MEMOIRES D'UNE REINE DE COREE

by Dame Hong

Un ouvrage à la fois chronique de la vie quotidienne à la cour sous la période Joseon et journal intime.Dame Hong, épouse du prince héritier qui devait devenir le vingt-deuxième roi de la dynastie Yi, commença à rédiger ses Mémoires en 1796, à l'âge de soixante ans, pour l'édification de son petit-fils, le roi Sunjo. Elle tient la chronique minutieuse de la vie quotidienne à la cour, en même temps que le journal de ses années de bonheur puis de souffrances, dans une prose élégante et d'une rare délicatesse qui n'a pas d'équivalent dans la littérature coréenne.

Genres: Nonfiction, History, Memoir, Asia, Classics, Biography, Historical

224 pages, Pocket Book

First published January 1, 1985

Reviews

[Alwynne · Rating 4 out of 5]

In 1762 in what became Korea, the current ruler King Yeongjo ordered his son Prince Sado to climb into a large chest designed for rice storage, the chest was then sealed and Sado left to die, the process took seven days from start to finish. It was a form of execution carefully devised to ensure no one individual could be held responsible for harming a divine royal. Sado’s widow Lady Hyegyong was the mother to his eldest son who subsequently became heir to the throne, and later took over as King. Lady Hyegyong – nobody knows her first name – later produced a series of memoirs which she started in 1795 when she was sixty years old, and completed in 1805. Unlike similar formal works written by men, Hyegyong wrote her memoirs in Korean making her memoirs that much more accessible to later readers.

Lady Hyegyong came from a solidly middle-class background and her early memoirs depict a happy childhood and a settled, unusually-close, family life. She recalls playing games with her cousins, favourite toys, and piggyback rides but her childhood effectively ended when she was nine and selected as a wife for Prince Sado. As custom required, she left her family to live in relative isolation in the royal palace compound. From then on, she seems to have lived in a state of near-constant fear. First scared and homesick, later terrified by the actions of her deeply unstable husband, as well as frightened by the ways in which her father and brothers become increasingly vulnerable to intrigue and scandal rife in royal circles. The atmosphere of intense political and personal rivalry that led to the downfall of a number of her family members dominates her middle memoirs, which could sometimes be difficult to follow because of the numerous factions and individuals involved in shameless bids for wealth and power. When her husband Sado was executed Lady Hyegyong’s position became even more precarious; the tone of her memoirs suggests someone desperate to counteract growing slurs against her and her relatives. Although how much of what she claims is totally accurate, and how much self-serving, isn’t entirely clear – other accounts from the same period often confirm her version of events.

The early and final memoirs are by far the most compelling, the early sections are formal but also curiously intimate and confiding. The final entries are far more disturbing, an attempt to chronicle the life and actions of Prince Sado composed for her grandson who’d recently taken the throne, many official records of Sado’s life and, now infamous, death had been destroyed or radically altered. Lady Hyegyong’s chronicle is fair-minded, praising her husband’s virtues as much as revealing his vices, but it’s obvious she was the victim of a regime of brutal, domestic abuse. She attributes Sado’s decline to a mix of malign influences and bizarre superstitions, as well as his own father’s harsh treatment of him. Sado was increasingly the subject of odd tales from those about reincarnation and the early death of their first son to his growing obsession with spirits and the occult. As time went on, Sado’s behaviour became more and more erratic, and Lady Hyegyong struggles to excuse it. By his mid-twenties Sado was a figure of pure terror, almost routinely engaged in killing, torturing, and maiming his servants and attendants, as well as savagely beating and raping numerous ladies-in-waiting. Reading this now it was particularly unnerving to realise Sado’s appalling, bloodthirsty cruelty was less of a bother to his father than indications of a possible lack of loyalty and suitable deference to his father's position as monarch – it seems the fate of lesser members of Sado’s household including numerous animals, was regarded as relatively insignificant, until they started to attract wider attention and condemnation.

Overall, this is a unique, surprisingly-frank perspective on a famous period of Korean history as well as the everyday experiences of women like Hyegyong, it’s inspired works of fiction and popular dramas including The Red Sleeve but it’s actually incredibly readable in its original form.

[Harry Rutherford · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a properly remarkable book. It is, as the subtitle explains, ‘The Autobiographical Writings of a Crown Princess of Eighteenth-Century Korea’. Lady Hyegyŏng* was married into the royal family; she married Sado, the Crown Prince, when they were both nine years old. Sado never became king — he was executed in 1762 at the age of 27 — but their son inherited the throne as King Chŏngjo. Remarkably, Hyegyŏng outlived him as well, and three of these four ‘memoirs’ were written after 1800, during the reign of her grandson King Sunjo.

So she had a long and eventful life, and it makes for fascinating reading. It’s sometimes a little difficult keeping track of who’s who: there’s a large cast of characters, the court intrigues are confusing, and the family relationships are complicated by the fact that the kings and princes have children by multiple women; some wives, some consorts. And because I’m unused to Korean names they all sound a bit the same to me. But it has a list of characters and some family trees, which helped.

The other complication is that these are four separate memoirs which overlap with each other. So the first (‘The Memoir of 1795’) is closest to the modern idea of a memoir, starting with her childhood and covering most of her life, but it carefully avoids any details about the single most important event: the execution of Prince Sado. The execution of the crown Prince by his father is so politically charged that she only alludes to it in the vaguest terms. Then the memoirs of 1801 and 1802 are more directly political; public advocacy aimed at defending the reputation of her father and brothers, who had fallen out favour after the death of Chŏngjo. And in the Memoir of 1805, she finally returns to the story of Sado, explaining that 40 years of silence has allowed false versions of events to take hold, and she believes it is important to tell what really happened.

And the story of Prince Sado is extraordinary. I don’t want to give all the details; I’m sure I enjoyed this book more because I was surprised and shocked by it. But the central fact of his execution is this: he was suffering from some kind of mental illness, and it progressed to the point that he was thought to be a credible threat to the life of the king. But because he was royal, custom forbade any method of execution that would disfigure the body, and poison would have implied he was a criminal; so he was shut into a rice chest and left to starve to death.

As you might imagine, this event traumatised the entire royal family in various ways; hence it being taboo to talk about it for four decades after it happened.

But although it was an extreme example, it also gives a hint of the brutality of court life. There are an awful lot of people who get banished to remote islands, or tortured or executed; usually for saying something which is perceived to be disloyal. That ‘disloyalty’, at least at this cultural distance, often seems to be based on terrifyingly slight nuances of speech.

So I found it fascinating as a portrayal of a time and place, and the whole story is positively Shakespearean.† But it is also much more readable than you might expect. If you skipped the two middle memoirs it would be a positive page-turner; not that they aren’t interesting, but they are harder work.

The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyŏng is my book from South Korea for the

[Neil · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a tough book to get through. Try reading just the Introduction and the Memoir of 1805, if you're so inclined. It's a remarkable tragedy of 18th century Korean court life under the most impossible of situations written by woman's careful hand (a rare thing in pre-modern Asia). The Memoirs give "the facts" around the tragic life of Prince Sado, who appears to have suffered from an acute form of paranoia and schitzophrenia, and his wife, the Lady Hyegyong, who struggled daily to manage his steadily deteriorating condition in the Chosun Imperial Palace during the 1750s and 60s. As the crown prince, Sado was supposed to be the epitome of the virtue. But his illness was a serious political liability and a significant risk to the proper rules for dynastic succession. In the end, Sado's father is forced to make a horrible decision, which has clearly left a mark on Korean perceptions of their premodern period. This is an interesting - if less than uplifting - read if you're interested in Korean court culture, Confucianism, and the genuinely impressive ways women navigated a society dominated by men in East Asia.

[TRXTRMXTR · Rating 4 out of 5]

I found this book absolutely fascinating. The first 3 sections are take 'em or leave 'em, but the 4th section where she actually describes her husband's decent into madness is incredible. Plus the cultural history that goes a long with it really makes it great. If you like historical writings and are interested in Korean court life or Confucian court life, this book would engage you.

[Justin Howe · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lady Hyegyong was married to the infamous Prince Sado, a probable paranoid schizophrenic, who was eventually sentenced to death by his parents.

Anyone interested in court intrigue and psychological character studies will find this book fascinating. Only I suggest reading it out of order, starting with the introduction and the first memoir then skipping to the fourth.

[Luke · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's been a while since I've been forced to reckon with a piece of writing on its own terms, rather than as yet another annotation to the long litany of textual pieces I've chosen to engage with for the last several decades. Sure, one can bear in mind the more literal nature of the phrase "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there" and tack on as much cultural relativism as hasn't been wiped out by the modern day kyriarchy, but it's another thing entirely to witness the convulsions of a civilization around a centuries-shaped cornerstone and realize, even just a little bit, what it would have meant to live during such a time where the sky might has well have literally fallen to earth. Indeed, the fact that Lady Hyegyeong was able to transcribe it at all has as much to do with, despite all the political misfortunes that besieged her, the immense amount of luck she had in conforming to a strictured social system as it did with her skill and bravery in crafting an account of its inevitable failures. Had she not lived to the age of eighty during a time when the average human died anywhere between the ages of twenty-five and forty, had she not only successfully borne but also survived a sufficient number of sons for continuing a four-century old dynasty, had her reigning son not successfully begotten his own heir before suffering an untimely demise, she may have written the first memoir of this work, perhaps even the second or the third, but the fourth, which breaks so many of the conventions of writing and moral standards upheld by the most elite examples of Korean writing up until that point, would have been lost, just as so much else has been in the name of propriety, power, and fear. So, here is a rare piece that demonstrates much of what was different then in a land far from my own and long long ago, and yet, makes almost complete sense in terms of both its admirable qualities and its mounting horrors. I'm sure many a European type has attempted to exotify it all to hell and back, but around the time these writings were put together, white people were up to their necks in imperial crimes against humanity, so. Best to take what's given without pointing fingers, lest you end up with one of your own digits served up to your own self on a plate.

Mental illness. It's something I've considered myself accountable for, both in terms of the proper care for myself and the appropriate castigation of fearmongers and the like, that coming to this narrative wasn't anything that could be called a "pleasure," but familiar, as one would nod to a perfect stranger on the street and receive a nod in return based on mutual recognition of shared trials and tribulations. True, in the days of Lady Hyegyeong, one could be banished and beaten to death if an enemy plays the game of politics adroitly enough, but these are also the days before insanity was codified in terms of genes and government sanctions. That alone would not fully explain why the chronicler chooses to be as compassionate and yet as forthright in her successive recountals as she is, but it does help a reader take the long view of things such transgenerational trauma, so new in today's lexicon but so useful when it comes to taking empires into holistic account. One particularly glib descriptor terms the events "Shakespearean," and much as I disdain such Anglocentric laziness, if one were to think for a moment about a certain Hollow Crown tetralogy and what would have happened had the ultimate challenge had been filicide rather than Agincourt, it's rather difficult to resist thinking in parallel from thereon out. Some might put up a fuss about Christianity or some other contemporaneous Euro codification of ethics, but the benefit of following my usual habit of reading through this entire piece rather than skipping around to the "good" parts is that I give the Confucian social system as imbibed by Korean imperialism its fare dues, including the trickiness that arises when royal blood, the life fluid of an entire nation, must be spilled to protect said nation. One can argue and argue that of course things could have turned out differently under such and such a more enlightened circumstances, but honestly, I live in what can easily be called the most powerful nation in the world, and the methods by which it chooses to handle mental illness in its populations isn't fit for dogs. Protocols may not explicitly call for convincing the patient to voluntarily fit themselves into a rice chest and remain until they expire, but there's more than one way to place the onus on the individual and make it impossible to think that, perhaps, it's the system that is at fault.

Before someone gets the wrong idea, this is not an exciting piece of writing. Indeed, I'd only recommend it to those with a good grasp on history far beyond the pale and a genuine interest in how things came to be beyond what explicitly conforms to the WASP curriculum. Lady Hyegyeong does indeed get rather dramatic and/or exceedingly fanciful in her writing at times when it comes to upholding the sacrosanct morality of everyone involved with the dynasty of which she was a vital part, but by the fourth memoir, whatever sleepless nights and haggard days she must have spent on whether or not to write what she knew had resolved itself into authorial conviction that what she knew was of value and had to be transcribed as she knew it, utilizing conventions when they were useful and forging ahead on the power of her own emotions, values, and interpersonal relationships when necessary. Adding in the fact that there probably isn't a single piece that compares to it in terms of the sheer singularity of its complex characteristics and ultimate ramifications, and you have a perfect representative of a real classic, not just what is regurgitated in Occidental schools. Not the easiest read I imagine even for those for whom Korean is a first language, but at least, in this case, one can truthfully say that it's worth the effort.

[James F · Rating 3 out of 5]

An early Korean classic, this book actually consists of four separate memoirs. At the beginning of last month, I read another classic work, Queen Inhyun, about a conflict in the Korean Chosun dynasty; these memoirs deal with the next three generations, the reigns of King Yŏngjo, who killed his son Crown Prince Sado, of Sado's son, King Chŏnjo, and the early years of Chŏnjo's son, King Sunjo. The author of the memoirs, Lady Hyegyŏng, was the widow of Prince Sado and the mother of King Chŏnjo. The collective impression of the four memoirs is that the family conflicts of this absolute monarchy were similar to those of the Ptolemies in ancient Egypt or some of the Roman emperors; they make the British monarchy of Richard III or Henry VIII look modern by comparison. The theme of all four is that Lady Hyegyŏng's father and brothers were upright, virtuous servants of the monarchy who were undone by the constant plotting of a variety of other royal families (the list of villains changes in each of the four books, which are hardly consistent among themselves); I suspect that in fact they were probably up to their necks in conspiracies as well. Underlying the family disputes is a factional political struggle between the Norons and Sorons which is never really explained, but which a modern historian would probably see as the key to the events.

[Joana Oliveira · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ok this is really heartbreaking, I can't even imagine 1/3 of what this woman went through

[Velizara K · Rating 2 out of 5]

Reading this book was truly painful. A historic book written in the worst possible way. At one third of the book we already knew the whole story, but for the rest of it we read it again, but with details. On almost every page there was a sub title, which told us what we are going to read about (surprises are obviously forbidden) and there were soooo many names .... I read this book as a book, not as a learning book and maybe I just expected too much. I don't know why I am giving 2 stars, it took me a week to read such a small book, which shows how bored I was by it.

[Dylan Shepard · Rating 2 out of 5]

As a piece of translation and scholarship, Haboush has done an excellent job. Her insight in the introduction was thought provoking and the many useful annotations she included throughout the four memoirs were invaluable in providing context to the seemingly endless cast of characters in this highly convoluted Korean court drama. For purely educational purposes, this book provides an important primary source account of major Korean political developments in the 18th century as well as providing a rare example of a Neo-Confucian political historiography written by a female author.

As for the actual content of the memoirs themselves, however, I found the writings of Lady Hyegyŏng to be deeply unpleasant both for their literary style and the outmoded virtue ethics driven social system they appear to defend. Lady Hyegyŏng's prose is very bland and utilitarian, while the repetitive and meandering nature of her story telling makes this book difficult to read continuously.

My larger issue with the memoirs, however, was with the underlying social values that guide Lady Hyegyŏng's thinking. Although perhaps unknowingly, she appears to reveal the fundamental hypocrisy of the Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucian orthodoxy's insistence on acting virtuously based on circumstance given the conflicting roles and responsibilities one is forced to assume in the five relationship social order prescribed by Confucianism. After all, Lady Hyegyŏng cannot both serve her husband faithfully through committing suicide while also preserve the legitimacy of the governing family as well as ensure the political safety of her son. No matter what Lady Hyegyŏng does, she is invariably forced into some form of grief or anguish because of the impossibility of living up to her conflicting private and public responsibilities. But rather than condemn this absurd and cruel social order, she both implicitly and explicitly defends it by spending 300 pages going through mental gymnastics to legitimate the morally repugnant actions of herself and her family.

Although it is possible that Lady Hyegyŏng is merely tapping into the existing political milieu of 18th century Korea by appealing to Neo-Confucian virtue ethics, there is no indication that over the ten years between her first and final memoir she makes any attempt to be more critical of these societal obligations or shift from the Cheng-Zhu preoccupation with propriety to the more natural conception of right and wrong as outlined by Mengzi and Wang Yangming. For example, she refuses to see how broader societal values that pushed King Yongjo to place undue expectations on Prince Sado could have contributed to his mental illness and eventual undoing. Instead, she explains that the cause of the incident was an issue of disagreeing personalities and some unknowable tragedy from divine intervention. Either way, her analysis does not feel critical or compelling.

This is further worsened by the fact that Lady Hyegyŏng herself does not come across as a reliable narrator. Although she pretends to berate herself for failing in her duties to sovereign, husband, father, brother, and son, this is shown to be insincere by her simultaneous inclusion of endless praise of her actions by the emperor and her family who she tells the reader are people of high esteem and sagacious judgement. This follows the very Confucian tradition to signal how virtuous one actually is by being endlessly self-critical to an absurd, insincere extent.

Moreover, although she pretends to be above politics while polemicizing those that seek to accumulate power for their own faction, by writing these memoirs she herself is also engaging in political activity to rehabilitate the image of her family and preserve the legitimacy of her son and grandson's reign. She may argue that the evidence is on her side, but this does not exclude the fact that under the draconian Confucian system of collective punishment, the whole circumstances of Jongjo's ascendance to the throne were highly irregular and seem to work merely based on the technicality of his political adoption by his uncle and the incredible method of Sado's "execution." By following ritual propriety, Lady Hyegyŏng's family seemingly should lose their right to govern which reveals further issues with her narrative.

Ultimately, Lady Hyegyŏng's memoirs present an educational, albeit deeply disturbing account of the moral philosophy of the ruling elite in 18th century Korea. This is useful for researchers of Neo-Confucianism in Korea or those interested in Korean political history, but I do not recommend this book for general reading.

[Raagini · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such an interesting read! The author's introduction and notes provided much needed context, and Lady Hyegyeong's writing painted such vivid images of fascinating events.

[Dana · Rating 4 out of 5]

After reading The Red Palace and learning it was inspired by a real prince of Korea, I spent a good two or three days researching Prince Sado and his actions. This led me to this book.

According to Wikipedia, Lady Hyegyong's memoirs are some of the only pre-modern autobiographies written by a woman in East Asia. I found her interesting and decided to get my hands on this book and read it.

It's very well written for this time period and it was a wonderful look into Lady Hyegyong's life and the precarious role she had to play in Prince Sado's life. I am of the opinion that Prince Sado had a severe mental illness and I believe his father also suffered from a slightly less severe mental illness too. From what she says, King Yongjo also had uncontrollable fits of rage, you can tell by the way he treats Sado, and his rituals seem to also lend to the idea he also suffered from a mental illness. He was blow small mistakes out of proportion with cruel and harsh punishments while large transgressions (like Sado literally killing hundreds of people) got more sympathy and smaller punishments.

It is fascinating to see an educated woman's impartial view of the whole incident. Well, mostly impartial. She clearly has devotion to her husband, her king, and her country. I think she did the best she could in the terrible situation she was in. A single misstep could have resulted in her death; from her husband or even the king. But she seemed to handle it gracefully, jotting down her innermost thoughts and wishes.

Overall, a great read for those interested in this time period and more specifically Prince Sado himself.

[lauwisteria · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lady Hyegyeong: An incredible female historical figure! She was the wife of the Crown Prince Sado who was starved to death in a rice chest. Crown Prince Sado went mad. Joseon Dynasty was ruled by Confucian principles. In case a sin is committed, all the family is responsible. If Yeongjo had condemned to death Prince Sado, he should have killed both Lady Hyegyeong and San. To preserve the royal lineage, he chose this indirect method to kill his son. "The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyeong", written by his wife, include her account of his madness and eventual torture and death. Her life was filled with one misfortune after another, but she managed to stay afloat and continue to look after her children and her grandchildren. This book (autobiographical) it covers her life, but the crazy parts are when Sado goes insane and she's just recording it all. The memoirs also include 4 distinct pieces written in 1795, 1801, 1802, and 1805. It's telling Lady Hyegyeong's life during the years she was confined to Changgyeong Palace, including her marriage to Prince Sado until his madness and his death by decree of King Yeongjo. I'd be lying if I didn't say this book was difficult to get through. The writing is a bit difficult to get through, since it's a more elevated narration, and the customary way people were introduced and the way the years were said definitely took some getting used to.

[Erin · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have been intending to write a review for this book for some time. It is not a memoir as we usually think of in the modern sense and the book’s introduction is invaluable for historical context and why these memoirs were written. Their purpose was as testimonials, usually to convince the reader of one party’s virtue and another’s deceit. These portions require patience of the modern reader and frequent reference to the genealogical tables at the back just to keep track of who is being discussed.

The first memoir is interesting but the true gem of this work, as others have pointed out, is in the fourth, for neither king nor prince can be presented as entirely innocent or guilty without doing disservice to both as well cast a shadow on the dynasty itself and thus the current ruler. So instead we have a complex portrait of two men, their flaws and virtues, and how these combined with circumstance to bring about tragedy. If parts felt stylized, like viewing the past through a screen, there parts, sometimes just a simple action or phrase, that made me feel I had a genuine glimpse of truth, of what someone thought or felt. For this, as well as the history, I highly recommend this book.

[Seiyon Kim · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm glad I read this because I got to learn about an important era of Korean history in depth, but on a personal level... This brought heartache after heartache. Hmm I have thoughts, but it feels unfair to judge these characters from my perspective. For example, I can judge King Yongjo for how he treated Prince Sado as a father, that is until I remember that dedication to the throne and country preceded familial affection during this time. I can't understand that, not having lived as a king in the Joseon era, so how much can I really say? There must have been insurmountable pressure to raise a perfect son since the heir was born of a secondary consort, which was a deadly combination when mixed with their differences in personality and the dangers of mentally labeling someone as unlikable. Am I simply trying to rationalize the events of this book, which are so cruel and unthinkable that to rationalize them would actually be worse than to accept them as "things that shouldn't have happened but did as the result of societal pressures and the ever unknowable human condition"?

Memoir of 1795: I thought I wrote a review of this in my update but I didn't, and now I don't remember exactly what was in this one. I remember feeling a sense of dread that, as cruel as the events in the first memoir were, things would only get worse.

Memoir of 1801:

This memoir focuses mostly on the political demise of Lady Hyegyong’s family. She feels a lot of responsibility for everything that happens to them, which worsens her depression and despair. Honestly… wow. The attacks are so frequent, harsh, and most importantly misguided, that I started to question how believable her narrating is. A lot of the things that happen are caused by jealousy, familial rivalries, and desire for power, but they come so often that I started to wonder if she was writing from a place of self-victimization… but then so many of the subjects of these attacks are stripped of their posts/titles, banished, and even executed that it’s undeniable that many people had vendettas against her family.

She shows her devotion to her family by using this memoir to argue for the innocence of her family members, often using anecdotal reasoning that would not have been useful in trial, such as “I know [family member] and he did not care for power, so why would he have been involved in a seditious plot with people our family had bad relations with?”

This memoir is where her familial relations that had been portrayed in an idealistic matter in the first matter unravel. It reveals a lot about what family relationships were like during this time, especially for the royal family. Many people in close proximity to the heirs to the throne are constantly clamoring for power, and they influence her son’s views of his maternal family. They don’t have the perfect mother-son relationship as previously presented, which does make you question how reliable the first memoir was.

Overall, wow… she had such a hard life. Even for a royal during this time, she faced an unusual amount of political persecution and personal attacks. Wow…

Memoir of 1802:
I felt so bad while reading this for thinking this but... you know when your friend is wronged but they talk about it so much that you start to get annoyed, and then you feel bad that you're annoyed instead of being unconditionally supportive? Yeah, that's how I felt about this one. It's a lot of repeated patterns explained by sometimes introducing new events, sometimes going into detail about incidents she's already explained. It's also harder to read because you know that the next memoir is the main one.

Memoir of 1805:
All the anticipation of finding out what happened and the dread of... finding out what happened culminate in this chapter to produce a knot in your stomach that keeps you turning the pages faster and faster. Wow... to be a royal during this time was actually awful, nearly nothing about it was enviable except being guaranteed not to starve to death (only if you were in the King's good graces, of course). What would've happened if Sado had been loved as he had deserved to be... There's also something really cathartic about her finally writing in detail about the events she had been referring to as 'the event of that year' or similar titles but you experience the pain she must've endured to do so, especially because the details and causes are even worse than you could expect. This memoir was so sad it puts you in denial that this book is not a work of fiction.

I'm really enjoying writing long book reviews, because it's making me think more (aka reversing the brainrot). Hmm... is this a book about Prince Sado written by Lady Hyegyong, or is it about Lady Hyegyong? Especially considering how rare writing a piece like this was for a woman of her time, and to write so well! Sado's story is known by most Koreans, but her life and persona hold their own against his legacy.

[Kelly · Rating 5 out of 5]

In 1741, at the age of 9, Lady Hyegyong became the crown princess, thanks to her marriage to Crown Prince Sado (also age 9 at the time). She knew then her entire life was forever changed, but could not (especially at so young an age) have possibly imagined all that would happen. Death a child. Decades of scheming and reviling of her birth family. Constant fear and terror for her life, and the lives of her children - particularly her son (who went on to become King), and the death of her husband in 1962, when his father (the king) had him confined to a rice chest for days.

Decades after these most pivotal and terrifying moments of her life transpired, Lady Hyegyong sat down to write in a series of memoirs. The first three memoirs cover a vast array of events - betrayals, schemes, deaths, etc. The final memoir in 1805 focuses almost entirely on her husband, and everything that led up to his ultimate death. This one in particular had very vivid feel to it. Almost gossipy, if gossip showed up to a party wearing blood and fear.

I found this entire book fascinating!!! It's a slow read, but the insight into not just Lady Hyegyong's life, but the day-to-day life and expectations of those in the upper echelons of Korean society was just...well...I could not get enough.

Full disclaimer, this book is not for everyone. It's a slow read, a big of a slog even. In fact, if it had been a novel, I would have probably put this one down in disgust, thinking the writing to be overly dramatic and unrealistic. The fact that these words were actually written by an 18th woman writing about her life experiences - moments that had a huge impact on Korean history, now has me questioning my definition of 'realistic'.

She was a bit dramatic. I definitely rolled my eyes every time she declared that no one could have loved her parent/child/sibling/etc. more than her, which is why she suffered so much. However, when it comes to her fear and terror, I give her a bit of a pass simply because it truly did seem like everyone's reputation and/or life was forever hovering above a knife just itching to sever it.

It is very clear that Lady Hyegyong was deeply unhappy for the majority of her life. Suicidal thoughts were a constant companion, and there were at least two suicide attempts. Lots of other content warnings including - murder, illness, death of children and parents, verbal abuse, the list goes on. Go into this one carefully if you struggle with any of these subjects.

Again, not for everyone but a must read for this wanting to dive deeper into Korean history.

[S. Alberto ⁻⁷ (yearning) · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Since time immemorial, no queen or royal consort has suffered what I have in my life; no other family has been put to the trials that mine has met. The way of Heaven is all-knowing. The present King is benevolent and filial. I trust that, even if I were to die without seeing it, he will distinguish right from wrong; he will avenge my suffering and bitterness.”

Reading this felt like stepping into the mind of a woman who lived through everything—personal loss, royal politics, emotional trauma—and still found the strength to write about it with clarity and grace. Lady Hyegyong’s memoirs aren’t just historical—they’re deeply human.

You’re not just reading about life in the Joseon court—you’re watching it unravel from the eyes of someone who had no choice but to survive it. The way she speaks about Prince Sado (her husband), her family, and the burden of loyalty to the royal household... it’s heartbreaking, layered, and at times, painfully restrained. One moment that hit hard was when she writes:

“I often had a knife in my hand, but the thought of my son always prevented me from actually killing myself.”
Like—how do you read that and not pause to breathe?

Her writing is meticulous and full of care—she’s doing more than documenting her trauma, she’s defending her name and her family's legacy while navigating Confucian expectations of duty, honour, and silence. And somehow, despite all that, she maintains this fierce dignity.

I rated it 4 stars because while the memoir is powerful and important, the density and formality of the language (due to the historical context and style) can make some sections feel a bit slow. But that’s not a flaw of the book—it’s just the nature of what it is: a personal document with political stakes.

Still, it’s worth reading for anyone interested in Korean history, royal life, or women’s autobiographical writing. Lady Hyegyong doesn’t just give you a window into her world—she builds the frame and dares you to sit with it.

[Mina Hong]

Oof. My gen-z ChatGPT brain struggled to fully grasp the complex life of Lady Hyegyong. I appreciated the context prior to the presentation of the four different memoirs; without this, I would have been very lost and confused. 

The first memoir, which delves into Lady Hyegyong's journey into the royal family, caught my interest. However, I couldn't recall much from the second and third memoirs, apart from their focus on her family. I'm not even sure I actually read them (thus the lack of stars for this book).

However, the fourth and final memoir was fascinating! The unique and tragic death in a rice chest, particularly as a case of filicide, is something that will stick with me.

I find the "wailing" events that were part of the mourning process in traditional Korea so interesting!! To wail with excessive despair and intensity often symbolized a deep sense of respect. Especially when it came to the death of a parent, filial piety was a central theme in these memoirs—I would even argue it was the foundation of Korea during this era. I think back to the deep guttural cry my mom expressed when her mother passed. I have never seen sadness expressed so profoundly. I wonder and assume that this emotional "wailing" is just part of who we are as Koreans. 

Confucian values had a profound and pervasive influence on the founding of Korea's culture. Witnessing these values play out in Lady Hyegyong's actions and words truly personified this concept, illustrating the deep significance of filial piety in her life and the broader societal context of her time.

My overall gathering from these memories was that Lady Hyegyong loved her nation and loved her family, in that order. I am glad to be done with this book. I miss fiction.

[alissa:) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wow! What an interesting and completely gut wrenching read. The author’s introductions to the memoirs provided excellent context that allowed readers to get a better understanding of the events that transpired. The memoirs themselves were descriptive, vivid, and thought provoking, and provided a glimpse into this era of Korean history. Such a complicated and sad time!

[Carol Chen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Damn. Everything about this memoir is absolutely insane. The even crazier part is that it is based on a true story. I loved how everyone in class looked up the size of a rice chest after reading what had happened.

[Tahmina · Rating 4 out of 5]

The last memoir.. woah

[Fdt · Rating 5 out of 5]

"The hatefulness and hard-heartedness of humans are simply without limit. Calling upon Heaven and weeping in pain, I lament my fate."

[Fen · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is undoubtedly a very high quality edition of Lady Hyegyong's memoirs. There is ample information in the introduction and footnotes, so a reader like me who knows little about Korean history can understand the memoirs with no problem. The footnotes are perfect; everything necessary is explained without them being excessive.

My problem is with Lady Hyegyong's memoirs themselves. Maybe it was my ignorance about what I would be reading, but I didn't realize they would be almost exclusively about politics and defending the men in her life. Apart from the very beginning, where Lady Hyegyong writes about how she was selected as Crown Princess, she feels mostly absent in the text. When she does talk about herself, she does it in the socially acceptable way for a woman of her day, i.e., she has excessive humility and must apologize for not committing suicide every time a male family member of hers died (a social expectation in Korea in that time period). Of course, reading between the lines, it says a lot that Lady Hyegyong never committed suicide. When her husband died, she claimed to go on living for her son, but when her son died she didn't commit suicide either. She always found an excuse, so one might infer she rejected the idea that women were meant to die for the men in their lives.

Otherwise, these memoirs mostly read like the defense portion of a court case, when one has never heard the prosecution. The Korean royal court was so corrupt that people were accusing one another of disloyalty left and right, and the King might or might not believe them, leading to the accused party being executed or exiled or whathaveyou. Lady Hyegyong's party was on the receiving end of a lot of accusations, so she felt the need to defend everyone from her father to her uncle to her son. Most of these memoirs is dedicated to dissecting the minutia of the accusations and explaining why the charges are false. Even the portions about Prince Sado, while a good portrayal of a dysfunctional father-son relationship, get bogged down in minutia meant to absolve everyone of blame. Maybe she's right, but she's not exactly an unbiased source, and regardless it doesn't mean much to the casual reader.

Mostly, the book took away any naïve ideas I had about the glamor of court life, and made me grateful I was not alive in this time or place. It gives quite a good idea of the social and political dynamics of Korea in this time period, and the way the monarchy functioned. I'm not sure I'd recommend it unless you're really interested in 18th century Korean politics. I think GoodReads' algorithm recommended this to me because I read The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, but it's not anything like that. I was interested in this from a women's history standpoint, but unfortunately it's more about the men's history than anything.

[Rana Adham · Rating 4 out of 5]

I am in awe. The Memoir of 1805 left me in tears.

*****

I do not want to even risk mentioning a spoiler here about Crown Prince Sado's life, but to me, who knows a lot about Korean history, especially the Joseon Dynasty, his story is one-of-a-kind.

I will always be intrigued by it and by the reasons behind it and the consequences that followed. What made this book interesting is the fact that it was written by his wife, Crown Princess Hyegyong.

All I can say is that she is one tough woman, and I honestly believe that she had a lot to do with her husband's...um...let's say "character development".

[Moushine Zahr · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is an excellent historical and women classic novel detailing the tumultuous family life of the palace during the 18th century in Korea. We read the psychological delimma of several characters taking part of one of the most tragic event in the royal lives divided between family piety and royal duties. It is extremely rare to read acurrate and real stories about royal family lives from a person who actualy lived with them. Take the storyline of the Chinese movie "The forbidden city", make it more personnal, dramatic and korean, and you get this novel. This is the first book I read from a Korean author and want to read more novels from Korea.

[Al Anoud · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is a translation of a true accounting (memoirs) of a Korean court lady named Lady Hyegyong during the Choson dynasty in 1800. Lady Hyegyong recounted the harrowing events that befell her and her family for simply associating with the royal family. It is truly a sad recounting that fills your heart with rage and sorrow over what happened to her Ladyship and makes you ponder about the past in quite refreshing way. It is truly one of those books that puts in the narrators shoes and changes your viewpoint on the world.

[Samah · Rating 3 out of 5]

Was so excited when I got my copy. There are so many details in the book and I felt I was lost because I couldn't memorize all the names, but as everyone else said the last chapter was great and so sad. [ SPOILER] Still can't see any reason why his mom told on him and why his father chose this cruel ending to punish him. As I see in dramas royal family drink poison, but here Prince Sado faced a worse ending.

[Magpie6493 · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was throughly interesting to read since I have always had interest in these historical events but haven't read a resource like this on them until now.

I would suggest preparing yourself by reading some summaries online of what events this book covers as some of the content itself may prove upsetting esspecially to those who have experienced mental illness.

As far as historical books go this was a fascinating read I would highly recommend reading it.

[Brendan · Rating 5 out of 5]

On the surface, The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyong is the autobiographical story of a crown princess of eighteenth-century Korea. Scratch that surface, and what unfolds is an epic that reaches the likes of a Shakespearean tragedy, themes of love, loss, and duty pouring from the pages. It is an inherently poetic and tragic text, one that deserves as much time and consideration as any written by the bard.

It is also history in the making, and it defies genre. As JaHyun Kim Haboush writes in the introductory essay, the text should be thought of as not just an autobiography, but a family injunction, a memorial, a biography, and a historiography (11). The family injunction portion is particularly interesting, and it practically means that parts of the text are addressed to real-life characters that lived and died, both in real-life and in the pages of Lady Hyegyong. This complicates the text in an interesting and unique way, especially for modern readers.

A central theme in Thomas C. Foster’s guide book How to Read Literature like a Professor is that when we read literature, we subscribe to a kind of literary grammar to help make sense of what we have read. Foster writes: “Every language has a grammar, a set of rules that govern usage and meaning, and literary language is no different. It’s all more or less arbitrary of course, just like language itself.”

This is a great way to describe and think about many aspects of the book, and Kim Haboush uses this idea to talk about the “cultural grammar” of the Joseon society (19). The 18th century Korean Confucian society can seem alien to the modern reader. Understanding the text relies on understanding such concepts as the importance of filial piety, the rigid and unrelenting structure of the patriarchy, and the court system of concubines, among others. However, Kim Haboush does an excellent job of explaining the grammar, cultural or otherwise.

Another grammar that should be considered in an evaluation of this text is how the story gets told. Kim Haboush addresses this in an introductory essay, explaining that some adaptations or translations of the text have been presented chronologically, and not as Lady Hyegyong wrote them. (I.E. The memoirs of 1805 would be presented first, cut up and interspersed between the other memoirs). Kim Haboush’s narrative, as it is presented, does not do this. The text that we read is presented in the order in which Lady Hyegyong writes them - and so we get to see her thinking on “the incident” evolve and change over time, or at least we get to see her opinions on writing about them change. We also get to see characters, places and themes again and again throughout the memoirs.

One of the themes that struck me the most is the importance of memory & history. For Lady Hyegyong, how history remembers her family is important, and she wants to bear witness, to tell her side of the infamous story of how a son was ordered to death by his father.

The memoirs of 1801 are devoted almost entirely to vindicating her brother, and the memory of her father and husband are central themes in the other memoirs. She writes “Yet were I to die without seeing my deceased brother’s innocence proven and declared, I would have no face with which to greet him in the netherworld and my soul and spirits would remain eternally bitter.” (195) Kim Haboush notes in a footnote that King Sunjo posthumously restores her brother to his former post. Lady Hyegyong’s story is filled with moments like this - intersection of witnessing & “interacting” with history.

Lady Hyegyong bears witness to both the private and the public, and she does so with a voice that is uniquely different from other primary sources. Others have written about this in a more succinct and intelligent way, but the text is revolutionary. Written in the vernacular (Korean and not Chinese), it is witness to a changing history. The point of view as well is unique and revolutionary. It is noticeable that modern representations of the story of Lady Hyegyong and Prince Sado largely cast Lady Hyegyong as not the POV character. Most cast her as a minor character, just the first wife of the insane Prince Sado (not to say that these representations are not good - I particularly enjoyed “The Throne”).

In summary, these memoirs are a unique and important primary source of a history that is often overlooked. It is true that it is difficult to read and digest the story, but JaHyun Kim Haboush does an excellent job of providing the grammar that one needs to fully appreciate the marvel that is this memoir.

[Eustacia Tan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I found this book while looking for other books that Dorothy Ko was involved in (she wrote the excellent Cinderella’s Sisters) and was instantly intrigued by this memoir by a crown princess of 18th century Korea. Ko wrote the foreward to this translation, which is how I found it. To make things more interesting, Lady Hyegyong is the wife of Prince Sado, the tragic prince who was locked in a rice chest and left to die.

To be very accurate, these memoirs consist of four sections written over 10 years. There are:

1. The memoir of 1795 – addressed to the heir of her natal family, written in the form of a family injunction
2. The memoir of 1801 – in the form of a memorial, to protest the execution of her brother
3. The memoir of 1802 – in the form of a biography to urge the new king (her grandson) to continue to carry out the wishes of his father (her son)
4. The memoir of 1805 – in the form of a historiography, to give an account of the tragic incident of the death of Prince Sado

Taken together, these four memoirs paint a picture of a saintly Hong family (perhaps the most unbelievable aspect of these accounts) while bringing a surprisingly amount of nuance into the issue of Prince Sado’s death at the orders of his father King Yeongjo. She resolutely refuses to blame either side completely, instead trying to show that both sides contributed to the issue. The King might have serious failings as his father, but Prince Sado’s illness (possibly mental illness) led to the deaths of many and the king is portrayed as being forced to take drastic steps for the good of the nation. In this way, she tries to defend both her husband and her father-in-law.

Of course, as this is a memoir, it’s by no means an objective account of the situation. I found her defense of her natal family to be a case of “the lady doth protests too much”, as she made it sound like they were completely innocent of all things. Taking the first three memoirs together had the opposite effect of making me wonder just what she was leaving out to make her family sound so good. I would actually like to read more about the history of this time, as I’m sure there’s a lot more to be uncovered.

And of course, I thought she underplayed some of the horrible things that Prince Sado did. She quite casually mentioned his physical and sexual assault of women. And while she admits that these and the murder of several servants as a major reason why he had to be stopped, she does not dwell on these incidents and we do not know anything of the victims. Perhaps it’s because she attributes all of this to his illness, where all good attributes are because of his inherently good nature while all evil is due to the illness. It’s a rather different way of viewing the world, but I appreciate that she was in the difficult position of being married to Prince Sado and also concerned with making sure her son and his future reign was safe.

As such, I wouldn’t take this as the be-all and end-all account of what happened in 1762. It is, however, a noteworthy memoir not only because of its historicity but also as a literary masterpiece. It’s written in hangul rather than literary Chinese and perhaps more significantly, it is a memoir written by a woman that focuses on the public sphere rather than the private sphere. As the introduction explains, the “overwhelming majority [of memoirs by women] focus exclusively on the private and domestic sphere of life.” As such, while I take what is written with a healthy grain of salt, I believe that if I continue to be reading more about this period in history, Lady Hyegong’s memoirs will provide a valuable counterpoint to other interpretations about this period.

If you’re looking to read Korean literature and/or you’re looking to read more works by women, then I highly encourage you to pick up the memoirs of Lady Hyegyong. I really appreciated the introduction and footnotes in this translation as well, which give a lot of useful context to the actual memoirs and highly recommend reading them.

This review was first posted at Eustea Reads