And how is it, the world? Fine, is it? Fit enough that I can bring a child into it? What if the baby asks me why I let it be born? Look, the average lifespan these days is about eighty years, right. What if in all that time there’s nothing but misery? What if the baby, born because of me, spends thirty, forty years of its life being plain miserable? What if it regrets being born? No matter how much you weigh and consider beforehand, there’s still all this other stuff to think about, isn’t there. So I want to, I want to think more on it, but when I do then I have to also think about whether it’s right or good to spend so much time thinking so deeply in the first place. Listen, how does everyone manage it. How do people make babies at all, in fact? How do they dare have them? Is everyone thinking these same thoughts, being ever so conscientious, and all the while busily trying to make a baby? Are they all tirelessly considering all this, in fact, with as much fervour as they can muster, and only afterwards, once they’ve reached a decision resolving to have and raise a child?’
I believe I'd struggled, and took such a long time to write this review because of how much I adore this novel. This is probably the longest review I’ve ever written on GR. As a reader, a daughter, and a woman, I can’t be more grateful to Hwang for having written it. It opens up a fresh perspective in the literary scene that is too often not given enough attention, or even treated too lightly. A few writers have experimented and scratched the surface of such sensitive, delicate, domestic, familial themes, but I think Hwang struck a far deeper dig at this. Hwang portrayed a complicated but not uncommon domestic life brilliantly. I love that Hwang did not romanticise the ‘neglect’ and emotional/mental abuse that the characters had to bear. The ending was pretty much perfect; it would feel too much to ask for more than that because it was so wonderfully delivered. This novel is for everyone.
‘Don’t erase things from the world just because you are incapable of imagining them.’
December 5, 2018
The baby's settled in for the night now. Sora and Oraboni are breathing easily in their sleep. Everyone is slumbering. I sit in the dark, lending my ear to these tenuous sounds. Day will break before long.
I'll go on.
Originally published in Korea in 2014, 계속하겠습니다 by 황정은 (Hwang Jung-eun) has been translated as I'll Go On (a good English rendition of the original title) into English by Emily Jae-Won and published by Tilted Axis, the small independent press founded by Deborah Smith, herself an award-winning Korean-to-English translator.
Tilted Axis states its mission as publishing the books that might not otherwise make it into English, for the very reasons that make them exciting to us – artistic originality, radical vision, the sense that here is something new.
Tilting the axis of world literature from the centre to the margins allows us to challenge that very division. These margins are spaces of compelling innovation, where multiple traditions spark new forms and translation plays a crucial role.
As part of carving out a new direction in the publishing industry, Tilted Axis is also dedicated to improving access. We’re proud to pay our translators the proper rate, and to operate without unpaid interns.
This is the second 황정은 novel in translation from Tilted Axis, the first her 백의 그림자 / One Hundred Shadows was, per my review (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), a short but beautifully written novel, with prose that is sparse but enigmatic, and at times fantastical.
I'll Go On, the Korean original of which won the Daesen Literary Award, is a slightly more conventional work, telling the story of two sisters Nana and Sora and their friend Naghi Oraboni. Their age isn't specified although I took them as 20-30 somethings at the time of the novel.
Nana and Sora's father died in an industrial accident when they were young and they and their mother, Aeja, moved into a shared apartment (with a partitioning wall) with Naghi and his mother (Sunja, who they refer to as Sunja Ajumoni 아줌머니, like Auntie Sunja). Naghi's father also died, of a sudden stroke while working. As the novel opens, Sora has a 태몽, a taemong, a conception dream, but not having had sex for a year suspects the dream relates to Nana. And indeed Nana does turn out to be pregnant, via a co-worker Moseh.
The narrative of the novel, told in three sections narrated by Sora, Nana and Naghi in turn, concerns the dynamic between the sisters, their relationship with Naghi (and some secrets he has of his own), and then Sora and Nana both coming to terms with Nana's pregnancy. The key is how their childhood experiences echo down their later lives as adults.
The excellent Tony's Reading List blog provides a much more detailed and insightful view of the dynamics of the novel: https://tonysreadinglist.wordpress.co...
I wanted to focus here on the translation and the use of romanised Korean hangeul throughout the text, as the emphasis on properly-paid and high quality translation is key to Tilted Axis's mission.
Emily Yae Won has previously translated English books into Korean including works by Ali Smith, Joanna Walsh and Deborah Levy. This is her first published translation in the opposite direction, but I hope not her last, as I was very impressed by the way she preserved the 'Koreanness' of the text, as indeed did Jung Yewon in her translation of One Hundred Shadows.
For example, both novels have characters eating a Korean lunch-in-a-box: 도시각. Each renders in with the romanised equivalent dosirak (albeit doshirak would be closer to the sound). Jung Yewon calls it a "dosirak box lunch"; Emily Yae Won also includes the English translation but only later down the page when the lunchbox is again referred to, this time as lunchbox.
The names of the characters are also important to the text, 소라 (Sora), 나나 (Nana) and 나기 (Naghi). When each character starts their narration the Chinese characters (한자 hanja) behind their names are described which serves as a self-introduction to their birth story.
The Korean letters, 한글, also play a key role.
In Korean na, 나 is the informal first person pronoun, and so Nana often drops into the the third person in midst of her first person narration - even when talking to Sora. Saying 'Nana did X', is essentially saying 'I I did X'.
The translation panel, which is a lovely feature of Tilted Axis's work, draws the obvious parallel of the three names with 소나기 (phonetically sonagi)- a rain shower - and also observes that the original serialisation of the novel was under the title 소라나나나기, a nonsense word from combining the three names.
And there is another incident narrated from their different perspectives by both Sora and Naghi where, just before he left on a trip to Japan, he pointed to three drops of water on a table as representing the three of them. In his retelling, the separate drops eventually merge, and form a shape resembling a moth (나방, nabang) or butterfly (나비, nabi), leading Sora and Naghi to coin the term 소라 나나 나기 나비바 (sora nana nagi nabiba) for the three of them.
At other times, the characters (in the original) use English words, but Emily Yae Won cleverly renders them in the English text as a Korean speaker would render them phonetically, so:
Misuteri (미스테리) for mystery - used in the passage below
Dehmiji (데미지) damage - used in the phrase 'social damage', which the father of Nana's child accuses her of inflicting on the unborn baby when she tells him she has no interest in staying in a relationship with him.
All of this is explained to an extent, but also left to the reader at times to infer from context. As a (poor) Korean speaker I found it wonderful, but would be interested to know what those completely unfamiliar with the language felt.
Finally, an extended passage from the novel which is representative of the narration. This is a key passage where Nana and Sora are scrubbing each other's backs at a public bath, an ideal occasion to also exchange unpleasant truths. Nana blurts out something that had been troubling her ever since she visited the parents of Moseh (who she always refers to by the polite Moseh ssi). The small incident is perhaps symptomatic of her not really understanding or buying in to a traditional wife-subordinate-to-husband family dynamic, and ultimately is the seed that leads to her deciding to bring up her baby alone. And Sora also takes the opportunity to admit what had been festering between the sisters all along - her bewilderment as to why Nana would even want to keep the baby:
There’s a chamber pot at Moseh ssi’s house, I blurt out as I work on Sora’s back.
A chamber pot, at home.
Whose home?
Moseh ssi – the baby’s father.
Father?
He’s the father.
And his name is Moseh?
Moseh, Moseh ssi. And they have a chamber pot at home, I repeat. It’s not as if any of them are ill, really, and their toilet’s fully functioning, but still they had one.
Why is that?
I asked Moseh ssi on the way back, and he said his father uses it.
Maybe he’s unwell? Maybe he has an illness and needs one?
I asked him that.
And?
He said there was no reason. That he’s always used one for no real reason. I asked if his father empties it himself and Moseh ssi said no. His father uses the pot, and his mother empties and cleans it. He said this as if it were nothing. He must have answered as if it were nothing because he actually thinks it’s nothing, right? And then he asked me what was strange about it, if it was strange to have a chamber pot, or if I thought chamber pots were weird. Of course they’re not. As far as Nana’s concerned, you might see one in any number of homes. But what I do find weird, the point of this, is that the father doesn’t empty the pot himself but gets someone else to do the job for him. In a house with two perfectly functioning bathrooms, both a few steps away at most – I mean, isn’t that weird? To shit or pee in a brass bowl and then leave the cleaning of it to someone else when you live in a house like that?
But it seemed like Moseh ssi had never really considered any of this. He didn’t find it at all strange that the person using the chamber pot and the person emptying it would be two different people – and the more Nana thought about it, this seemed to be the strangest part of it. It just doesn’t make sense, I can’t figure it out: why Moseh ssi is the way he is, why Moseh ssi’s father does what he does, why Moseh ssi’s mother takes it upon herself to clean the bowl. What kind of dynamic is at work there? What would you say it was? The entire way home I kept going over it in my mind, and still Nana doesn’t know. What do you think?
I don’t know.
Right.
Maybe that’s the point.
What is?
That we don’t know, Sora says.
The things we can’t seem to figure out no matter how much we think about and how deeply we look into them – maybe these things simply aren’t meant to be figured out, they’re not meant to be known. Like an unfathomable void. A misuteri, she says, mystery, a sort of black hole. And in that family, the black hole happens to be the chamber pot. They may even be aware that the chamber pot is their version of the unknowable. Or maybe they’ve never even thought about it along these lines – but even so, the point is that some things are impossible to comprehend. That pot may simply be their family misuteri, the black hole in their midst, and it just happens to on their bathroom floor.
Misuteri, Nana hears Sora say, and repeats the word, misuteri, misuteri, until I feel a surge of resentment that makes me pull away from her – thinking this might be it, the reason Sora has come to not know, and not see: Sora’s mechanism. I glare at the bare skin on her back, at the strands of wet hair. And in that moment I hear myself say to her small, narrow, wet back – her delicate and therefore hateful back – what are you saying? My voice is trembling.
How can you – what are you saying?
Huh?
The bowl – that’s why it’s there in the first place, because people assume it’s not meant to be known. Because no one will think about it seriously, that’s why it’s there, that’s why they go on using it the way they do, can’t you see that? Whatever it is, bowl or black hole, the point is to think, to consider it, to give it proper thought.
Proper thought?
Proper thought.
Well, maybe you should take that advice yourself.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Why are you keeping it? Sora asks in lieu of an answer.
I'll go on.
Originally published in Korea in 2014, 계속하겠습니다 by 황정은 (Hwang Jung-eun) has been translated as I'll Go On (a good English rendition of the original title) into English by Emily Jae-Won and published by Tilted Axis, the small independent press founded by Deborah Smith, herself an award-winning Korean-to-English translator.
Tilted Axis states its mission as publishing the books that might not otherwise make it into English, for the very reasons that make them exciting to us – artistic originality, radical vision, the sense that here is something new.
Tilting the axis of world literature from the centre to the margins allows us to challenge that very division. These margins are spaces of compelling innovation, where multiple traditions spark new forms and translation plays a crucial role.
As part of carving out a new direction in the publishing industry, Tilted Axis is also dedicated to improving access. We’re proud to pay our translators the proper rate, and to operate without unpaid interns.
This is the second 황정은 novel in translation from Tilted Axis, the first her 백의 그림자 / One Hundred Shadows was, per my review (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), a short but beautifully written novel, with prose that is sparse but enigmatic, and at times fantastical.
I'll Go On, the Korean original of which won the Daesen Literary Award, is a slightly more conventional work, telling the story of two sisters Nana and Sora and their friend Naghi Oraboni. Their age isn't specified although I took them as 20-30 somethings at the time of the novel.
Nana and Sora's father died in an industrial accident when they were young and they and their mother, Aeja, moved into a shared apartment (with a partitioning wall) with Naghi and his mother (Sunja, who they refer to as Sunja Ajumoni 아줌머니, like Auntie Sunja). Naghi's father also died, of a sudden stroke while working. As the novel opens, Sora has a 태몽, a taemong, a conception dream, but not having had sex for a year suspects the dream relates to Nana. And indeed Nana does turn out to be pregnant, via a co-worker Moseh.
The narrative of the novel, told in three sections narrated by Sora, Nana and Naghi in turn, concerns the dynamic between the sisters, their relationship with Naghi (and some secrets he has of his own), and then Sora and Nana both coming to terms with Nana's pregnancy. The key is how their childhood experiences echo down their later lives as adults.
The excellent Tony's Reading List blog provides a much more detailed and insightful view of the dynamics of the novel: https://tonysreadinglist.wordpress.co...
I wanted to focus here on the translation and the use of romanised Korean hangeul throughout the text, as the emphasis on properly-paid and high quality translation is key to Tilted Axis's mission.
Emily Yae Won has previously translated English books into Korean including works by Ali Smith, Joanna Walsh and Deborah Levy. This is her first published translation in the opposite direction, but I hope not her last, as I was very impressed by the way she preserved the 'Koreanness' of the text, as indeed did Jung Yewon in her translation of One Hundred Shadows.
For example, both novels have characters eating a Korean lunch-in-a-box: 도시각. Each renders in with the romanised equivalent dosirak (albeit doshirak would be closer to the sound). Jung Yewon calls it a "dosirak box lunch"; Emily Yae Won also includes the English translation but only later down the page when the lunchbox is again referred to, this time as lunchbox.
The names of the characters are also important to the text, 소라 (Sora), 나나 (Nana) and 나기 (Naghi). When each character starts their narration the Chinese characters (한자 hanja) behind their names are described which serves as a self-introduction to their birth story.
The Korean letters, 한글, also play a key role.
In Korean na, 나 is the informal first person pronoun, and so Nana often drops into the the third person in midst of her first person narration - even when talking to Sora. Saying 'Nana did X', is essentially saying 'I I did X'.
The translation panel, which is a lovely feature of Tilted Axis's work, draws the obvious parallel of the three names with 소나기 (phonetically sonagi)- a rain shower - and also observes that the original serialisation of the novel was under the title 소라나나나기, a nonsense word from combining the three names.
And there is another incident narrated from their different perspectives by both Sora and Naghi where, just before he left on a trip to Japan, he pointed to three drops of water on a table as representing the three of them. In his retelling, the separate drops eventually merge, and form a shape resembling a moth (나방, nabang) or butterfly (나비, nabi), leading Sora and Naghi to coin the term 소라 나나 나기 나비바 (sora nana nagi nabiba) for the three of them.
At other times, the characters (in the original) use English words, but Emily Yae Won cleverly renders them in the English text as a Korean speaker would render them phonetically, so:
Misuteri (미스테리) for mystery - used in the passage below
Dehmiji (데미지) damage - used in the phrase 'social damage', which the father of Nana's child accuses her of inflicting on the unborn baby when she tells him she has no interest in staying in a relationship with him.
All of this is explained to an extent, but also left to the reader at times to infer from context. As a (poor) Korean speaker I found it wonderful, but would be interested to know what those completely unfamiliar with the language felt.
Finally, an extended passage from the novel which is representative of the narration. This is a key passage where Nana and Sora are scrubbing each other's backs at a public bath, an ideal occasion to also exchange unpleasant truths. Nana blurts out something that had been troubling her ever since she visited the parents of Moseh (who she always refers to by the polite Moseh ssi). The small incident is perhaps symptomatic of her not really understanding or buying in to a traditional wife-subordinate-to-husband family dynamic, and ultimately is the seed that leads to her deciding to bring up her baby alone. And Sora also takes the opportunity to admit what had been festering between the sisters all along - her bewilderment as to why Nana would even want to keep the baby:
There’s a chamber pot at Moseh ssi’s house, I blurt out as I work on Sora’s back.
A chamber pot, at home.
Whose home?
Moseh ssi – the baby’s father.
Father?
He’s the father.
And his name is Moseh?
Moseh, Moseh ssi. And they have a chamber pot at home, I repeat. It’s not as if any of them are ill, really, and their toilet’s fully functioning, but still they had one.
Why is that?
I asked Moseh ssi on the way back, and he said his father uses it.
Maybe he’s unwell? Maybe he has an illness and needs one?
I asked him that.
And?
He said there was no reason. That he’s always used one for no real reason. I asked if his father empties it himself and Moseh ssi said no. His father uses the pot, and his mother empties and cleans it. He said this as if it were nothing. He must have answered as if it were nothing because he actually thinks it’s nothing, right? And then he asked me what was strange about it, if it was strange to have a chamber pot, or if I thought chamber pots were weird. Of course they’re not. As far as Nana’s concerned, you might see one in any number of homes. But what I do find weird, the point of this, is that the father doesn’t empty the pot himself but gets someone else to do the job for him. In a house with two perfectly functioning bathrooms, both a few steps away at most – I mean, isn’t that weird? To shit or pee in a brass bowl and then leave the cleaning of it to someone else when you live in a house like that?
But it seemed like Moseh ssi had never really considered any of this. He didn’t find it at all strange that the person using the chamber pot and the person emptying it would be two different people – and the more Nana thought about it, this seemed to be the strangest part of it. It just doesn’t make sense, I can’t figure it out: why Moseh ssi is the way he is, why Moseh ssi’s father does what he does, why Moseh ssi’s mother takes it upon herself to clean the bowl. What kind of dynamic is at work there? What would you say it was? The entire way home I kept going over it in my mind, and still Nana doesn’t know. What do you think?
I don’t know.
Right.
Maybe that’s the point.
What is?
That we don’t know, Sora says.
The things we can’t seem to figure out no matter how much we think about and how deeply we look into them – maybe these things simply aren’t meant to be figured out, they’re not meant to be known. Like an unfathomable void. A misuteri, she says, mystery, a sort of black hole. And in that family, the black hole happens to be the chamber pot. They may even be aware that the chamber pot is their version of the unknowable. Or maybe they’ve never even thought about it along these lines – but even so, the point is that some things are impossible to comprehend. That pot may simply be their family misuteri, the black hole in their midst, and it just happens to on their bathroom floor.
Misuteri, Nana hears Sora say, and repeats the word, misuteri, misuteri, until I feel a surge of resentment that makes me pull away from her – thinking this might be it, the reason Sora has come to not know, and not see: Sora’s mechanism. I glare at the bare skin on her back, at the strands of wet hair. And in that moment I hear myself say to her small, narrow, wet back – her delicate and therefore hateful back – what are you saying? My voice is trembling.
How can you – what are you saying?
Huh?
The bowl – that’s why it’s there in the first place, because people assume it’s not meant to be known. Because no one will think about it seriously, that’s why it’s there, that’s why they go on using it the way they do, can’t you see that? Whatever it is, bowl or black hole, the point is to think, to consider it, to give it proper thought.
Proper thought?
Proper thought.
Well, maybe you should take that advice yourself.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Why are you keeping it? Sora asks in lieu of an answer.
April 16, 2023
As the wave of emotions finally hits me, I'm currently crying and tearing up whilst writing my thoughts for this book, so please excuse whatever blunder this review might have. I'm in a state of emotional mess and turmoil.
Now... where do I start.
There's something hopeful and entirely ethereal reading this novel. How does a plot so simple, with almost no concrete base can contain so much things packed in one book.
The social criticism, forbidden love, abandonment, parental duties, social outcasts, different ways in handling grief, sibling relationships, relationship with food, motherhood and fertility ; these are some things that has been subtly highlighted, yet it leaves a big impact. As much as the book has almost 'nothing', it'll leave you flipping through the pages, invested in the lives of these three souls that are intertwined with one another, creating a bubble of their own; but also reflecting so much on the realities to the real world. Each part captivates you in a way that leaves you very depressed but also hopeful . The emphasization of I'll Go On and the importance for each character, in how they would try to cope with each of their issues literally altered my brain chemistry. The author's work reminds me of Banana Yoshimoto's novels and writing but it stands on its own league, in which will leave an everlasting impression on you, and lets you carry the burden and hope that the author left in your hearts as well.
The story is told from three different POV's, namely Sora and Nana who are siblings, and Naghi, their childhood friend whose family played a huge role in Sora and Nana's upbringing. Each individuals struggling with their own resentment towards the world, the author explores the the complexity of human's relationships, the relationship of a parent and their children and handling grief in ways that is mundane and yet impactful.
Personal Ratings : 4.75🌟
Honestly, the more I think about this book, the more I cease to know how to put my thoughts into words. I'm honestly glad I read this book at a time where my brain was blank and was able to absorb the emotions that the author had tried to portray in the book. The nuance is beautiful and breathtaking; its sort of threading into a cloud heavy with water, threatening to fall and become a rain shower anytime. Its breathtaking but also heartbreaking, in ways that I can't seem to find words for it.
I would like to first give a round of applause for the Translator; Miss Emily! She did such a fantastic job with this book to a point that it had made me wanted to look through the original text as well. Hwang Jungeun Emphasised on Word Play and The Repetition of Certain Phrases in a sentence. For example, the way she breaks down the etymology of the characters names and their meanings, to their origins, in which somewhat relates to the story of them as a whole. The empasization of I'll Go On in here makes this a hopeful yet a sorrowful story. The beauty of the word play in which Miss Emily had managed to bring the nuance and "feel" of the story so well, it had made us go through the feelings of the characters in each chapter.
Whilst Motherhood and Fertility are one of the topics that had been highlighted, another main theme that the author had brought forward was on Abandonment and The Effects of Abandonment on Children . Human relationships are complex, and Hwang Jungeun had cleverly written the story in the ways it relates to the stories of Sora and Nana from when they were younger, to how they survived with Naghi's family as their saviour. I love that the relationship with food and its co-relation with certain memories was highlighted as well. Within the Asian households, there will always be a certain type of food that will be made every year as a routine, in which these traditions holds not only the meaning and bond of a family, it also represents the deep bond and culture that was engraved within food-making. Its something so wholesome and yet, not everyone will get to experience it.
The complex relationship of Motherhood and Mother-Daughter Relationship is one that somewhat reminded me of The Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante, only this time, we have the perspective of the children abandoned by their mother. Reading this made me wander how gray a human is and there is nothing black and white that can determine whether you're at fault or not. The act of abandoning your child is bad, but, the ways of coping with grief is not something that has been written in a manual. Hwang Jungeun wrote the character Aeja in a way that you'll come to both hate and love her. You'll hate her for being a bad mother, but you'll also emphatize with the pain that she's gone through. The way the author brought forward this topic will not only leave you breathless, it will also make you slightly unhinged.
Naghi's story is one that I felt just heartbroken for him. His own circumstances that leaves him void of this world, but yet, still can give love to the women in his life made me want to go in the book and give him a big hug. All the characters deserved a big hug and you can't seem to hate the characters, no matter how flawed they are. The imperfection in their character is what made the story alive and the author did a splendid job in relaying those emotions.
I feel that the more I talk about this book, the higher the chance I will take the joy of reading it from anyone looking through this review, so , my advice with this book, go with an open mind and read it at time where you need slightly need hope and you can take comfort in depressing stories. Hwang Jungeun stands to be in the league of her own. This book will leave a lingering feeling, imprinted in your heart and will stay forever ingrained inside you. It will leave you unhinged, fuelled with hope, break your heart but also provide warmth in it.
Bask in the story. It'll definitely be worth your while.
Biggest thank you to @definitelybooks for this copy. I am forever thankful.
Now... where do I start.
"Don't ever forget it.
Anytime you hurt, remember that other people can hurt just as much. You've got to make that connection.
But that's why we've got to remember. Because if we don't, we'll forget, entirely.
And forgetting, that's how people turn monstrous."
There's something hopeful and entirely ethereal reading this novel. How does a plot so simple, with almost no concrete base can contain so much things packed in one book.
The social criticism, forbidden love, abandonment, parental duties, social outcasts, different ways in handling grief, sibling relationships, relationship with food, motherhood and fertility ; these are some things that has been subtly highlighted, yet it leaves a big impact. As much as the book has almost 'nothing', it'll leave you flipping through the pages, invested in the lives of these three souls that are intertwined with one another, creating a bubble of their own; but also reflecting so much on the realities to the real world. Each part captivates you in a way that leaves you very depressed but also hopeful . The emphasization of I'll Go On and the importance for each character, in how they would try to cope with each of their issues literally altered my brain chemistry. The author's work reminds me of Banana Yoshimoto's novels and writing but it stands on its own league, in which will leave an everlasting impression on you, and lets you carry the burden and hope that the author left in your hearts as well.
"People are trifling, their lives meagre and fleeting. But this, Nana thinks, is also what makes them loveable."
The story is told from three different POV's, namely Sora and Nana who are siblings, and Naghi, their childhood friend whose family played a huge role in Sora and Nana's upbringing. Each individuals struggling with their own resentment towards the world, the author explores the the complexity of human's relationships, the relationship of a parent and their children and handling grief in ways that is mundane and yet impactful.
Personal Ratings : 4.75🌟
Honestly, the more I think about this book, the more I cease to know how to put my thoughts into words. I'm honestly glad I read this book at a time where my brain was blank and was able to absorb the emotions that the author had tried to portray in the book. The nuance is beautiful and breathtaking; its sort of threading into a cloud heavy with water, threatening to fall and become a rain shower anytime. Its breathtaking but also heartbreaking, in ways that I can't seem to find words for it.
I would like to first give a round of applause for the Translator; Miss Emily! She did such a fantastic job with this book to a point that it had made me wanted to look through the original text as well. Hwang Jungeun Emphasised on Word Play and The Repetition of Certain Phrases in a sentence. For example, the way she breaks down the etymology of the characters names and their meanings, to their origins, in which somewhat relates to the story of them as a whole. The empasization of I'll Go On in here makes this a hopeful yet a sorrowful story. The beauty of the word play in which Miss Emily had managed to bring the nuance and "feel" of the story so well, it had made us go through the feelings of the characters in each chapter.
Whilst Motherhood and Fertility are one of the topics that had been highlighted, another main theme that the author had brought forward was on Abandonment and The Effects of Abandonment on Children . Human relationships are complex, and Hwang Jungeun had cleverly written the story in the ways it relates to the stories of Sora and Nana from when they were younger, to how they survived with Naghi's family as their saviour. I love that the relationship with food and its co-relation with certain memories was highlighted as well. Within the Asian households, there will always be a certain type of food that will be made every year as a routine, in which these traditions holds not only the meaning and bond of a family, it also represents the deep bond and culture that was engraved within food-making. Its something so wholesome and yet, not everyone will get to experience it.
The complex relationship of Motherhood and Mother-Daughter Relationship is one that somewhat reminded me of The Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante, only this time, we have the perspective of the children abandoned by their mother. Reading this made me wander how gray a human is and there is nothing black and white that can determine whether you're at fault or not. The act of abandoning your child is bad, but, the ways of coping with grief is not something that has been written in a manual. Hwang Jungeun wrote the character Aeja in a way that you'll come to both hate and love her. You'll hate her for being a bad mother, but you'll also emphatize with the pain that she's gone through. The way the author brought forward this topic will not only leave you breathless, it will also make you slightly unhinged.
Naghi's story is one that I felt just heartbroken for him. His own circumstances that leaves him void of this world, but yet, still can give love to the women in his life made me want to go in the book and give him a big hug. All the characters deserved a big hug and you can't seem to hate the characters, no matter how flawed they are. The imperfection in their character is what made the story alive and the author did a splendid job in relaying those emotions.
I feel that the more I talk about this book, the higher the chance I will take the joy of reading it from anyone looking through this review, so , my advice with this book, go with an open mind and read it at time where you need slightly need hope and you can take comfort in depressing stories. Hwang Jungeun stands to be in the league of her own. This book will leave a lingering feeling, imprinted in your heart and will stay forever ingrained inside you. It will leave you unhinged, fuelled with hope, break your heart but also provide warmth in it.
Bask in the story. It'll definitely be worth your while.
Biggest thank you to @definitelybooks for this copy. I am forever thankful.
October 28, 2018
This book is published by a small UK publisher Tilted Axis who publish “books that might not otherwise make it into English, for the very reasons that make them exciting to us – artistic originality, radical vision, the sense that here is something new.” Their name refers to their aim to tilt “the axis of world literature from the centre to the margins ...… where multiple traditions spark new forms and translation plays a crucial role.
It was founded by Deborah Smith, the English-Korean translator of Han Kang’s The Vegetarian , winner with her of the 2016 Man Booker International Prize – and shortlisted with her for the 2018 Man Booker International Prize, with the beautiful and haunting The White Book.
This book is written by Hwang Jungeun and translated by Emily Wae Yon. An earlier novel by the same author (albeit a different translator) “One Hundred Shadows” – was one of Tilted Axis’s first publications.
I refer any potential reader to Paul’s expert review here – which contains an interesting discussion of the skilled translation from Korean, particularly the Romanisation of Korean characters, and some of the wordplay taken from the characters in the protagonists’ names.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
From my own view, I can only really judge the book as an English language book – and I found it disappointing: a rather simple family plot, too many dream sequences, far too much cooking, some fairly simplistic word play (for example the equivalent of a character Eileen – known in abbreviation – and who uses this to speak of herself in abstract in the third person while actually aurally appearing to use the first person - “Ei did this”) and a lack of depth to what I think was the underlying theme of the book – the choice of either a depressed fatalism in the face of adversity or the willingness to (in the English title of the book) go on with life.
As an aside I am normally not keen when books have translated titles different to the original – it never seems to inspire confidence in the rest of the translation, but in this case it was justified. The Korean title being a wordplay from a scene which in the translation simply cannot really work and instead comes across like a schoolchild discussion of who likes and does not like Soy Sauce.
So overall not a book for me – nevertheless Titled Axis remains an impressive, admirable and valuable addition to the UK literary scene.
It was founded by Deborah Smith, the English-Korean translator of Han Kang’s The Vegetarian , winner with her of the 2016 Man Booker International Prize – and shortlisted with her for the 2018 Man Booker International Prize, with the beautiful and haunting The White Book.
This book is written by Hwang Jungeun and translated by Emily Wae Yon. An earlier novel by the same author (albeit a different translator) “One Hundred Shadows” – was one of Tilted Axis’s first publications.
I refer any potential reader to Paul’s expert review here – which contains an interesting discussion of the skilled translation from Korean, particularly the Romanisation of Korean characters, and some of the wordplay taken from the characters in the protagonists’ names.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
From my own view, I can only really judge the book as an English language book – and I found it disappointing: a rather simple family plot, too many dream sequences, far too much cooking, some fairly simplistic word play (for example the equivalent of a character Eileen – known in abbreviation – and who uses this to speak of herself in abstract in the third person while actually aurally appearing to use the first person - “Ei did this”) and a lack of depth to what I think was the underlying theme of the book – the choice of either a depressed fatalism in the face of adversity or the willingness to (in the English title of the book) go on with life.
As an aside I am normally not keen when books have translated titles different to the original – it never seems to inspire confidence in the rest of the translation, but in this case it was justified. The Korean title being a wordplay from a scene which in the translation simply cannot really work and instead comes across like a schoolchild discussion of who likes and does not like Soy Sauce.
So overall not a book for me – nevertheless Titled Axis remains an impressive, admirable and valuable addition to the UK literary scene.
June 8, 2021
3.5 stars
Hwang Jungeun is definitely a new favourite author.
Hwang Jungeun is definitely a new favourite author.
October 16, 2022
“Don’t erase things from the world just because you are incapable of imagining them.”An incredible book! If books were like movies and you could pair them up as "double features", I think this would be a PERFECT pairing with Breasts and Eggs. They tackle a lot of the same themes and even have very similar plot points. A woman and her sister. A woman wanting a child, but not necessarily wanting the father around. The consequences of bringing a life into a fucked up world. A woman and her sister's unique relationship. Growing up poor, "broken" homes, abusive parents, dreams... I could go on (no pun intended)... but I won't.
Because the two books are also very different in terms of tone. In terms of the way they are written. Breasts and Eggs felt almost cold at times in its treatment of themes. Characters had conversations that seemed to float in a theoretical ether. Whereas in this book, everything seemed much more grounded and organic. Thought provoking, but in a way that was a natural extension of the story and the very real characters.
I loved her writing style. It's understated, not flashy, subtle, and a bit slow, but slow in a way that builds into something very moving. She gets inside the bones of her characters.
A misuteri, she says, mystery, a sort of black hole. And in that family, the black hole happens to be the chamber pot. They may even be aware that the chamber pot is their version of the unknowable. Or maybe they’ve never even thought about it along these lines – but even so, the point is that some things are impossible to comprehend.There are many mysteries in the world, but in this book, the biggest mystery (or 'misuteri') is what's going on inside the heads of other people. Especially people closest to you, people you consider family... what's locked inside of families, their unique dynamic, to those outside of those families; as well as what's locked from each other WITHIN family members. What goes unsaid, what we assume that the other is thinking or feeling, without asking them, building into resentments, as when the two sisters don't talk.
"That's what family means to him: no longer counting as other people."The way it's written perfectly expresses this idea of the other. Told from 3 different perspectives, 3 distinct voices, you get to know each one and their thoughts intimately. Yet as you're in each one's head, you DON'T get to see what the others are thinking. This is an illusion of course. What's the border between self and the other? Could they, like drops of water, merge together? Is it precisely because they are family, that they are sometimes the furthest apart?
On the topic of families, Hwang has much to say. The idea of being a single parent worries Nana. But throughout the course of the novel we see children of single parents (our protagonists) as well as children with no parents (Naghi's mother being raised by her grandfather and aunt) and children with both parents (Moseh as well as Naghi's love interest) and we see how they all end up being fucked up in different ways. Childhood traumas carry on into adulthood, inevitably. We see how every family is different and uniquely fucked up.
There are many other themes, but emily and spenky's reviews cover them so well already. Go read them. I will just say that this is probably my favorite book I've read this year.
August 17, 2024
I might agree with that ‘heart-shattering’ review on the cover; to journey a brink of an emotional tale in between its three alternating perspectives did entwine me with an affecting dejection. Like a sudden brief downpour of Sonagi; the word that echoed the names of the three main characters; Sora, Nana and Naghi, I’ll Go On brought me to travel through the past lives of these characters while exploring their present-day train of thoughts toward their intimate relationships and self-discovery— of neglect and abandonment, trauma, grief and resentment also the absorbing glimpses on culture, lifestyle and one’s sexuality.
Love the author’s stylistic choice of narrating her plot without quotation marks as I find the blurred line in between its dialogues and prose as intriguing and more poignantly plotted. Delving into each narrative gets me drown in their respective soul-searching adventure and that tight strands of family relationships esp in between Sora and Nana observed such a gripping issue on motherhood, hope and love as well how their past experiences reflected the afterthoughts due to Nana’s pregnancy. I like Naghi’s personality and how his narrative interwoven with another view of motherhood (love the mother-son relationship and how they spent their days with both Sora and Nana) and one’s fragility; it adds more enthralling and punchy vignettes to the sisters’ exposition as well as their present conflicts. That pinch of social gaze and domestic commentary were intricately explored giving me a pull towards reality, a lingering reminder that humbled me with both empathy and sympathy.
This can be a decent literary fiction to few but personally, I favoured the marginalised setting and the theme a lot; some parts might feel draggy and that littlest touch on surreal encounters did give a spooky and dreamy hues but overall it was a fairly well-written to me. Love the closing chapter from Nana and how her perspective literalized that I’ll go on until the end. 4 stars to this!
Thank you Pansing Distribution for sending me a copy to review!
Love the author’s stylistic choice of narrating her plot without quotation marks as I find the blurred line in between its dialogues and prose as intriguing and more poignantly plotted. Delving into each narrative gets me drown in their respective soul-searching adventure and that tight strands of family relationships esp in between Sora and Nana observed such a gripping issue on motherhood, hope and love as well how their past experiences reflected the afterthoughts due to Nana’s pregnancy. I like Naghi’s personality and how his narrative interwoven with another view of motherhood (love the mother-son relationship and how they spent their days with both Sora and Nana) and one’s fragility; it adds more enthralling and punchy vignettes to the sisters’ exposition as well as their present conflicts. That pinch of social gaze and domestic commentary were intricately explored giving me a pull towards reality, a lingering reminder that humbled me with both empathy and sympathy.
This can be a decent literary fiction to few but personally, I favoured the marginalised setting and the theme a lot; some parts might feel draggy and that littlest touch on surreal encounters did give a spooky and dreamy hues but overall it was a fairly well-written to me. Love the closing chapter from Nana and how her perspective literalized that I’ll go on until the end. 4 stars to this!
Thank you Pansing Distribution for sending me a copy to review!
October 20, 2022
Rating: 4.5
Rarely does a book leave me breathless once it ended. I can only think of three others that fit the bill, and with its beautiful ending, "I'll Go On" has joined the ranks.
Having loved One Hundred Shadows, I was pleased to find that this is just as beautifully written. The use of "I'll go on" as a phrase, the focus on its three main characters and their respective idiosyncrasies, and the examination of the characters' difficult relationship with their parents and the people around them are amongst the things that I love about this unassuming story.
Readers are immersed inside the three characters' POV as they come to terms with their less than ideal childhood and how their upbringing affect their decisions and outlook in life. The first part of the story focused on Sora & Nana, sisters who were more or less abandoned by their mother and who abandoned her in turn. I love how Hwang captured their sibling dynamics perfectly, with each sister having different reactions and perspectives of their abandonment. In the second part, the focus has shifted to the sisters' childhood friend, Naghi, who has his own invisible burden to bear. I love how each story unraveled in a slow build-up which inevitably led readers to a wistful conclusion. I found Naghi's story to be particularly affecting; what can I say, I'm a sucker for any yearning in a book, and boy, did this one make me feel all the feels.
There's a quiet beauty to Hwang Jungeun's writing that is comparable to Banana Yoshimoto, based on the way both authors explore various themes through subtle social criticisms, as well as the slice-of-life feel of their books. Despite the comparison, Hwang's style is inimitably hers, and I really hope more of her works will be translated because I'm definitely looking forward to reading more.
Rarely does a book leave me breathless once it ended. I can only think of three others that fit the bill, and with its beautiful ending, "I'll Go On" has joined the ranks.
Having loved One Hundred Shadows, I was pleased to find that this is just as beautifully written. The use of "I'll go on" as a phrase, the focus on its three main characters and their respective idiosyncrasies, and the examination of the characters' difficult relationship with their parents and the people around them are amongst the things that I love about this unassuming story.
Readers are immersed inside the three characters' POV as they come to terms with their less than ideal childhood and how their upbringing affect their decisions and outlook in life. The first part of the story focused on Sora & Nana, sisters who were more or less abandoned by their mother and who abandoned her in turn. I love how Hwang captured their sibling dynamics perfectly, with each sister having different reactions and perspectives of their abandonment. In the second part, the focus has shifted to the sisters' childhood friend, Naghi, who has his own invisible burden to bear. I love how each story unraveled in a slow build-up which inevitably led readers to a wistful conclusion. I found Naghi's story to be particularly affecting; what can I say, I'm a sucker for any yearning in a book, and boy, did this one make me feel all the feels.
There's a quiet beauty to Hwang Jungeun's writing that is comparable to Banana Yoshimoto, based on the way both authors explore various themes through subtle social criticisms, as well as the slice-of-life feel of their books. Despite the comparison, Hwang's style is inimitably hers, and I really hope more of her works will be translated because I'm definitely looking forward to reading more.
December 7, 2020
a gift from a friend, which is always the best kind of book. what to say about this one? it's a beautiful character study, odd in a subtle way, filled with small occasions of magic and mystery ("misuteri") like the subdivided basement apartments and sora and nana's dreams and how naghi can't eat strawberries because the boundary between skin and flesh is so ambiguous. i loved it and feel like i shouldn't write anything more about it because writing about it feels like ruining a precious thing.
December 6, 2020
I'll Go On has many similarities to Hwang Jungeun's other novel One Hundred Shadows, with its melancholy tone, focus on the working poor, and ending note of hope, but overall I found I'll Go On to be less successful. This is largely by dint of I'll Go On being nearly twice as long as One Hundred Shadows, which, combined with the languidness of the book, undermined its realism for me.
For example: A character has a dream that might signify pregnancy, and for no reason suspects that her sister might be pregnant, but it takes her weeks to ask her sister about it. A couple that has been ostensibly dating for months has a salad dinner where they exchange all of two sentences, and the narrative reads as though this were a more talkative date than normal. There are numerous scenes of silence or stilted conversation that give the feeling that these characters go for days without talking, even when they have things to say. Look, I'm an introvert, but this book takes introversion to an unrealistic extreme. Even outside of the characters constantly refusing to interact, the whole book moves so slowly that it feels as if you're wading through molasses trying to get through it. If you condensed I’ll Go On into half the number of pages I think there would be a good chance that you could do away with much of the lethargy that permeates the book.
To try to put the slothfulness aside, the book has some solid writing and good scenes. The characters of Aeja and Sunja are unlike those found in the other stories I’ve read by Hwang Jungeun, being more distinctly negative and positive influences instead of just characters trying to get by, and I thought they were successful in their respective roles. In fact I liked all of the characters when they were substantively interacting (as opposed to imagined interactions), it’s just that they only substantively interact enough to justify a book half this size.
Overall, I’ll Go On isn’t bad, it’s just very similar to One Hundred Shadows but not as strong, primarily due to its aforementioned torpidity. I find it easy to recommend One Hundred Shadows, but this one not so much. 3/5.
For example: A character has a dream that might signify pregnancy, and for no reason suspects that her sister might be pregnant, but it takes her weeks to ask her sister about it. A couple that has been ostensibly dating for months has a salad dinner where they exchange all of two sentences, and the narrative reads as though this were a more talkative date than normal. There are numerous scenes of silence or stilted conversation that give the feeling that these characters go for days without talking, even when they have things to say. Look, I'm an introvert, but this book takes introversion to an unrealistic extreme. Even outside of the characters constantly refusing to interact, the whole book moves so slowly that it feels as if you're wading through molasses trying to get through it. If you condensed I’ll Go On into half the number of pages I think there would be a good chance that you could do away with much of the lethargy that permeates the book.
To try to put the slothfulness aside, the book has some solid writing and good scenes. The characters of Aeja and Sunja are unlike those found in the other stories I’ve read by Hwang Jungeun, being more distinctly negative and positive influences instead of just characters trying to get by, and I thought they were successful in their respective roles. In fact I liked all of the characters when they were substantively interacting (as opposed to imagined interactions), it’s just that they only substantively interact enough to justify a book half this size.
Overall, I’ll Go On isn’t bad, it’s just very similar to One Hundred Shadows but not as strong, primarily due to its aforementioned torpidity. I find it easy to recommend One Hundred Shadows, but this one not so much. 3/5.
April 5, 2021
I'LL GO ON by HWANG JUNGEUN
BOOK REVIEW
"Day will break before long.
I'll go on."
Wowie I read a book! Who knew when I read something I actually enjoy that means I read faster :o.
This book was just incredible. I loved it so much. The only thing I will say that didn't give it a 5 star rating is the Naghi section: I love me a good representation of homosexuality but whyyyy does everyone use the trope of the highschool bully thing like !!! HHH sometimes it works (like in Sex Education) but here I was just uncomfortable and confused. Like Naghi's section of the book felt separate to the other 2: maybe that's intentional because Sora and Nana are sisters but I felt like that defeated the whole point of the 3 characters having a link together - what happened to Nababi or wtv they called their mix of water droplets???? Don't get me wrong: Naghi's section had some beautiful imagery and philosophy stuff about life but it felt a bit more like it could've been in a different book. But alas. Still incredible. Especially the description of things unknown: his great grandfather in the cabin in the snowy mountains realllyyyy hit.
I saw some reviews who got mad at how the sisters are all nihilistic and pessimistic about life but I think it's the opposite? They grew up in such a broken home environment but still find the strength in themselves to continue in life. Of course, they don't start the rallying call to live life to its fullest potential and to cHanGe thE WorLd, but I quite like the simple message of "I'll go on": they'll continue to live life, enjoy its ups and accept its downs, and just...exist.
In terms of character development, I really liked exploring the relationship between Sora and Nana. The narrative style of going back in time to when they were kids to the present day was really nice and I didn't get confused at any moment. At times the references back to the past was a bit unlinked to the present story but I feel like the story to be told isn't purely the one where they are adults so it worked in this context. Lmao writing this review I forgot the whole plot in the beginning where Sora was mad at her for getting pregnant and they were fighting and stuff. I think the acceptance of the pregnancy happened naturally and there wasn't this massive turning point in the plot, which I think is really cool as it reflects the natural relationship between sisters. The more I think about this book the more I appreciate the writer's craft behind it :'))
I'm not entirely sure what I want in particular from their relationship with their mum. But I feel like what happened in the book (which was basically...nothing) fits the characters and the plot. I feel a bit bad for her ngl, but then again idk she was a terrible mother, but then again idk because mental illness ahhh!! But I think everything just fit so well in this book, not in an artificially unrealistic happily-ever-after way, but in a life is life kinda way. And I think that's really beautiful.
Please read this book. Like how I thought existentialism was "life has no meaning let's all die", I thought this book would be all nihilistic and have no hope whatsoever. While that view of the world is portrayed by their mum, the main characters don't submit to this view. In actuality, existentialism is "life has no meaning let's give it meaning and keep living anyway", much like how I was pleasantly surprised by this book.
So: would highly recommend. Please read it :D
BOOK REVIEW
"Sora, Nana, Naghi Oraboni, Sunja Ajumoni, the baby, Aeja: all may well be insignificant so far as the world's concerned, mere fleeting and therefore inconsequential beings. But the more she thinks about it, the more it seems untrue that by the same token they're therefore not worth cherishing."
"Day will break before long.
I'll go on."
Wowie I read a book! Who knew when I read something I actually enjoy that means I read faster :o.
This book was just incredible. I loved it so much. The only thing I will say that didn't give it a 5 star rating is the Naghi section: I love me a good representation of homosexuality but whyyyy does everyone use the trope of the highschool bully thing like !!! HHH sometimes it works (like in Sex Education) but here I was just uncomfortable and confused. Like Naghi's section of the book felt separate to the other 2: maybe that's intentional because Sora and Nana are sisters but I felt like that defeated the whole point of the 3 characters having a link together - what happened to Nababi or wtv they called their mix of water droplets???? Don't get me wrong: Naghi's section had some beautiful imagery and philosophy stuff about life but it felt a bit more like it could've been in a different book. But alas. Still incredible. Especially the description of things unknown: his great grandfather in the cabin in the snowy mountains realllyyyy hit.
I saw some reviews who got mad at how the sisters are all nihilistic and pessimistic about life but I think it's the opposite? They grew up in such a broken home environment but still find the strength in themselves to continue in life. Of course, they don't start the rallying call to live life to its fullest potential and to cHanGe thE WorLd, but I quite like the simple message of "I'll go on": they'll continue to live life, enjoy its ups and accept its downs, and just...exist.
In terms of character development, I really liked exploring the relationship between Sora and Nana. The narrative style of going back in time to when they were kids to the present day was really nice and I didn't get confused at any moment. At times the references back to the past was a bit unlinked to the present story but I feel like the story to be told isn't purely the one where they are adults so it worked in this context. Lmao writing this review I forgot the whole plot in the beginning where Sora was mad at her for getting pregnant and they were fighting and stuff. I think the acceptance of the pregnancy happened naturally and there wasn't this massive turning point in the plot, which I think is really cool as it reflects the natural relationship between sisters. The more I think about this book the more I appreciate the writer's craft behind it :'))
I'm not entirely sure what I want in particular from their relationship with their mum. But I feel like what happened in the book (which was basically...nothing) fits the characters and the plot. I feel a bit bad for her ngl, but then again idk she was a terrible mother, but then again idk because mental illness ahhh!! But I think everything just fit so well in this book, not in an artificially unrealistic happily-ever-after way, but in a life is life kinda way. And I think that's really beautiful.
Please read this book. Like how I thought existentialism was "life has no meaning let's all die", I thought this book would be all nihilistic and have no hope whatsoever. While that view of the world is portrayed by their mum, the main characters don't submit to this view. In actuality, existentialism is "life has no meaning let's give it meaning and keep living anyway", much like how I was pleasantly surprised by this book.
So: would highly recommend. Please read it :D
August 26, 2019
Tiểu thuyết thứ ba của Hwang Jung Eun. Vậy là mình đã đọc được 5/7 cuốn của chị rồi (ง ื▿ ื)ว
(Cuốn sách này rất đặc biệt với mình, thế nên chắc đây sẽ giống một sớ kể lể linh tinh chứ không phải review đâu nè :p)
(Cuốn sách này rất đặc biệt với mình, thế nên chắc đây sẽ giống một sớ kể lể linh tinh chứ không phải review đâu nè :p)
October 20, 2022
Listen to my review on YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0Iqn...
Book tube 5 황정은
Hello everyone, welcome to Barry’s book reviews, episode number 5. Today I’m reviewing “I’ll Go On” by Hwang Jung-eun. It was originally published in Korean in 2014 with the title 계속하겠습니다, and the English translation by Emily Yae won was published in 2018.
This is another book published by Tilted Axis Press. In a previous episode, I reviewed Han Yujoo’s ‘The Impossible Fairytale’ also from Tilted Axis Press. I have to say that in general the writers they work with are all very interesting, and if you investigate their catalog, I’m sure you will find something intriguing. The Korean Literature Now magazine has an interview with Deborah Smith, the translator who launched Tilted Axis. She explains that she wanted to publish works by Hwang Jung eun “for her dark, obliquely fantastical stories of the Korean underclass.” ‘I’ll Go On’ is actually the second Hwang Jung eun novel Tilted Axis published. They also published “100 Shadows,” a strange and captivating novel that I’ll review in a future episode.
Hwang has a couple of short stories available in translation, at least one for free on the Korean Literature Now website, and they are also worth checking out. Having read everything she currently has available in translation, I have to say I’m a fan, and I’m looking forward to more translations, hopefully in the not-too-distant future.
‘I’ll Go On’ tells the story of two sisters Sora and Nana, and their close childhood friend and neighbor Naghi. The novel is set mainly during their young adulthood, with lots of flashbacks and reminiscing about their connected childhoods. I assumed they were in their twenties, but the novel doesn’t appear to state how old they are exactly.
Sora and Nana are essentially left to fend for themselves after their father dies suddenly and unexpectedly in an industrial accident at the factory he works in. This happens when the two girls are young children.
Their mother sinks into despair and apathy and becomes suicidal, and mostly abandons her role as caregiver.
They have to grow up fast and learn to be responsible and take care of each other. As they do, they develop a very close bond.
As the novel begins, they are young adults, and the younger sister, Nana, becomes unexpectedly pregnant. This unanticipated pregnancy tests their bonds and friendships in various ways.
This is a delicate and tender novel that asks questions about sisterhood, friendship, and families. It asks what is the nature of the family?
Hwang Jung eun was Born in Seoul in 1976. She debuted in 2005 when she Won a spring literary contest called the Kyunghyang Shinmun New Writer’s Award, with her short story “Mother.”
She has authored the novels One Hundred Shadows, Savage Alice, today’s book I’ll Go On, and the short story collections Into the World of Passi, The Seven Thirty- Two Elephant Train, and Being Nobody. She has also published a serial novel called dd’s Umbrella. Since making her debut in 2005, she has Won several Korean literary awards – Hankook Ilbo Literary Award, Sin-Dong Yeop Literary Award, and Several Young writer awards. She is generally very Highly acclaimed by critics, and popular with readers. Jang Sungkyu Writes in KLN that quote, “Hwang Jung-eun’s aesthetic achievements stand unique in Korean literature. Her work so far has used fantasy and allegory to reconstruct the voice of social minorities. Her unique aesthetic in portraying her deep interest in social issues stands out among the major achievements of Korean literature in the 21st century.” High praise indeed.
Hwang connects with her readers so much in fact that she has also been called ‘The Voice of the Hell Joseon Generation” for the way that her work portrays the generational difficulties of Korean youths.
Reading Hwang’s novels and short stories, she certainly does seem to tap into the fears and desires of the country’s generation of disaffected youth.
She is regarded as being at the forefront of a group of relatively young Korean writers whose work explores and embodies the ‘Hell Joseon’ view of modern Korean society.
The term ‘Hell Joseon’ came to prominence in the early 2010s after a corruption scandal involving the country’s then foreign minister securing a high-profile job for his daughter. This was, however just the latest in a long line of scandals that would actually get worse.
That minister eventually lost his job, and the term Hell Joseon was picked up and embraced by Korean netizens.
‘Hell Joseon’ groups and forums spread across social media where disgruntled users could post examples of unfair treatment and abuses of privilege. Let me quote a short section from the Korea times -
“By 2015, ‘Hell Joseon’ was increasingly used as shorthand for a litany of ills blighting the lives of struggling Koreans. It refers to a view of Korea as a highly regimented and regressive society trapped in an ancient feudal-like system that forces individuals through a gruelingly competitive education system in the desperate hope of securing a good job, of which there seem to be fewer and fewer.”
“The wealthy, powerful or famous can sidestep this relentless, dehumanizing grind, but those who can’t often slip through the cracks, forced to live on the fringes where they are forgotten and marginalized by mainstream society.”
There have, of course, been a number of novels and stories written for + about these marginalized young people.
Hwang’s work is populated by the poor, the abused, the neglected, the abandoned, and the homeless.
Her first two works translated into English, the novel ‘One Hundred Shadows’ and short story ‘Kong’s Garden,’ depict the lives of struggling temporary workers with little education, few career prospects, and often unstable relationships.
‘One Hundred Shadows,’ Hwang’s first novel, was published in 2010 and became a word of mouth bestseller by capturing the zeitgeist of the late 2000s and early 2010s.
Her third book translated into English – “I’ll Go On” – also became popular in Korea in the early 2010s when it was serialized in a magazine
When it was serialized, it was also serialized under a title that is very different from the English title for the novel.
One of the appealing things about Tilted Axis is that they sometimes have little notes at the beginning of their books, highlighting interesting interpretation or language issues.
In ‘I’ll Go On’, there is a note explaining the title.
It was originally Serialized from Autumn 2012 – Summer 2013 with the title - sora-nana-naghi – the 3names of the main characters. This leads us to So – na – gi – which is a Korean word meaning a sudden, brief downpour – characters names – and also the name of a famous Korean story. This title also has an incantatory – rhythmic quality – like a magic spell of protection or a symbol of solidarity and highlights the importance of names.
Each character at some point in the novel reflects on the meaning of their names – Sora – Ra means water parsley, Nana – means beautiful in Hanja – Na also means “I”, and Naghi – Na means Pot in hanja – and as he explains his name is written mistakenly on their family register. The published title of the book became 계속하겠습니다, which translates to the English title - I’ll go on – which is a repeated phrase throughout the book – I will continue – bearing my burden.
That repeated phrase represents the girls’ difficult journey through childhood following the death of their father and their mother’s breakdown.
During this difficult childhood, they meet Naghi – who is living with his mother, but also without a father and also with his own problems.
As young adults - Sora finds out – that her younger sister Nana is secretly pregnant.
She is shocked because they still live together, and she didn’t even know that her sister had a boyfriend
This causes a great deal of friction and tension in their relationship; it causes them to reflect on the past, and the incidents that have shaped their lives.
Have they been poisoned by their mother’s outlook on life, that love is death and life is desperate? Can they transcend this way of thinking about family and relationships, or are they trapped by it?
They are struggling with the issues life throws at them. Are they staring into the void? Is Life meaningless?
Or could they break free if they didn’t have to conform to societal expectations?
The novel confronts this issue of choosing how to live. How free are they to choose how they want to live?
They are all living what some would call unconventional lifestyles and having unconventional relationships. Is it possible for them to build their own type of family?
I found Hwang’s writing style to be Delicate but very evocative. You get a real sense of these characters as fully rounded creations. And her Delicate writing expresses a lot, and does a good job letting the reader see the interior lives of her characters. It’s a novel where Dreams – memories – and fantasies blend and blur together. I highly recommend that you check out ‘I’ll Go On’ by Hwang Jungeun.
Book tube 5 황정은
Hello everyone, welcome to Barry’s book reviews, episode number 5. Today I’m reviewing “I’ll Go On” by Hwang Jung-eun. It was originally published in Korean in 2014 with the title 계속하겠습니다, and the English translation by Emily Yae won was published in 2018.
This is another book published by Tilted Axis Press. In a previous episode, I reviewed Han Yujoo’s ‘The Impossible Fairytale’ also from Tilted Axis Press. I have to say that in general the writers they work with are all very interesting, and if you investigate their catalog, I’m sure you will find something intriguing. The Korean Literature Now magazine has an interview with Deborah Smith, the translator who launched Tilted Axis. She explains that she wanted to publish works by Hwang Jung eun “for her dark, obliquely fantastical stories of the Korean underclass.” ‘I’ll Go On’ is actually the second Hwang Jung eun novel Tilted Axis published. They also published “100 Shadows,” a strange and captivating novel that I’ll review in a future episode.
Hwang has a couple of short stories available in translation, at least one for free on the Korean Literature Now website, and they are also worth checking out. Having read everything she currently has available in translation, I have to say I’m a fan, and I’m looking forward to more translations, hopefully in the not-too-distant future.
‘I’ll Go On’ tells the story of two sisters Sora and Nana, and their close childhood friend and neighbor Naghi. The novel is set mainly during their young adulthood, with lots of flashbacks and reminiscing about their connected childhoods. I assumed they were in their twenties, but the novel doesn’t appear to state how old they are exactly.
Sora and Nana are essentially left to fend for themselves after their father dies suddenly and unexpectedly in an industrial accident at the factory he works in. This happens when the two girls are young children.
Their mother sinks into despair and apathy and becomes suicidal, and mostly abandons her role as caregiver.
They have to grow up fast and learn to be responsible and take care of each other. As they do, they develop a very close bond.
As the novel begins, they are young adults, and the younger sister, Nana, becomes unexpectedly pregnant. This unanticipated pregnancy tests their bonds and friendships in various ways.
This is a delicate and tender novel that asks questions about sisterhood, friendship, and families. It asks what is the nature of the family?
Hwang Jung eun was Born in Seoul in 1976. She debuted in 2005 when she Won a spring literary contest called the Kyunghyang Shinmun New Writer’s Award, with her short story “Mother.”
She has authored the novels One Hundred Shadows, Savage Alice, today’s book I’ll Go On, and the short story collections Into the World of Passi, The Seven Thirty- Two Elephant Train, and Being Nobody. She has also published a serial novel called dd’s Umbrella. Since making her debut in 2005, she has Won several Korean literary awards – Hankook Ilbo Literary Award, Sin-Dong Yeop Literary Award, and Several Young writer awards. She is generally very Highly acclaimed by critics, and popular with readers. Jang Sungkyu Writes in KLN that quote, “Hwang Jung-eun’s aesthetic achievements stand unique in Korean literature. Her work so far has used fantasy and allegory to reconstruct the voice of social minorities. Her unique aesthetic in portraying her deep interest in social issues stands out among the major achievements of Korean literature in the 21st century.” High praise indeed.
Hwang connects with her readers so much in fact that she has also been called ‘The Voice of the Hell Joseon Generation” for the way that her work portrays the generational difficulties of Korean youths.
Reading Hwang’s novels and short stories, she certainly does seem to tap into the fears and desires of the country’s generation of disaffected youth.
She is regarded as being at the forefront of a group of relatively young Korean writers whose work explores and embodies the ‘Hell Joseon’ view of modern Korean society.
The term ‘Hell Joseon’ came to prominence in the early 2010s after a corruption scandal involving the country’s then foreign minister securing a high-profile job for his daughter. This was, however just the latest in a long line of scandals that would actually get worse.
That minister eventually lost his job, and the term Hell Joseon was picked up and embraced by Korean netizens.
‘Hell Joseon’ groups and forums spread across social media where disgruntled users could post examples of unfair treatment and abuses of privilege. Let me quote a short section from the Korea times -
“By 2015, ‘Hell Joseon’ was increasingly used as shorthand for a litany of ills blighting the lives of struggling Koreans. It refers to a view of Korea as a highly regimented and regressive society trapped in an ancient feudal-like system that forces individuals through a gruelingly competitive education system in the desperate hope of securing a good job, of which there seem to be fewer and fewer.”
“The wealthy, powerful or famous can sidestep this relentless, dehumanizing grind, but those who can’t often slip through the cracks, forced to live on the fringes where they are forgotten and marginalized by mainstream society.”
There have, of course, been a number of novels and stories written for + about these marginalized young people.
Hwang’s work is populated by the poor, the abused, the neglected, the abandoned, and the homeless.
Her first two works translated into English, the novel ‘One Hundred Shadows’ and short story ‘Kong’s Garden,’ depict the lives of struggling temporary workers with little education, few career prospects, and often unstable relationships.
‘One Hundred Shadows,’ Hwang’s first novel, was published in 2010 and became a word of mouth bestseller by capturing the zeitgeist of the late 2000s and early 2010s.
Her third book translated into English – “I’ll Go On” – also became popular in Korea in the early 2010s when it was serialized in a magazine
When it was serialized, it was also serialized under a title that is very different from the English title for the novel.
One of the appealing things about Tilted Axis is that they sometimes have little notes at the beginning of their books, highlighting interesting interpretation or language issues.
In ‘I’ll Go On’, there is a note explaining the title.
It was originally Serialized from Autumn 2012 – Summer 2013 with the title - sora-nana-naghi – the 3names of the main characters. This leads us to So – na – gi – which is a Korean word meaning a sudden, brief downpour – characters names – and also the name of a famous Korean story. This title also has an incantatory – rhythmic quality – like a magic spell of protection or a symbol of solidarity and highlights the importance of names.
Each character at some point in the novel reflects on the meaning of their names – Sora – Ra means water parsley, Nana – means beautiful in Hanja – Na also means “I”, and Naghi – Na means Pot in hanja – and as he explains his name is written mistakenly on their family register. The published title of the book became 계속하겠습니다, which translates to the English title - I’ll go on – which is a repeated phrase throughout the book – I will continue – bearing my burden.
That repeated phrase represents the girls’ difficult journey through childhood following the death of their father and their mother’s breakdown.
During this difficult childhood, they meet Naghi – who is living with his mother, but also without a father and also with his own problems.
As young adults - Sora finds out – that her younger sister Nana is secretly pregnant.
She is shocked because they still live together, and she didn’t even know that her sister had a boyfriend
This causes a great deal of friction and tension in their relationship; it causes them to reflect on the past, and the incidents that have shaped their lives.
Have they been poisoned by their mother’s outlook on life, that love is death and life is desperate? Can they transcend this way of thinking about family and relationships, or are they trapped by it?
They are struggling with the issues life throws at them. Are they staring into the void? Is Life meaningless?
Or could they break free if they didn’t have to conform to societal expectations?
The novel confronts this issue of choosing how to live. How free are they to choose how they want to live?
They are all living what some would call unconventional lifestyles and having unconventional relationships. Is it possible for them to build their own type of family?
I found Hwang’s writing style to be Delicate but very evocative. You get a real sense of these characters as fully rounded creations. And her Delicate writing expresses a lot, and does a good job letting the reader see the interior lives of her characters. It’s a novel where Dreams – memories – and fantasies blend and blur together. I highly recommend that you check out ‘I’ll Go On’ by Hwang Jungeun.
October 23, 2022
I love being destroyed by an absolutely beautiful work like this.
January 25, 2020
surprisingly, i kinda like how the story goes even though the paragraphing is a little bit odd ((maybe since its a translated book)) and it took awhile for me to get used to. i’ll go on is about sora whom finds out that her sister is pregnant even though they live together and shares her family hardships generally in her life. ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5/5. i felt that there are some parts that are beautifully written and resonates me but there were also parts where are quite redundant. totally recommend if you would like to read something fresh. ✨ and if you are used to reading jap lit, you might probably like this too as it has quite a similar way of telling a story ☺️
“all grown up, Baekmo finally said in a tired tone directed at Nana and me. so grown, i barely recognise you; in the streets i’d have passed right by. still: family’s family. if any one of us here dies, we are the ones who will come together at the end of the day”. 💐
“all grown up, Baekmo finally said in a tired tone directed at Nana and me. so grown, i barely recognise you; in the streets i’d have passed right by. still: family’s family. if any one of us here dies, we are the ones who will come together at the end of the day”. 💐
Read
April 30, 2024"Occasionally she'll think this, without letting on, which perhaps makes Nana most like Aeja in temperament after all. And this is precisely the reason Nana is wary of such wholehearted devotion in the first place."
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This book encapsulates the notion that "Overdeveloped children make underdeveloped adults." It's often said that children are a reflection of their parents. So, if parents neglect their own reflection, are they inadvertently stunting their children's development? This question lingered in my mind as I delved into the pages of this book. While the book doesn't explicitly highlight the significance of childhood, it vividly portrays its repercussions.
Reading this book was a delightful surprise, as I ventured into it with no prior knowledge. The cover captivated me, igniting my curiosity about the stories within. It's akin to examining a painting and crafting a personality for it based on one's perceptions. But once you read the artist's interpretation, your perspective shifts, revealing unexplored depths. That, I believe, is the essence of this book—how it reshapes perceptions.
Ultimately, everyone experiences childhood differently. Merely having two parents doesn't guarantee a "healthy" upbringing. It's crucial for our inner child to acknowledge this and for our adult selves to redefine what "healthy" means for us individually.
-
This book encapsulates the notion that "Overdeveloped children make underdeveloped adults." It's often said that children are a reflection of their parents. So, if parents neglect their own reflection, are they inadvertently stunting their children's development? This question lingered in my mind as I delved into the pages of this book. While the book doesn't explicitly highlight the significance of childhood, it vividly portrays its repercussions.
Reading this book was a delightful surprise, as I ventured into it with no prior knowledge. The cover captivated me, igniting my curiosity about the stories within. It's akin to examining a painting and crafting a personality for it based on one's perceptions. But once you read the artist's interpretation, your perspective shifts, revealing unexplored depths. That, I believe, is the essence of this book—how it reshapes perceptions.
Ultimately, everyone experiences childhood differently. Merely having two parents doesn't guarantee a "healthy" upbringing. It's crucial for our inner child to acknowledge this and for our adult selves to redefine what "healthy" means for us individually.
September 21, 2025
The story comes together towards the end and I appreciate how the book attempts to convey the themes of family, responsibility, and hurt. However, the writing feels lifeless and weirdly overwritten. Furthermore, despite the fact that different parts of the book are written through points of view of different characters, they all sound the same.
January 31, 2023
a very very memorable and hard-hitting book for me. there's so much ground covered and so much to think about but some themes that stood out to me: the weight of a name and how it becomes you and you become it in turn (intentionally or coincidentally); the love and hate we feel towards abusive and unlovable people in our inner circle, and why we may not be able to / want to untangle ourselves from them; abuse and how it bleeds into every corner of your life and eats away at your sense of self; and the beauty and defiance of simply persisting.
i've been more hurried with trying to cover more ground with books i read, but this one makes me want to go back and savor this later. in particular, i want to eventually revisit the refrain "i'll go on" (계속해보겠습니다) throughout the novel, as it's such a versatile and evocative one.
this not a happy book by any means, nor do i think any of the characters (save naghi) are even lovable, but nana and aeja have been some of my favorite characters i've read in a long time. it also reminded me of a far more depressing version of banana yoshimoto's kitchen with certain themes of food and the slight distance from the narrators, but the storytelling and characters resonated a lot more intimately for me.
and one final note: this is not something i notice in books before but this book was VERY well translated, it had the perfect amt of localization to be wonderfully understandable, but you can almost hear the author's original voice in korean.
i've been more hurried with trying to cover more ground with books i read, but this one makes me want to go back and savor this later. in particular, i want to eventually revisit the refrain "i'll go on" (계속해보겠습니다) throughout the novel, as it's such a versatile and evocative one.
this not a happy book by any means, nor do i think any of the characters (save naghi) are even lovable, but nana and aeja have been some of my favorite characters i've read in a long time. it also reminded me of a far more depressing version of banana yoshimoto's kitchen with certain themes of food and the slight distance from the narrators, but the storytelling and characters resonated a lot more intimately for me.
and one final note: this is not something i notice in books before but this book was VERY well translated, it had the perfect amt of localization to be wonderfully understandable, but you can almost hear the author's original voice in korean.
July 14, 2019
Something that makes me very angry is victimisation. There is nothing tragic about believing that an event outside of your control has lead to your life inalterably moving into one direction only. There is nothing romantic about accepting being stuck in a dark space. And there was nothing inspirational about I'll Go On.
Two sisters grow up in a broken home after their father dies in a workplace accident and their mother falls into depression. With no love or attention given to them during their childhood they cannot help but take severe emotinal damage that causes them lifelong difficulties to form relationships and feel compassion and love. The "idea" here is that the death of their father disabled their mother to raise her children, which leads to the compulsory development of a very similar depression on their side. Now, you might think, yes, this, unfortunately, happens, it is important to write about it. And you are correct. But the angle with which Hwang approaches the story made me want to tear this book apart.
The two sisters are portrayed as so incapable of healing, of acknowledging their trauma that it doesn't give any "hope" to the reader. If anything, I felt like the message of the book was that, without a father, a family is incapable of forming a strong bond, and without a strong family you are destined to be a weak and broken person that cannot form a functioning family themselves. I would have loved for the book to tell the story of how the sisters are able to turn their lives around by reflecting on what their mother couldn't reflect on, and become strong women that support and heal eachother. Instead, they simply "go on" - meaning they bob up and down in their twisted sadness they can't even comprehend because they blame their surroundings for breaking them, rather than searching for a way out.
There were no intelligent comments on depression in this book whatsoever. The characters understanding of their situation didn't stretch beyond that of a child, minus the intuitive emotional depth with which a child would be able to feel sadness or loneliness. The story felt naft, dated, andborderline sexist. Do not recommend, unless you can find comfort in fatalistic, romanticised descriptions of mental illness - which I truly doubt anyone would.
Two sisters grow up in a broken home after their father dies in a workplace accident and their mother falls into depression. With no love or attention given to them during their childhood they cannot help but take severe emotinal damage that causes them lifelong difficulties to form relationships and feel compassion and love. The "idea" here is that the death of their father disabled their mother to raise her children, which leads to the compulsory development of a very similar depression on their side. Now, you might think, yes, this, unfortunately, happens, it is important to write about it. And you are correct. But the angle with which Hwang approaches the story made me want to tear this book apart.
The two sisters are portrayed as so incapable of healing, of acknowledging their trauma that it doesn't give any "hope" to the reader. If anything, I felt like the message of the book was that, without a father, a family is incapable of forming a strong bond, and without a strong family you are destined to be a weak and broken person that cannot form a functioning family themselves. I would have loved for the book to tell the story of how the sisters are able to turn their lives around by reflecting on what their mother couldn't reflect on, and become strong women that support and heal eachother. Instead, they simply "go on" - meaning they bob up and down in their twisted sadness they can't even comprehend because they blame their surroundings for breaking them, rather than searching for a way out.
There were no intelligent comments on depression in this book whatsoever. The characters understanding of their situation didn't stretch beyond that of a child, minus the intuitive emotional depth with which a child would be able to feel sadness or loneliness. The story felt naft, dated, and
May 4, 2023
To quote a Mr. S Beckett; “Where I am, I don’t know, I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on.”
Which I think pretty much encapsulates the; quietly contemplative, poetical poignant, painfully (at times) beauty, that is this novel!
FINALLY, a book that reminds me why I enjoy reading so much -even if it’s not always a wholly “cheerful”story I find myself immersed in.
Much like the title suggest, this book -through its experimental threefold perspective, truly represents the sheer solidarity and strength of its characters. How, in spite of all that seems to be ”against” them (familial and societal expectations, grief, motherhood, capitalism, forbidden love -and so on) they individually -and collectively, continue to “go on”.
I feel like I have SO much I could say about this book (and don’t even get me started on the food element!) but for the moment, I think I’d just like to sit with these feelings for now.
4.5/5 stars
Which I think pretty much encapsulates the; quietly contemplative, poetical poignant, painfully (at times) beauty, that is this novel!
FINALLY, a book that reminds me why I enjoy reading so much -even if it’s not always a wholly “cheerful”story I find myself immersed in.
Much like the title suggest, this book -through its experimental threefold perspective, truly represents the sheer solidarity and strength of its characters. How, in spite of all that seems to be ”against” them (familial and societal expectations, grief, motherhood, capitalism, forbidden love -and so on) they individually -and collectively, continue to “go on”.
I feel like I have SO much I could say about this book (and don’t even get me started on the food element!) but for the moment, I think I’d just like to sit with these feelings for now.
4.5/5 stars
August 24, 2022
What a stunning book :) I chose “I’ll Go On” as my introduction to Tilted Axis Press and I am so excited to read more from them because this book beyond exceeded my expectations. This novel examines non traditional family structures, relationships between sisters, and societal expectations surrounding women and motherhood. Hwang engages similar emotions repeatedly throughout the novel, but due to each narrator’s distinct nature (there are three) these emotions are felt with full force each time. As much as this book may confirm some of your existential angst and dread, it will leave you with a true sense of the worth in going through life, no matter how difficult it may sometimes be. If you liked “Breasts and Eggs” I would definitely recommend checking this book out. They bare a lot of similarities both thematically and structurally.
June 14, 2021
J'ai adoré ma lecture ! J'ai adoré suivre les pensées et divagations de ces 3 frères et sœurs qui sont chacun des individus à part entière, avec chacun son train de pensées, mais qui ensemble forment un cocon que nulle autre à le droit de pénétrer (sauf le lecteur, quel privilégié !).
Le charme de ce roman réside dans sa simplicité, son aspect anodin, qui permet donc au lecteur de se retrouver dans au moins un des trois personnages, bien que leur enfance ne soit pas si anodine que cela... On vit avec ces personnages, on réfléchit avec eux, on se pose les mêmes questions qu'eux, on est ou on devient finalement un peu chacun des 3...
Bref, vous l'aurez compris, je vous le recommande (dès qu'il sera sorti 🤭) !
Le charme de ce roman réside dans sa simplicité, son aspect anodin, qui permet donc au lecteur de se retrouver dans au moins un des trois personnages, bien que leur enfance ne soit pas si anodine que cela... On vit avec ces personnages, on réfléchit avec eux, on se pose les mêmes questions qu'eux, on est ou on devient finalement un peu chacun des 3...
Bref, vous l'aurez compris, je vous le recommande (dès qu'il sera sorti 🤭) !
April 10, 2019
A beautifully written and translated book about grief, trauma, siblings, motherhood, found family and unrequited love. However, whilst there's some stunning prose in here, there's not a lot of plot; it feels a bit more like art rather than a story and didn't quite connect for me. Absolutely sure others will love it though!
October 15, 2018
Kaunis ja pohdiskeleva tarina kahdesta sisaruksesta ja heidän lapsuudenystävästään. Teemoina perhesiteet, köyhyys ja syrjäytyneisyys, yhteiskunnan odotukset. Parasta yksityiskohtaiset arkihetkien kuvaukset, yhteiskuntakritiikki ja pohdiskeleva kieli.
January 19, 2020
This book has so many rich layers of meaning I feel ill equipped to comment on any of it.. something to ponder and return to, it’s really unlike anything else I’ve read in a while. Not heartbreaking, but somehow a gritty look at the real pain of living and of desperation and protection.
did-not-finish
October 6, 2021I read a third of this but I just didn’t connect. I’m glad quite a few readers who I respect got along with it, but alas it was not for me. I shan’t go on.
September 20, 2025
Listen to my review on YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0Iqn...
Read my review on Substack here - https://open.substack.com/pub/barrywe...
Book tube 5 황정은
Hello everyone, welcome to Barry’s book reviews, episode number 5. Today I’m reviewing “I’ll Go On” by Hwang Jung-eun. It was originally published in Korean in 2014 with the title 계속하겠습니다, and the English translation by Emily Yae won was published in 2018.
This is another book published by Tilted Axis Press. In a previous episode, I reviewed Han Yujoo’s ‘The Impossible Fairytale’ also from Tilted Axis Press. I have to say that in general the writers they work with are all very interesting, and if you investigate their catalog, I’m sure you will find something intriguing. The Korean Literature Now magazine has an interview with Deborah Smith, the translator who launched Tilted Axis. She explains that she wanted to publish works by Hwang Jung eun “for her dark, obliquely fantastical stories of the Korean underclass.” ‘I’ll Go On’ is actually the second Hwang Jung eun novel Tilted Axis published. They also published “100 Shadows,” a strange and captivating novel that I’ll review in a future episode.
Hwang has a couple of short stories available in translation, at least one for free on the Korean Literature Now website, and they are also worth checking out. Having read everything she currently has available in translation, I have to say I’m a fan, and I’m looking forward to more translations, hopefully in the not-too-distant future.
‘I’ll Go On’ tells the story of two sisters Sora and Nana, and their close childhood friend and neighbor Naghi. The novel is set mainly during their young adulthood, with lots of flashbacks and reminiscing about their connected childhoods. I assumed they were in their twenties, but the novel doesn’t appear to state how old they are exactly.
Sora and Nana are essentially left to fend for themselves after their father dies suddenly and unexpectedly in an industrial accident at the factory he works in. This happens when the two girls are young children.
Their mother sinks into despair and apathy and becomes suicidal, and mostly abandons her role as caregiver.
They have to grow up fast and learn to be responsible and take care of each other. As they do, they develop a very close bond.
As the novel begins, they are young adults, and the younger sister, Nana, becomes unexpectedly pregnant. This unanticipated pregnancy tests their bonds and friendships in various ways.
This is a delicate and tender novel that asks questions about sisterhood, friendship, and families. It asks what is the nature of the family?
Hwang Jung eun was Born in Seoul in 1976. She debuted in 2005 when she Won a spring literary contest called the Kyunghyang Shinmun New Writer’s Award, with her short story “Mother.”
She has authored the novels One Hundred Shadows, Savage Alice, today’s book I’ll Go On, and the short story collections Into the World of Passi, The Seven Thirty- Two Elephant Train, and Being Nobody. She has also published a serial novel called dd’s Umbrella. Since making her debut in 2005, she has Won several Korean literary awards – Hankook Ilbo Literary Award, Sin-Dong Yeop Literary Award, and Several Young writer awards. She is generally very Highly acclaimed by critics, and popular with readers. Jang Sungkyu Writes in KLN that quote, “Hwang Jung-eun’s aesthetic achievements stand unique in Korean literature. Her work so far has used fantasy and allegory to reconstruct the voice of social minorities. Her unique aesthetic in portraying her deep interest in social issues stands out among the major achievements of Korean literature in the 21st century.” High praise indeed.
Hwang connects with her readers so much in fact that she has also been called ‘The Voice of the Hell Joseon Generation” for the way that her work portrays the generational difficulties of Korean youths.
Reading Hwang’s novels and short stories, she certainly does seem to tap into the fears and desires of the country’s generation of disaffected youth.
She is regarded as being at the forefront of a group of relatively young Korean writers whose work explores and embodies the ‘Hell Joseon’ view of modern Korean society.
The term ‘Hell Joseon’ came to prominence in the early 2010s after a corruption scandal involving the country’s then foreign minister securing a high-profile job for his daughter. This was, however just the latest in a long line of scandals that would actually get worse.
That minister eventually lost his job, and the term Hell Joseon was picked up and embraced by Korean netizens.
‘Hell Joseon’ groups and forums spread across social media where disgruntled users could post examples of unfair treatment and abuses of privilege. Let me quote a short section from the Korea times -
“By 2015, ‘Hell Joseon’ was increasingly used as shorthand for a litany of ills blighting the lives of struggling Koreans. It refers to a view of Korea as a highly regimented and regressive society trapped in an ancient feudal-like system that forces individuals through a gruelingly competitive education system in the desperate hope of securing a good job, of which there seem to be fewer and fewer.”
“The wealthy, powerful or famous can sidestep this relentless, dehumanizing grind, but those who can’t often slip through the cracks, forced to live on the fringes where they are forgotten and marginalized by mainstream society.”
There have, of course, been a number of novels and stories written for + about these marginalized young people.
Hwang’s work is populated by the poor, the abused, the neglected, the abandoned, and the homeless.
Her first two works translated into English, the novel ‘One Hundred Shadows’ and short story ‘Kong’s Garden,’ depict the lives of struggling temporary workers with little education, few career prospects, and often unstable relationships.
‘One Hundred Shadows,’ Hwang’s first novel, was published in 2010 and became a word of mouth bestseller by capturing the zeitgeist of the late 2000s and early 2010s.
Her third book translated into English – “I’ll Go On” – also became popular in Korea in the early 2010s when it was serialized in a magazine
When it was serialized, it was also serialized under a title that is very different from the English title for the novel.
One of the appealing things about Tilted Axis is that they sometimes have little notes at the beginning of their books, highlighting interesting interpretation or language issues.
In ‘I’ll Go On’, there is a note explaining the title.
It was originally Serialized from Autumn 2012 – Summer 2013 with the title - sora-nana-naghi – the 3names of the main characters. This leads us to So – na – gi – which is a Korean word meaning a sudden, brief downpour – characters names – and also the name of a famous Korean story. This title also has an incantatory – rhythmic quality – like a magic spell of protection or a symbol of solidarity and highlights the importance of names.
Each character at some point in the novel reflects on the meaning of their names – Sora – Ra means water parsley, Nana – means beautiful in Hanja – Na also means “I”, and Naghi – Na means Pot in hanja – and as he explains his name is written mistakenly on their family register. The published title of the book became 계속하겠습니다, which translates to the English title - I’ll go on – which is a repeated phrase throughout the book – I will continue – bearing my burden.
That repeated phrase represents the girls’ difficult journey through childhood following the death of their father and their mother’s breakdown.
During this difficult childhood, they meet Naghi – who is living with his mother, but also without a father and also with his own problems.
As young adults - Sora finds out – that her younger sister Nana is secretly pregnant.
She is shocked because they still live together, and she didn’t even know that her sister had a boyfriend
This causes a great deal of friction and tension in their relationship; it causes them to reflect on the past, and the incidents that have shaped their lives.
Have they been poisoned by their mother’s outlook on life, that love is death and life is desperate? Can they transcend this way of thinking about family and relationships, or are they trapped by it?
They are struggling with the issues life throws at them. Are they staring into the void? Is Life meaningless?
Or could they break free if they didn’t have to conform to societal expectations?
The novel confronts this issue of choosing how to live. How free are they to choose how they want to live?
They are all living what some would call unconventional lifestyles and having unconventional relationships. Is it possible for them to build their own type of family?
I found Hwang’s writing style to be Delicate but very evocative. You get a real sense of these characters as fully rounded creations. And her Delicate writing expresses a lot, and does a good job letting the reader see the interior lives of her characters. It’s a novel where Dreams – memories – and fantasies blend and blur together. I highly recommend that you check out ‘I’ll Go On’ by Hwang Jungeun.
Read my review on Substack here - https://open.substack.com/pub/barrywe...
Book tube 5 황정은
Hello everyone, welcome to Barry’s book reviews, episode number 5. Today I’m reviewing “I’ll Go On” by Hwang Jung-eun. It was originally published in Korean in 2014 with the title 계속하겠습니다, and the English translation by Emily Yae won was published in 2018.
This is another book published by Tilted Axis Press. In a previous episode, I reviewed Han Yujoo’s ‘The Impossible Fairytale’ also from Tilted Axis Press. I have to say that in general the writers they work with are all very interesting, and if you investigate their catalog, I’m sure you will find something intriguing. The Korean Literature Now magazine has an interview with Deborah Smith, the translator who launched Tilted Axis. She explains that she wanted to publish works by Hwang Jung eun “for her dark, obliquely fantastical stories of the Korean underclass.” ‘I’ll Go On’ is actually the second Hwang Jung eun novel Tilted Axis published. They also published “100 Shadows,” a strange and captivating novel that I’ll review in a future episode.
Hwang has a couple of short stories available in translation, at least one for free on the Korean Literature Now website, and they are also worth checking out. Having read everything she currently has available in translation, I have to say I’m a fan, and I’m looking forward to more translations, hopefully in the not-too-distant future.
‘I’ll Go On’ tells the story of two sisters Sora and Nana, and their close childhood friend and neighbor Naghi. The novel is set mainly during their young adulthood, with lots of flashbacks and reminiscing about their connected childhoods. I assumed they were in their twenties, but the novel doesn’t appear to state how old they are exactly.
Sora and Nana are essentially left to fend for themselves after their father dies suddenly and unexpectedly in an industrial accident at the factory he works in. This happens when the two girls are young children.
Their mother sinks into despair and apathy and becomes suicidal, and mostly abandons her role as caregiver.
They have to grow up fast and learn to be responsible and take care of each other. As they do, they develop a very close bond.
As the novel begins, they are young adults, and the younger sister, Nana, becomes unexpectedly pregnant. This unanticipated pregnancy tests their bonds and friendships in various ways.
This is a delicate and tender novel that asks questions about sisterhood, friendship, and families. It asks what is the nature of the family?
Hwang Jung eun was Born in Seoul in 1976. She debuted in 2005 when she Won a spring literary contest called the Kyunghyang Shinmun New Writer’s Award, with her short story “Mother.”
She has authored the novels One Hundred Shadows, Savage Alice, today’s book I’ll Go On, and the short story collections Into the World of Passi, The Seven Thirty- Two Elephant Train, and Being Nobody. She has also published a serial novel called dd’s Umbrella. Since making her debut in 2005, she has Won several Korean literary awards – Hankook Ilbo Literary Award, Sin-Dong Yeop Literary Award, and Several Young writer awards. She is generally very Highly acclaimed by critics, and popular with readers. Jang Sungkyu Writes in KLN that quote, “Hwang Jung-eun’s aesthetic achievements stand unique in Korean literature. Her work so far has used fantasy and allegory to reconstruct the voice of social minorities. Her unique aesthetic in portraying her deep interest in social issues stands out among the major achievements of Korean literature in the 21st century.” High praise indeed.
Hwang connects with her readers so much in fact that she has also been called ‘The Voice of the Hell Joseon Generation” for the way that her work portrays the generational difficulties of Korean youths.
Reading Hwang’s novels and short stories, she certainly does seem to tap into the fears and desires of the country’s generation of disaffected youth.
She is regarded as being at the forefront of a group of relatively young Korean writers whose work explores and embodies the ‘Hell Joseon’ view of modern Korean society.
The term ‘Hell Joseon’ came to prominence in the early 2010s after a corruption scandal involving the country’s then foreign minister securing a high-profile job for his daughter. This was, however just the latest in a long line of scandals that would actually get worse.
That minister eventually lost his job, and the term Hell Joseon was picked up and embraced by Korean netizens.
‘Hell Joseon’ groups and forums spread across social media where disgruntled users could post examples of unfair treatment and abuses of privilege. Let me quote a short section from the Korea times -
“By 2015, ‘Hell Joseon’ was increasingly used as shorthand for a litany of ills blighting the lives of struggling Koreans. It refers to a view of Korea as a highly regimented and regressive society trapped in an ancient feudal-like system that forces individuals through a gruelingly competitive education system in the desperate hope of securing a good job, of which there seem to be fewer and fewer.”
“The wealthy, powerful or famous can sidestep this relentless, dehumanizing grind, but those who can’t often slip through the cracks, forced to live on the fringes where they are forgotten and marginalized by mainstream society.”
There have, of course, been a number of novels and stories written for + about these marginalized young people.
Hwang’s work is populated by the poor, the abused, the neglected, the abandoned, and the homeless.
Her first two works translated into English, the novel ‘One Hundred Shadows’ and short story ‘Kong’s Garden,’ depict the lives of struggling temporary workers with little education, few career prospects, and often unstable relationships.
‘One Hundred Shadows,’ Hwang’s first novel, was published in 2010 and became a word of mouth bestseller by capturing the zeitgeist of the late 2000s and early 2010s.
Her third book translated into English – “I’ll Go On” – also became popular in Korea in the early 2010s when it was serialized in a magazine
When it was serialized, it was also serialized under a title that is very different from the English title for the novel.
One of the appealing things about Tilted Axis is that they sometimes have little notes at the beginning of their books, highlighting interesting interpretation or language issues.
In ‘I’ll Go On’, there is a note explaining the title.
It was originally Serialized from Autumn 2012 – Summer 2013 with the title - sora-nana-naghi – the 3names of the main characters. This leads us to So – na – gi – which is a Korean word meaning a sudden, brief downpour – characters names – and also the name of a famous Korean story. This title also has an incantatory – rhythmic quality – like a magic spell of protection or a symbol of solidarity and highlights the importance of names.
Each character at some point in the novel reflects on the meaning of their names – Sora – Ra means water parsley, Nana – means beautiful in Hanja – Na also means “I”, and Naghi – Na means Pot in hanja – and as he explains his name is written mistakenly on their family register. The published title of the book became 계속하겠습니다, which translates to the English title - I’ll go on – which is a repeated phrase throughout the book – I will continue – bearing my burden.
That repeated phrase represents the girls’ difficult journey through childhood following the death of their father and their mother’s breakdown.
During this difficult childhood, they meet Naghi – who is living with his mother, but also without a father and also with his own problems.
As young adults - Sora finds out – that her younger sister Nana is secretly pregnant.
She is shocked because they still live together, and she didn’t even know that her sister had a boyfriend
This causes a great deal of friction and tension in their relationship; it causes them to reflect on the past, and the incidents that have shaped their lives.
Have they been poisoned by their mother’s outlook on life, that love is death and life is desperate? Can they transcend this way of thinking about family and relationships, or are they trapped by it?
They are struggling with the issues life throws at them. Are they staring into the void? Is Life meaningless?
Or could they break free if they didn’t have to conform to societal expectations?
The novel confronts this issue of choosing how to live. How free are they to choose how they want to live?
They are all living what some would call unconventional lifestyles and having unconventional relationships. Is it possible for them to build their own type of family?
I found Hwang’s writing style to be Delicate but very evocative. You get a real sense of these characters as fully rounded creations. And her Delicate writing expresses a lot, and does a good job letting the reader see the interior lives of her characters. It’s a novel where Dreams – memories – and fantasies blend and blur together. I highly recommend that you check out ‘I’ll Go On’ by Hwang Jungeun.
January 25, 2024
“Pouring all your heart into love as Aeja had done – that level of devotion is what Nana wants to guard herself against.”
Masterful piece of work on womanhood and motherhood from an Asian perspective. There’s something insanely poetic but ultimately painful about fearing that you turn like your mothers when you perceive them as cautionary tales.
Masterful piece of work on womanhood and motherhood from an Asian perspective. There’s something insanely poetic but ultimately painful about fearing that you turn like your mothers when you perceive them as cautionary tales.
October 28, 2024
Un livre très poétique, avec une écriture fine. Parfois difficile de suivre les pensées des personnages, des récits peut-être un peu trop subjectifs.
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