Korean Quarterly

Giving Voice to the Korean American Community

Joan Thompson

Tracking the Asian American story

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Rise: A Pop History of Asian America from the Nineties to Now ~ By Jeff Yang, Phil Yu and Philip Wang

Compendium chronicles the emergence of pan-Asian influence in the American mainstream

(Mariner Books, New York, 2022, ISBN #978-0-358-50809-0)

Review by Joan Thompson (Spring 2025)

Encyclopedic in its scope, Jeff Yang, Phil, Yu, and Philip Wang’s Rise addresses Asian American popular culture over the past three decades. Divided into five sections, Before, 1990s. 2000s. 2010s, and Beyond, the book looks not only at popular culture, but also at news events and noteworthy Asian Americans associated with these decades. This compendium includes articles on many topics: Food, film, literature, music, television/media and the internet

Each of the three main author introduces one of the three sections.  Jeff Yang, one of the founders of A Magazine, introduces the 1990s, while Phil Yu, founder of the Angry Asian Man blog, introduces the 2000s. The 2010s are introduced by Philip Wang, co-founder of Wong Fu Productions. Each introductory essay gives an overview of the decade but with a personal perspective in exploring each writer’s memories and experiences.

Each section includes articles that parallel and update each other, for example The Asian American Syllabus, The Style List, The Asian American Yearbook, Founding Fathers and Mothers, and Undercover Asians.  Each section also includes content specific to the time period, including interviews and essays by other writers.

In the essay Before, Jeff Yang looks at the origin of the term “Asian American,” which has shifted in meaning in the decades since it first emerged. Yang, who claims he was born the same year as the term “Asian American,” looks at the way college influenced his idea of being Asian American. His essay introducing the ‘90s looks at his work at A Magazine and Village Voice during the years when there were protests outside Miss Saigon performances, and when the LA riots occurred. During the same era, a shift happened in the overall anti-Asian sentiment: it was directed at the Japanese during the ‘80s, and changed to the Chinese in the ‘90s.  

Among the pieces in this section is Sa-I-Gu 1992, focusing on an interview of Eurie Chung and Grace Lee, documentarians of the uprising of the Black community in Los Angeles after the four white police officers were acquitted of the (videoed) beating of an African American, Rodney King, after a traffic stop in Los Angeles. The uprising was also directed (or misdirected) to business owners in Koreatown, whose shops were looted and burned down.

SuChin Pak looks at the way in which Connie Chung, who became a news anchor in 1993, inspired her to seek a career in broadcast journalism.  An essay by Brian Hu looks at the rise of full-length indie films by Asian Americans in the 90s.

Phil Yu discusses the way in which 9/11 and the violence against South Asians that followed made him reconsider who the term Asian American encompasses. The section encompassing the early 2000s also includes an article on the growth of Asian American suburbs. Highlights of popular culture during this decade included the growth of Asian American representation in the hip-hop scene, from DJs to dance crews and rappers, including interviews with Jonathan “Dumbfoundead” Park and James “Prohgress” Roh. The growth of social media and the rise of YouTubers, many of whom were Asian American is another focus of this section. The section also profiles of artists who started on Youtube, including video artists such as Joe “Jo” Jitsukawa and Bart Kwan, and musicians including David Choi.

In introducing the 2010s, Philip Wang discusses the shift to Asian American YouTubers doing live concerts, which were promoted by Wong Fu Productions. He also highlights the ways in which new online options such as Instagram led to increased representation by Asian Americans, and more use of internet for entertainment by Asian Americans. 

Among the essays in this section are several on the significance of the TV show Fresh off the Boat, and an interview entitled Three Kings focusing on the careers of Daniel Dae Kim, Ken Jeong, and Randall Park. Euny Hong’s essay Hallyu Like Me Know discusses Korean pop culture and its growing importance in the U.S. and elsewhere.

All three writers contribute to the final essay Beyond, written in 2021. They note that they expected to end on a more positive note given the rise in Asian American representation over the past three decades.  However, the COVID-19 pandemic and the way in which it was racialized during that time by politicians including Donald Trump led to an increase in violence against Asian Americans, including towards vulnerable elders living in ethnic enclaves.

Yet the writers see an encouraging rise in new activists at the same time.  They also celebrate a move by Asian American entrepreneurs to market their products to the countries their families emigrated from as well as the diaspora, citing Roland Ros and Rexy Dorado and their messaging system Kumu, which is now popular with users in the Philippines, the U.S., Canada, and Australia.

Additonally, Rise provides a visual feast. Each section includes foldouts highlighting Asian American spaces from boba shops to houses of worship tied to Asian religions. Comics appear throughout the book also, ranging from one about South Asians participation in spelling bees to the process leading to the filming of the hit all-Asian film Crazy Rich Asians.

Illustrations by Sojung Kim-McCarthy are included in each section on famous Asian Americans in politics, including one mimicking the famous painting of Washington crossing the Delaware. Another delightful visual scattered throughout is a collection entitled Postcards from Asian America, which gives voice to the everyday experiences of Asian Americans throughout the country.

Rise includes the emergence of Asian American emergence in TV, film, music, food, fashion, literature, gaming and social media.  The writers document an Asian American presence so central to the U.S., that every reader is sure to discover a film or TV show they missed, new music to listen to, or a graphic novel that speaks to them.

A “what if” history

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Begin the World Over ~ By Kung Li Sun

(A K Press, Chico (CA), 2022, ISBN #9781849354721)

Review by Joan Thompson (Spring 2024)

What might have happened if American slaves, Native Americans, and Caribbean slaves had all revolted against the colonizers as one, rather than separately?  This is the question that author Kung Li Sun explores in Begin the World Over, a fictionalized alternative history.  The novel is set at the time of the Haitian Revolution (1791-1804) and is a lively dive into this central question, making use of strong description and dialogue.

In the Author’s Note, Sun writes about the history of revolts, noting that they “happened in clusters” and states that the novel is “counterfactual fiction.” In a novel that is peopled largely by historical figures, Sun undercuts the typical disclaimer at the beginning of novels by writing “[a]ny resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is intentional.”

The novel opens with James Hemings delivering a dinner invitation from his master Thomas Jefferson to the French ambassador. During the trip through the streets of Philadelphia, he meets Denmark Vesey, a real figure in history, who led a slave revolt in 1811. Vesey’s conversation with Ambassador Genet about the slave revolt in Saint-Domingue (present-day Haiti) and Vesey’s hope for its spread to other groups of enslaved people also reveals the attraction between Hemings and Vesey. When Vesey tries to convince Hemings to sail with him to Saint-Domingue and join his revolt, Hemings declines. However after drinking too much, Hemings finds himself on the ship and on the way to Saint-Domingue; the ship is captained by a fierce Asian woman named Mai.

Vesey hopes to get other Caribbean nations to join the slave revolt. In Le Cap’s harbor, those fleeing the burning city bid for berths on the ship.  The last one goes to Romaine the Prophetess (another real historical figure) who was a non-binary plantation owner, slave revolt leader, and devotee of the Virgin Mary.  When the ship docks in New Orleans, Hemings decides to stay there temporarily, spending the first night in a horse stall.  While in Thomas Jefferson’s household, Hemings was trained as a cook in Paris; he decides he use his skills in New Orleans to try to make enough money to free his mother and sister.

Romaine also stays in New Orleans and befriends Mary, a runaway slave belonging to Andrew Jackson. A jockey who raced Jackson’s favorite horse, Mary escaped after he sold her twin sister. Mary has vowed to rescue her sister and seek revenge and is eager to join the revolt Vesey has in mind.

Soon they are joined in the stable by Red Eagle, historically known as William Wetherford. A Muskogee Creek Native American whose father was white, Red Eagle was a leader of the Red Sticks in their war against the U.S. and against other natives who supported it. The threat to his people and their towns leads Red Eagle, who is also gender fluid, to align with Vesey’s plan.

When Red Cloud locates Mary’s sister on the Charleston plantation of Charles Pinckney (a signer of the Constitution, slave-holding planter, and later governor) Mary knows she must go to rescue her sister. Hemings is reluctant, but word of his restaurant has spread, and he is offered a commission to cook a banquet for wealthy planters and their wives gathering for Race Week. The group insists he take the commission.

At Pinckney’s plantation, they meet Ellison, an enslaved driver on the plantation.  He has been organizing drivers on other plantations who are anxious to rebel. He argues with Romaine, whose experience in Saint-Domingue tells her they are not ready. When Ellison’s son is killed in a mill accident and Pinckney responds cruelly, there is no holding Mary back from revenge. The group flees approaching militias back to Muskogee Creek country where Hemings is still torn as to whether he should stay in order to fight Andrew Jackson’s army and to prepare for liberating plantations.

As Red Eagle leads the others toward the Creek towns, they work to raise an army along the way. Hickory Grounds becomes the site for training the revolting slaves for battle, which raises controversy among the Muskogee who worry this will inflame encroaching Americans and threaten their way of life. However, Red Eagle’s mother and Muskogee leader Sehoy support this work. Vesey, meanwhile, leaves to raise a navy.  Much of the novel’s tension is tied to whether this new army can defeat Andrew Jackson and then succeed in meeting Vesey’s navy in Charleston to revolt against the planters.

During the successful Haitian Revolution, southern plantation owners feared that the success of this slave rebellion would cause other rebellions to spread to their plantations. In his 2021 book, How the Word is Passed: A Reckoning with the History of Slavery Across America, Clint Smith explores the increased violence slaves endured because of this fear.  For example, in Louisiana, plantation owners displayed rebellious slaves’ heads on pikes as a reminder of the power they wielded.

Sun mines this fear in Begin the World Over,  and adds to this alternate history that the Muskogee Creek community was of those that were fearful of westward expansion. It turns the violence back on those who historically were the perpetrators. The violence in Sun’s novel can shock at times, but is it realistic of the type of violence experienced historically by slaves who turned against the owners and their cruelty.

Additionally, Sun’s turning of history on its head is fast paced, with intriguing characters.  Both the historical figures and the fictional ones have lives and relationships that make for an action-packed and thought-provoking read. The author’s exploration of the characters’ gender fluidity and desires adds to the novel. This is especially true in the story of Roman becoming Romaine after being visited by the Virgin Mary, transported to Calvary, and experiencing an Easter story that ties back to the Haitian Revolution. The website for Mesa Refuge, where the author had a writing residence, notes that Sun lives on the Gulf Coast and was raised in the South. Sun (who uses he, she, and they pronouns) is a former attorney but now works as a trainer for activists, including those working with the undocumented. Sun intends to make Begin the World Over the first installment of a trilogy. Given the excellent pacing and intriguing revision of history in this novel, seeing where these revolutionaries go next will be worth the wait.

We have lift-off (of the archive)

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Over half of the 25 years of KQ print edition issues are now digitized and viewable | by Martha Vickery (Winter 2024)

Part of the KQ brain trust hold up page proofs as they proofread the final print edition of Korean Quarterly ~ with champagne to celebrate afterwards. (left to right), Martha Vickery (editor), Jennifer Arndt Johns (KQ board of directors), Kari Scanlon (staff writer), Kim Jackson (art director), Jane Lee (drama reviewer and copy editor), Joan Thompson (book and theater reviewer).

Research on the history of World War II in Asia; recipes for Korean summer dishes; drama, film and book reviews; interviews with Korean Minnesotan artists on how they weathered the pandemic; and multi-year coverage of how Jeju islanders in one small village resisted a South Korean-U.S. funded naval base, and turned their cause into an international peace campaign.

What these topics and hundreds more have in common, is that they have all been covered in Korean Quarterly since 1997, and are included in the new digital archive, which is on the website now.

KQ’s first issue was published fall 1997 and the last print issue came out in the spring of 2022. As of January 2024, issues from 2006 to the final print edition in 2022 are viewable in the archive.  The earlier issues from fall 1997 through 2005 are being digitized and will be added later in 2024. The archive will also have enhanced searchability. That function will also be launched in 2024.

The project will make KQ’s 25-year print edition history permanently accessible to Korea-philes, researchers and other readers. The archive is also a quarter-by-quarter history of the Korean American community broadly, and the upper Midwest area in particular, during an era when a large demographic of Korean adoptees became adults and a large group of second-generation Korean Americans moved into mid-adulthood. Both groups began to take on leadership in the Korean American community, and KQ stories track the growth both groups at a key moment in history.

Funding for this project was provided through volunteer labor by staff and many contributors, and with financial support by KQ contributors over a multi-year fundraising campaign. KQ also received a major grant from the Thomas and Wonsook Foundation, founded by Thomas Park Clement and Wonsook Kim, which fund many projects to benefit Korean adoptees.  

To stay informed of archive progress click the “stay informed” link at the top of the KQ homepage.
To donate to KQ’s Digital Archive fundraising project, click here.

The last print edition of Korean Quarterly comes off the presses in Princeton, Minnesota.

Revisiting a classic American play

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Insightful Death of a Salesman staging uses an Asian American cast | By Joan Thompson (Fall 2022)

Greg Watanabe (right) as Willy in Theater 45 and Theater Mu’s production of Death of a Salesman.

Death of a Salesman: A Staged Reading, by Arthur Miller
(Produced by Theater 45 and Theater Mu, Conn Theater, Minneapolis, July 18, 2022)

Review by Joan Thompson

“The acting was so good that I kept forgetting I was watching a staged reading instead of a full production, said a theatergoer to Seth Patterson, Theater 45 founder and co-artistic director, following the July 18 staged reading of Arthur Miller’ s Death of a Salesman at the Conn Theater in Minneapolis.

The one-night-only staged reading was engaging, but also historic, since it may have been the first and only time in North America that Asian Americans were staged as the members of the famous Loman family, who tragically pursue the American Dream.

The production was a collaboration between Theater 45 and Theater Mu.  Patterson, who also works for Plymouth Congregational Church in Minneapolis as the minister for spiritual formation and theater, said he and Eric Sharp know of no other North American production featuring Asian American actors as the Lomans. 

Greg Watanabe, who played Willy Loman in this production, also played the character of the son, Biff Loman, in a 1994 Singapore production.  Patterson also mentioned there is a new all-African American Broadway production of the play, set to open this September.

Eric Sharp, a Twin Cities based director, producer, actor, and writer, originally talked to Patterson about a possible collaboration with Theater 45 to do this one-night staged reading.  Sharp had long been interested in Death of a Salesman but thought “that the roles of Willy, Linda, Biff and Hap were acting challenges that Asian Americans would simply never be given the opportunity to tackle.” 

Sharp thought about flipping that script earlier this year when Sharp and Watanabe were both acting in Cambodian Rock Band (KQ review here), a Jungle Theater and Theater Mu co-production.  Sharp said he  “wanted to strike while the iron was hot, by taking full advantage of having a respected Broadway veteran in town, and casting the rest of the piece around Greg as Willy.”

Patterson responded to Sharp’s idea and said he was interested in a new Theater Mu collaboration of the classic play. One of Theater 45’s tenets is “not to do anything alone,” Patterson said.  Part of the Theater 45 mission is to explore the spiritual side of human existence, whether religious or not, according to its website.  “For this reason, Theater 45 productions always open with a ritual,” he said.

Patterson mentioned the issue of achieving competitive pay for BIPOC artists as a justice issue “as they are often asked to perform for free or a low amount.” Being housed and funded by a church allows Theater 45 to pay actors fairly.

Both saw the collaboration as fitting the two theaters’ missions. Sharp is proud of Theater Mu’s contributions to Asian American theater throughout its thirty years. However, he also sees roles such as the Lomans for Asian American theater professionals as “just as much our inheritance as they are for other groups of actors.”

Front Row Left to Right: Katie Bradley, Adelin Phelps, Christopher Thomas Pow, Greg Watanabe, Rich Remedios, Kevin Fanshaw, Ajah Williams
Back Row Left to Right: Rick Shiomi, Seth Patterson, Lily Tung Crystal, Eric Sharp, Olivia Wilusz.

In Death of a Salesman, classic themes play out of how Americans try and frequently fail to achieve success and happiness while trapped in a changing and cruel capitalistic culture. Some of the members of the Loman family have given up hope of career success. The central character of Willy lives by his vision of amassing great wealth and living in luxury, but in reality, he is an unsuccessful salesman and in the course of the play, he is fired from his job. A central struggle of the story is Willy’s attempt to live within this contradiction of fantasy and reality; in the end, it destroys him.  

Patterson said he thought about what it means to have “Willy Loman played by a Japanese American in a play that premiered less than two years after the last Japanese incarceration camp closed.”  That idea is the kind of question they try to ask at his church, through its classes and justice initiatives, he added. Patterson mentioned the juxtaposition of this timing at the beginning of the performance. Sharp said Patterson’s explanation “served as a salient mile marker for audience members to place themselves in the history of this country.”

As the collaboration developed, Sharp hired director Rich Remedios, and did the casting; he also served as graphic designer for the publicity.  Artistic direction involved both companies: Patterson and Ashawnti Sakina Ford of Theater 45 and Lily Tung Crystal of Theater Mu. 

Patterson also researched possible rituals. Plymouth member Lani Bennet helped him to borrow the origami crane set backdrop. She also connected him with Todd Tsuchiya who provided ideas for a ritual and also loaned a Kansho bell.

At the beginning of the performance, Sharp explained that the 7-5-3 rhythm pattern used “often signals the start of a ritual.” The bell is rung to encourage the audience to “arrive in the space, breath and become present with one another,” he said.  Rick Shiomi, who played Uncle Ben, rang the bell to open the staged reading. Shiomi co-founded Theater Mu and served as its artistic director. He also was the founder of  the taiko drumming group Mu Daiko.

Greg Watanabe’s powerful performance as Willy Loman underscored the aging character’s broken dreams and his forced bravado.  As Linda, Lily Tung Crystal strongly evoked Linda’s worries about her husband’s mental health, her desire to heal the rift between Biff and his father, and her attempts to keep the household functioning despite knowing her husband’s various failings. 

Eric Sharp, as Biff, moved easily between the adult son searching the West for his place in life and the teen who adores his father and then has his idol smashed.  Christopher Thomas Pow, as Happy, portrayed a son who has inherited all of his father’s failings, but did not want to engage with his mother’s concerns. 

In the triple roles of Bernard, Howard, and Stanley, Kevin Fanshaw moved effortlessly among characters of varying ages, experience, and social standing.  Katie Bradley anchored the audience with stage direction that moved the audience from present to memory and then to imaginings.

Sharp noted that the casting of the Loman family was a “practice within a Pan-Asian theatre aesthetic” in its mix of ethnic Japanese, Korean, and Chinese actors.  He also pointed out the importance of considering a play’s content to cast a show respectfully. 

Patterson mentioned how “who tells the story changes it.” Factoring systemic racism into Miller’s famous play makes the question shift, he said. He gave an example of how Willy comments to Charley (played by Patterson) that he thinks people are talking about him and laughing at him behind his back.  Patterson noted that in the recent Mu/45 production, Willy’s fears could be traced to his failing career and mental health, but also to how others see him as an Asian American salesman. 

As Sharp noted, “we did not need to change a single word of the play to make Miller’s words fit the mid-20th century experience of Asians in this country …Miller could just as easily have been talking about the Asian American experience in the early ‘90s, or 2022 for that matter.”

In its dark exploration of the American Dream, Death of a Salesman raises many questions about how opportunity is key to success.  Written long after the closing of the American West, the play repeatedly evokes the idea of the frontier and the temptation of achieving success in a new place with greater opportunities.  Willy, in his waking-dream conversations with the deceased Uncle Ben, wonders if he could have found wealth if he had gone to Alaska.  Willy’s son Biff also believes in the promise of the frontier – he wanders the western states, taking a series of jobs that he hopes will lead to success, in part to make his father proud despite Biff’s disillusionment with him.

This content adds a certain irony to a play, which as Sharp noted, brought the playwright Miller immediate success at a time when “Japanese American ‘Arthur Millers’ . . .never had a chance to express themselves because they were forced to live in horse stalls in the middle of a desert.”  In thinking about the injustice of who has been allowed to create art in this country’s history, Sharp said he hoped the “reading was able to shed even a little light on this particular inequity . . .[to] help the discourse moving forward.”

Patterson said he thinks casting the Lomans as Asian Americans changed the dynamic for BIPOC audience members as well, and that he was pleased with the diverse audience for the reading.  It is important, he said, that the mostly white space of a church can draw a BIPOC audience to a production, and that the audience can “show up in white space and not be hurt,” but rather see themselves and their concerns reflected on the stage.

Sharp mentioned that the mission of New York’s National Asian American Theater Company is to produce well-known plays from both the American and English canon, and that it is similar “to what we aimed to accomplish with our reading: that the insistence of seeing Asian people as fully-realized human beings can happen onstage, in real time, and that this proposition need not be an artistic compromise.  On the contrary, it is this intentional approach that makes the play really sing.” 

A dive into Cambodian history with music

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Cambodian Rock Band depicts intergenerational trauma in moving father-daughter story | By Joan Thompson (Summer 2022)

Cambodian Rock Band featuring (left to right) Mayda Miller, Christopher T. Pow, Shawn Mouacheupao, Greg Watanabe, Eric Sharp. Photo by Rich Ryan

Cambodian Rock Band, by Lauren Yee
(Directed by Lily Tung Crystal, Co-produced by Jungle Theater and Theater Mu, June 11- July 31, Jungle Theater, Minneapolis )

The co-production of Cambodian Rock Band by Jungle Theater and Theater Mu provides a highlight for summer theatergoers.  Under the direction of Lily Tung Crystal, the narrative moves effortlessly between 21st century Cambodia and the Cambodia of the 1970s, both before and during the reign of Pol Pot, leader of the Khmer Rouge rebels that overthrew the republic in 1975.

Cambodian Rock Band featuring (center) Eric Sharp, (on left) Christopher Thomas Pow, Mayda Miller, (right) Shawn Mouacheupao. Photo by Rich Ryan

When Chum (Greg Watanabe) returns to Cambodia, he hopes to talk his daughter Neary (Danielle Troiano) into giving up her research work for a non-governmental organization that is collecting information for the prosecution of Khmer Rouge leaders. One of the leaders under scrutiny is  Duch (Eric Sharp). Chum wants Neary to come home for law school.  Neary, however, has learned of an eighth prisoner who survived S-21, the notorious political prison, and she is intent to find him. 

Initially, Neary worries that her father will learn about her boyfriend Ted (Christopher Thomas Pow), but as the story of Chum’s life before and during the genocide unfolds, their father-daughter relationship deepens, and the story delves into the theme of intergenerational trauma.  In the powerful second act, Chum relives his experience of living through the Khmer Rouge  genocidal campaign that targeted its perceived political opponents and racial minorities. These scenes show the choices he and others made when society fell apart, and the power of resilience in those who survived.

(From left to right): Greg Watanabe, Mayda Miller, Christopher Thomas Pow, Danielle Troiano, Shawn Mouacheupao. Photo by Rich Ryan

Scenes in the play are interspersed with appearances by a rock band, Cyclos, playing the music of the Cambodian rock band Dengue Fever and the (more vintage) songs of Cambodian rock musicians popular in the early ‘70s. The band’s lead singer Sothea (played by Troiano) is in a relationship with guitarist Leng (played by Pow).  Chum (played by Watanabe) is the bass player.  Other members include keyboardist Pou (played by Mayda Miller) and drummer Rom (played by Shawn Mouacheupao). 

In one significant scene, set in a moment when the group knows the Khmer Rouge rebels are approaching, the band records a tape and talks over what each will do in the future as musicians, writers, artists, and intellectuals all become enemies of the state.  Throughout the story, strong musicianship and smooth transitions between rock sequences and dramatic scenes highlight the versatility of the cast.

Mina Kinukawa’s scenic and projection design are especially effective in bridging the years between events and showing relationships of past to present.  The rock band appears on a split stage that moves off into the wings after songs are performed, creating smooth shifts to a hotel room, a spa, a karaoke bar, and S-21.  Projected images allow Duch in his role as emcee, to underscore the history of rock music in Cambodia.  This strategy highlights how the former Khmer Rouge leaders continued to be part of Cambodian life after the genocide.  It also emphasizes the importance of music, particularly in the scenes of S-21, where Cham and Leng meet again.

Costume designer Khamphian Vang’s ‘70s rock band apparel adds to Cyclos’ authenticity and is important as band members seamlessly become other characters in the production. Music Director Mandric Tan’s experience as a producer also adds to the excellence of the music, which is central to the production.

Theater Mu recommends this production for ages 16 and above because of adult content including depictions of torture and other violence.  The Jungle provides a space in the lobby for anyone needing some time away from the play.

Excellent acting, powerful rock, and strong production values make Cambodian Rock Band a must-see. 

The play runs at the Jungle Theater through July 31.  For tickets, visit: https://www.theatermu.org/cambodian-rock-band

Archive at 25

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Looking back on some KQ topics at the quarter-century mark | By Martha Vickery (Spring 2022)

One of the cover designs for the 25th anniversary print edition of KQ ~ designed by Kim Jackson.

Today, a little over 25 years since Korean Quarterly’s founding, there are no actual statistics to show how many words were published, how many pages were read, how many copies of the newspaper were distributed through mail, at special events, and by volunteers.  But for a small community group, with one paid staff, a circle of regular volunteer contributors, and other volunteer help, KQ is a textbook case of how much can be accomplished with time and perseverance — the classic example of eating the elephant one bite at a time. Undoubtedly, it could also go down in history as a newspaper business plan that was the least likely to succeed.  Yet, here we are.

With some not-so-good math skills, we figured out that we have published 99 issues, including this one.  Fall 1997 was the first issue of KQ, and there have been no breaks in the quarterly schedule up to now.  This issue, volume 25, number two, is appearing in our 25th anniversary year. 

The hardworking and talented press people at ECM publishing in Princeton, Minnesota shepherd the final KQ print edition through the huge web press.
The 99th and final print edition of KQ comes off the press at ECM publishing (Princeton, Minnesota). Photos by Stephen Wunrow

KQ now has the capacity to be a robust online newspaper; easily updatable, more news-sensitive, global, and more budget-friendly than a paper newspaper.  It won’t, however, be quite the same.

To this day, every time I open a brand new newspaper or magazine, I like the smell and texture, and the feeling I get of opening a present.  For all fans of holding paper while they read, all of you browsers of bookstores, libraries and magazine racks, I feel you. We are yielding (kicking and screaming, perhaps) to the long-time trend of most readers getting their news online.  We are in line with current norms, and most importantly, we will be able to keep publishing and bringing important stories, reporting, information and content to our readers.

Some of KQ’s crack team of proofreaders, going over copy for the 25th annivesary, and final print edition, of Korean Quarterly. (left to right) KQ editor Martha Vickery (with a bottle of champagne for the post-editing celebration), columnist, feature writer and KQ boardmember Jennifer Arndt Johns, columnist Kari Scanlon, KQ art director (through all of KQ’s 25 years) Kim Jackson, drama and book reviewer Jane Lee and KQ staff writer and reviewer Joan Thompson. Photo by Stephen Wunrow

We always look forward to the weeks prior to publication — production time.  This issue’s production weeks at KQ have been bittersweet.  We are, however celebrating KQ’s longevity by reinventing this project in a new way, and that is a cause for celebration.

Archive at 25

Along with the online publication of KQ, which has been produced in parallel with the print edition since the fall of 2020, we have also promoted the planned KQ digital archive and fundraised to pay its design and launch (Thanks donors!)  Keeping records of every story as reported is the responsibility of every news organization.  It literally represents history in the making.

We at KQ feel we have an additional responsibility to the Korean American community of the Twin Cities, which helped launch our organization and has supported us.  This community’s Korean American history has never been formally recorded in any archive or museum, although its history is a fascinating one.  With its digital archive, KQ can make a contribution to that history.

I was very heartened to read recently that the Minnesota Historical Society (MHS) collaborated with the Twin Cities African American newspaper, the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder  to put that newspaper’s digital archives on the MHS website (the issues from 2000 on are accessible only from the Minnesota History Center).  This newspaper began in 1934, and is headed up today by founder Cecil Williams’ granddaughter Tracey Williams-Dillard.

In the first editorial of what was then two newspapers, the Spokesman and the Recorder, Williams wrote that his duty was “to speak out fearlessly and unceasingly against injustice, discrimination and all imposed inequalities.”  According to the Historical Society’s introduction of the archive, the two newspapers that eventually became today’s Spokesman-Recorder did a lot in addition to being the only African American news organization of its time: 

The papers covered national news and issues related to race and racial discrimination and the struggle for civil rights, including the trial of the Scottsboro boys in the 1930s, Paul Robeson’s controversial statements on Communism, and the 1954 Brown v. Board U.S. Supreme Court decision.  During World War II the Spokesman and the Recorder covered the actions and deaths of local Black servicemen overseas, while also reporting on racism in the military.

Seeing this archive come to life must be very meaningful for its community of readers, as a piece of Black history and identity of a people in a place, not to mention the fearless journalistic legacy of its first editor.  This is just one example of what the history of a community newspaper can do, and what it can teach us about the local angle in the sweep of history.

Premier issue of KQ which debuted in the Fall of 1997.

All politics is local

KQ’s first issue had a cover photo of dancers from the Jang-Mi dance group, what is now Jangmi Arts, in the last posture of the traditional fan dance, looking like a page from a history book, at once comfortably Korean American but also otherworldly in the ornate beauty of their traditional dress. Rereading that issue, I find all uber-local stories; we really had not collected any national/international contributors like those that wrote in KQ’s later issues.  But since, as they say, all politics is local, there were a lot of local things happening that showed how national and international events reverberate locally.

For example, the fall 1997 issue detailed a story about two pastors, one local and one national denomination leader, who collaborated in a relief effort to get hundreds of tons of food aid to North Korea.  It was one of many aid efforts launched by humanitarian organization during the famine that dragged on in the mid- to late-‘90s in North Korea, later referred to by North Koreans as “the Arduous March.”

In mid- to late-1997, we were also struggling in our state’s capital city with the politics of constructing a Korean war memorial on the Capitol Mall.  The Mall is where all the war memorials are located, but the idea of a memorial for the Korean War veterans was, for many reasons, a controversial one.

One of the reasons that seems the most absurd, in light of more recent advocacy for a peace treaty to formally end the Korean War, was that it was never a declared war in the U.S. for political/technical reasons, and instead was classified as a “police action.”  This non-naming of wars as what they are sounds vaguely familiar, in light of Vladimir Putin’s recent prohibition of the Russian media to refer to anything going on in Ukraine as a war.  Instead, it needs to be called something like a “special military operation.”

KQ staff writer, Song-Un Lee, in front of the Minnesota Korean War memorial. Photo by Stephen Wunrow

Eventually, a dedication ceremony for the yet-unfunded war memorial took place in 1997, at which Korean and American veterans told gripping eyewitness accounts of their experiences.  The memorial finally came to life when a legislative appropriation paid for the rest of the costs.  It is one of the most artistic memorials on the Capitol Mall today, with its lonely marching soldier who faces a ghostly soldier’s outline — a reminder of the bleakness of war, and those left behind but not forgotten.

The work-in-process

The KQ archive is not just theoretical any more, it is underway. But what will a digital archive look like, what will it be useful for, and why would readers want to look up anything in the first place? 

In general, the aim is for it to be readable and accessible for both casual readers and expert researchers.  Archives are good for topic and key word retrieval.  Looking at all the stories written under one topic is a useful way to learn about a topic and how it was treated at a point in time.  Names of anything from people to recipes, authors or even your kid’s name in a photo caption can be found through keyword searching.  What KQ reported on in a specific year would also be accessible by starting at one point in time and reading on. 

Specifics on how the archive will look and how it will work will be available later in 2022.  The project has been years in the making, and the launch of the archive will be previewed in the online edition later this year.

The archive will be a body of work that the community will hopefully add to for years to come.  It will contain the Korean American take on many books, many films, many trips to Korea, much work of many organizations, many in-depth and sometimes difficult interviews, heartfelt personal essays, poetry, photos, art. 

So many thousands of pages later, are we farther along in this long and complex conversation about who Korean Americans are?  We hope the archive will provide some ideas. 

Seeing history as we live it, and later 

We cannot know how current events will look in the context of history unless we look back on those events from a distance.  A recent example of that phenomenon is how, from the perspective of 2022, the last Winter Olympics, held in Korea in 2018, takes on greater meaning.

The history of that time is more interesting in light of the Beijing Olympics of this year, at which a rigid policy of not discussing politics blew up in the host country’s face.  There was so much politics not to talk about at that event, from China’s treatment of human rights to the controversial inclusion of a Russian teen skater who had a recent positive test for an illegal drug — it was all too much to shut up about and, as expected, it backfired.  The games ended on a tense and uncertain note.

The North Korean cheerleading team, encourages the joint North/South Korean women’s hockey team at the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang. Photo by Stephen Wunrow

This is in contrast to the February 2018 Winter Olympic Games in Pyeongchang, South Korea, at which it seemed the host country front-loaded the event with politics on purpose.  It was a hopeful, if short-lived thaw in the relations of the two Koreas that, in just weeks prior to the games, the two governments decided to field a joint team of North and South Korean athletes that marched under the blue banner of “One Korea” and competed together.

KQ was there, and witnessing the extraordinary events in person was an amazing thing.  There was a tension in the air as news reports hinted that the two Korean leaders were actually agreeing to meet about real steps toward peace, which gave the whole event new meaning.  There was an ongoing “charm offensive” as the press called it, of (truly charming) North Korean cheering squads of hundreds of young women in red-and-white outfits, in jaunty knitted hats. They sang some traditional Korean songs beautifully, and performed some fun cheer routines from their seats, to the delight of the audience. 

Outside the event — well outside, on the public streets, barricaded from the Olympic venue — there were protests of supporters of the Korea joint team, flapping their blue flags.  They were separated by an (unarmed) police line from the anti-North Korean camp, waving U.S. flags and South Korean flags, and bearing signs like “Pyongyang Olympics Out.” The two groups did their respective things as busses of North Korean athletes and other entourage rolled in.

Korean American snowboard gold medalist, Chloe Kim at the Pyeongchang 2018 Winter Olympics. Photo by Stephen Wunrow

This Olympics also saw the premiere Olympic appearance of Korean American Chloe Kim, who won gold in the women’s half-pipe snowboarding competition (which she followed this year with a second Olympic gold for the same event).  Another exciting first was the Team Korea North-South combined Olympic women’s hockey team, with its two Korean American members, including Twin Citian (and Korean adoptee) Marissa Brandt. The men’s curling Team USA, an overwhelmingly Minnesotan group, got the gold, which also scored with Minnesotans.

Sisters Hannah (center) and Marissa (right) Brandt, both played on women’s Olympic hockey teams in 2018, Hannah for Team USA and Marissa for Team Korea. Their mother (left), Robin Brandt looks on. Photo by Stephen Wunrow

Back in Minnesota, after the Olympics, Marissa Brandt and her non-Korean adoptive sister Hannah Brandt got a heroes’ welcome in Vadnais Heights, a small suburb of St. Paul.  While Marissa joined Team Korea’s joint North-South team, Brandt played for Team USA which won the gold medal.  Their parents Greg and Robin Brandt, every teacher and coach of the two sisters, and seemingly every family member and every kid who ever played hockey for Vadnais Heights turned out, and the rink at the recreation center next door was permanently named for the two sister Olympians.

At the time, it seemed that peace between the two Koreas might break out.  In the context of the modern history of the two Koreas, the Pyeongchang Olympics, followed by the Peace Summit between North Korean leader Jong-un Kim and South Korean President Jae-In Moon in April 2018, were a brief but important thaw in the frozen relationship between the two Koreas. It showed the world what peace could look like, and that games, talks, symbolic actions, and even charm offensives can set the stage for real action toward reconciliation.

Korean Americans in pandemic times

Time is a tricky thing.  History often slips away from us in our anxiety to get on to what’s next.  As we emerge from the pandemic, we all want to thank the gods that this long, often boring and sometimes scary nightmare is over and we can get back to normal again.  But there is a caution to this back-to-normal trend.  The new normal is quite different from the old; the pandemic has scarred our collective psyche and brought about permanent change.

We need to archive this time too; Asian Americans experienced an identity moment and a time of collective grieving that grew the community locally.  We, in Minnesota, were geographically and psychically in the center of a global reckoning. We are so grateful for the those who made their voices heard in KQ’s pages at this time.  Some snapshots in time from issues in the immediate past give us a sense of how this time will be preserved.

It was a no-brainer to call the year 2020 “the weird year that was” in the winter 2021 issue; it was a year that started with toilet paper mania, and proceeded to the shutdown of nearly every public-facing service, from schools to restaurants, to live concerts, plays and other events. Huge swaths of working people lost their jobs.  Everyone who could started working at home.  It took time for society to re-tool to a pandemic economy.  In the short term, Americans were shut in and scared, and Trump was referring to “the China virus”  in an attempt to duck blame for his own botched response to the pandemic.

On May 25, 2020, George Floyd was murdered in Minneapolis and parts of Minneapolis went up in flames in the outbursts of grief, anger and rioting that followed

In spring 2021, when former police officer Derek Chauvin was on trial in Minneapolis, Black teenager Daunte Wright was shot to death by a white Brooklyn Center police officer during at traffic stop.  KQ writer Sarah Han and her partner Kat Porter took the time to write a joint essay of how they, a Korean American woman and an African American woman, were rounded up and put in the Hennepin County lockup overnight for being Black/Asian at a night demonstration outside the Brooklyn Center police station to decry Wright’s police shooting.

Columnist Christine Heimann, who works with children through the service and mentoring organization Adoptee Bridge, wrote of how she saw Asian kids being subject to racist remarks related to COVID-19, and how throughout history there have been racist and homophobic blame for the origin of pandemics.

Before vaccines, and just when Twin Citians were dug into the loneliest quarantine days in early 2021, local Asian Americans masked up and took to the streets to speak out for and demonstrate under the banners of “Stop Asian Hate” and “Asians for Black Lives.”  Thousands turned out at the Capitol and other places for demonstrations and vigils, and for numerous virtual events, following the hate crime mass shootings of eight Asian Americans, including four Korean American women, in Atlanta.  There was a special demonstration in St. Paul with offerings of flowers and songs.

The Minnesota Asian Safety Squad, patrols the Frogtown neighborhood in St. Paul, providing escorts for senior citizens. Photo by Stephen Wunrow

In St. Paul, a group of Asian Americans, co-led by Jennifer Amatya and Jonathan Sry, organized safety patrols to provide senior citizen escorts and other safety outreach in a group they called the Minnesota Asian Safety Squad, after there were reports of attacks nationwide on Asian people, particularly the elderly.  They patrolled in the Frogtown neighborhood after the Black Lives Matter demonstrations were over, which looked very different from the old University Ave. retail area — storefronts were boarded up and decorated with BLM-related graffiti in the wake of the demonstrations and violence.

Whether we have seen a watershed reckoning in Asian American history, a step in a long battle, or just a blip on the racial justice radar screen will be decided by those who look back on it.  We know intellectually that records of history are important, but in the moment, we often fail to reflect on how our moment will be seen by those who look back.  An archive is a way to recognize that historical role.

In KQ’s archive from this time and other significant times when the community unified and rallied for important issues, these snapshots of history will live on through community members who committed their opinions, reportage, photos and creative work to our pages.  The KQ archive, a community archive, is created and supported by a community that recognizes history and cares about the future. 

The KQ Archive is made possible through a major gift from the T and W Foundation, which contributes to many causes benefitting Korean adoptees.  (Thanks Thomas Park Clement and Wonsook Kim!)  And to all those who contributed to KQ with their money, time and talents, you are too many to be named here, but you know who you are.  Next quarter, please read on at www.koreanquarterly.org for more history in the making online!

A quiet novel of desperation

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Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 ~ By Nam-Joo Cho (translated by Jamie Chang)

(Liveright Publishers, New York, 2020, ISBN #978-1-63149-670-7)

Review by Joan Thompson (Fall 2020 issue)

In her debut novel Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982, Nam-Joo Cho presents a searing feminist portrait of the challenges faced by a young woman who has given up her marketing career to stay home with her young daughter.  The novel begins when Jiyoung has been at home for approximately a year.  On several occasions, she startles her husband Seungyeon Cha by talking in the voice of her mother, which he at first tries to brush off as a joke.

However, when they visit his family for Chuseok, Jiyoung shocks everyone by responding to her mother-in-law’s question regarding the work of making holiday food, by saying, “to tell you the truth, my poor Jiyoung gets sick from exhaustion every holiday!”  This disassociation from self causes Seungyeon to hire a therapist for Jiyoung and leads the reader on a journey through her therapy sessions, revealing the difficulties of thriving in a paternalistic society. 

The final chapter takes a turn that unveils not only the challenges Korean women face in addressing these issues, but also the universality of some of these challenges.

Told in succinct prose, the chapters explore Jiyoung’s childhood, adolescence, early adulthood and married life.  The reader learns of Jiyoung’s family of origin’s dynamics, her parents’ challenges, her teenage concerns, her college life, her first relationships and her first job.  Especially in the sections of the novel tied to treatment in school and on the job, much resonates with any woman who has experienced situations where boys and men are seen as more important. 

Other sections of the novel are specific to Korean family structure and experience, such as Jiyoung’s father and paternal grandmother’s insistence on having a son, as well as the preferential treatment Jiyoung’s young brother receives and the male classmates’ privileged position at school.  The novel also contains many footnoted facts with references to articles, statistics and studies regarding family structure and the role of women in Korean society at various times throughout the history covered by the story.

Flashes of women’s rebellion against the status quo also feature as important to Jiyoung.  Her older sister Eunyoung speaks out against the mother’s treatment of their brother at meals and encourages her to eat.  When the father’s employment outlook fades, the mother figures out how to make money as an under-the-radar hairdresser and keeps hidden family accounts that help the family to prosper.  Teen classmates rebel against teachers’ unfair treatment, and women in the college hiking club help younger students with the hopes of becoming leaders in male-dominated activities. 

All of these memories of women’s strength echo through Jiyoung’s decision to quit her job and her challenges with post-partum depression.  What seems logical in terms of family decisions does not necessarily carry equal weight as to who is giving up more.

Nam-Joo Cho, who formerly wrote scripts for television, has created a young mother whose family history, education and marriage opens a window to the challenges faced by contemporary Korean women.  Both the novel and its subsequent film version ignited controversy in Korea.  Calling attention to traditions that keep women from equality has been an aspect of feminist discourse throughout the world, and Cho offers much that will echo with women everywhere.  The novel’s translation into 18 languages and its status as an international bestseller speak not only to women’s issues in Korea but also to the concerns raised by feminists in other countries.

The separate lives of sisters

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The Kinship of Secrets ~ By Eugenia Kim

(Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, Boston, 2008, ISBN #978-1-328-98782-2)

Review by Joan Thompson (Winter 2021 issue)

In her second novel, The Kinship of Secrets, Eugenia Kim explores the life trajectories of two sisters, one left behind in Korea and one taken to the U.S.  The book is ambitious in scope, stretching from 1950 to 1973 in two countries and also exploring older family members’ place in earlier history.

Mirin Cho is age four at the novel’s beginning.  She has immigrated with her parents, Najin and Calvin, as Calvin is starting a missionary church in suburban Washington, D.C. and also works for Voice of America.  Her sister Inja is age three, and has been left with her maternal grandparents, uncle, and aunt in Seoul.  The family flees Seoul as enemy troops move in at the start of the war.

The author alternates chapters about the two sisters’ lives and development and their awareness of each other.  In 1962, Najin and Calvin arrange for Inja to join the family in Washington, a move that Inja dreads because she is a high school student at that point, with her own life, connections and culture.  The later part of the novel looks at the family’s adjustment, the college and early working years of the sisters, and a trip the two sisters take to Korea.

Kim develops Inja’s character clearly, exploring her sense of duty as well as her sense of herself.  Inja’s chapters are generally limited to her point of view, while chapters featuring Mirin often focus on the mother Najin’s point of view.  Najin is consumed by regret for leaving her daughter behind, especially after the loss of another baby.  Central to Mirin’s character is her sense of not fitting in, feeling not fully Korean and not fully American.  The family planned to return to Korea, but the war and the ensuing political chaos in South Korea made the move impossible.  U.S. immigration status issues eventually add to the complications.

Some sections focus heavily on Korean history, presumably to provide context for readers who are not familiar with it.  The intermittent focus on history slows the pace of the story in a way that the family’s experience of history, illuminated through plot and description, does not.

Secrets are a central theme of the novel.  Inja learns early on that there are complicated reasons concerning why she was left behind in Korea, and Mirin was brought to the U.S.  As she grows older, she learns of other secrets held by her family, dating back to the Japanese occupation.  A strength of the novel is its exploration of this theme throughout the unfolding story.  The novel asks what family secrets should be held close in order to build and maintain family relationships.

One seed for the story is the author’s own sister Sun.  Like the character Inja, Sun was left behind when the family migrated, and she later joined her family in the U.S. This story of siblings left behind and secrets woven into the family story has been explored in other novels featuring immigrants, such as Amy Tan’s 1989 novel The Joy Luck Club.  It is a story undoubtedly playing out in many families today, since there is a larger percentage of immigrants in the U.S. than at any time since 1910.

In The Kinship of Secrets, Kim gives readers a fictional window into the experience of families that face such wrenching and fateful decisions.  Given our era, in which family separation is frequently in the news, Kim offers a novel exploring the repercussions of family divisions that resonates across borders and time.

Ordinary life

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Dust and Other Stories ~ By T’aejun Yi (Janet Poole, trans.)

(Columbia University Press, New York, 2018, ISBN #978-0231-18581-3)

By Joan Thompson (Fall 2019 issue)

Dust and Other Stories by T'aejun Yi

In this important collection, T’aejun Yi’s short stories reflecting life in complicated times appear together for the first time.  A significant 20th century writer, Yi moved to North Korea after the country’s partition.  As Janet Poole discusses in her excellent Translator’s Introduction, Yi’s choice made him fall out of favor in South Korea, and resulted in his works being banned there.  Poole suggests that he could not have known that his move to Pyongyang and his tour of the Soviet Union that summer would be permanent.  Yi fell out of favor in North Korea as well, in the early 1950s, leaving more of his writing unpublished and his date of death unknown.

Poole presents Yi’s stories in order of original publication and lists each source.  The stories range from Omongyo in 1925 to Dust in 1950.  In her introduction, she points out that during the colonial period, stories often were republished in various versions.  In addition, she discusses the significance of Yi’s work, his choices in the context of the era, and some of the challenges of translation.

Dust, the title story and the final in the collection, features Moe Han, an antiquarian book dealer who loves Korean culture and its history.  He has successfully kept his collection from Japanese hands.  He hopes for reunification, and is curious as to whether conditions in South Korea mirror what the North Korean press says. 

Wanting to see for himself, he journeys south to visit his daughter and grandchildren, and also to connect with South Korean antiquarian book dealers.  He and his travel companion, Dr. Sim, quickly learn of the corruption and oppression in the south under Syngman Rhee’s government.  They are caught up in curfew violation and witness violent police opposition to student protests in Seoul. 

Han finds that Dr. Sim’s cousin and the school headmaster where Han taught both benefit from U.S. military control and corruption.  One striking scene in the story is an antiquarian book auction where U.S. officers have Koreans sitting at their feet, bidding for books as if acquisition of cultural artifacts is a sport.

One story, The Rainy Season, features a protagonist named Mr. Yi, and the plot contains details that suggest it is autobiographical.  The story is framed by a young married man’s argument with his wife and his attempt to make up to her.  The story describes Mr. Yi taking a bus and tram to visit newspaper offices where other creative writers toil in roles that often don’t fit their talents.  The narrator also contemplates what has become of his childhood friends from a village in Kangwon Province, especially one friend who asked him in writing a copy of his book, but Mr. Yi ignored it. 

The author also shows the difficulties of life under the Japanese colonists in describing how Yi impatiently waits through a bus inspection and contemplates that the Japanese will probably make Koreans change their names.  Poole points out in a footnote that the author’s prediction came true three years after the story was published.

Many of the stories feature a protagonist named Hyon and the challenges of life under Japanese occupation.  In some instances, stories focus on how teachers and journalist lost their jobs during the colonial era.  In The Frozen River P’ae, Hyon journeys to Pyongyang to see old friends at the Floating Blue Pavilion.  He argues with Mr. Kim, a city assemblyman benefiting from the occupation.  He thinks back to the kisaeng (women entertainers) they met in Pyongyang in the past, and he remembers their colorful headscarves, which he said made them look like butterflies.

A Tale of Rabbits does not reflect a nostalgic view of women.  In it, Hyon agrees with his wife that they will raise rabbits and deal with more scarcity by making some extra money.  She has researched the business, and though he initially resists, he finally agrees, only to learn that the bottom has fallen out of the rabbit market and their food is too expensive.  Hyon, embarrassed by his pregnant wife gathering clover on the school athletic field, goes out to gather the greens, but just feels incompetent when he is hit from behind by an errant volleyball.  He can’t imagine killing the rabbits when the family can no longer feed them, and he cannot find the energy to write the stories that magazines have requested.  Ultimately, it is his wife who solves the problem of their failing rabbit business.

Before and After Liberation: A Writer’s Note connects with the story Unconditioned, which comes just before the note in the collection.  Unconditioned is a nostalgic look at fishing near Hyon’s family village, while Before and After Liberation contains Hyon’s observations on the ending of Japanese colonialism and the political winds of that period.  He tries to remain a neutral observer during World War II, but the Japanese put him under surveillance when he resists writing pro-Japanese propaganda, and after that, he loses his income.

He moves his family to a village in Kangwon Province where he spends his days fishing and visiting with Headmaster Kim, who has demonstrated against colonial rule in the March First demonstrations, and has refused to cut off his topknot, a symbol of refusal to modernize to Japanese standards.  Hyon finds that Japanese oversight causes significant problems in the small town.  After liberation, Hyon returns to Seoul and tries to work with the Central Council.  However, disputes between the right and left, as well as the arrival of the U.S. military, test his ability to remain neutral, his friendship with Headmaster Kim is also challenged.

Not all of the stories in the collection feature Hyon as protagonist.  In Evening Sun, Maehon journeys to Kyongju for a vacation.  While exploring an antique shop, he is impressed by a much younger woman who works there and later encounters her in a tree at a pagoda he visits.  The story presents the woman as both urbane and as ethereal as a spirit.  The story traces the arc of the affair the two engage in. 

A later story, Tiger Grandma, is set in a North Korean village.  Tiger Grandma has a reputation as a hard worker honored in the village for her abilities as a healer.  She is also the last to resist the government’s literacy campaign.  The story follows Sanggun, who represents the Federation for Democratic Youth and the Children’s Alliance, as he attempts to outsmart Grandma Tiger and get her to hangul school.

Overall, Janet Poole’s strong translations bring an important collection of T’aejun Yi’s work to English-language readers.  Dust and Other Stories offers intriguing short stories that look at the effects of the colonial era and liberation on writers and teachers, as well as observations about life in North Korea in the years just after the partition.

Korean Quarterly is dedicated to producing quality non-profit independent journalism rooted in the Korean American community. Please support us by subscribing, donating, or making a purchase through our store.  

Division made peaceful

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When Spring Comes to the DMZ ~ By Uk-Bae Lee

(Plough Publishing, Walden (NY), 2019, ISBN #978-0874869729)

Review by Joan Thompson (Winter 2020 issue)

When Spring Comes to the DMZ by Uk-Bae Lee

Uk-Bae Lee’s picture book, When Spring Comes to the DMZ explores the seasonal beauty of a no-man’s land while highlighting the family losses of a country separated.  Originally published in Korean in 2010, the book highlights the freedom of wildlife in the DMZ while underlining the cost of never-ending war.

Lee both wrote and illustrated the book.  The text follows a young boy who goes to the DMZ each season with his grandfather.  The grandfather looks north each time while the young boy observes his grandfather’s longing and the shifting seasons.  Both wildlife and military action mark each season.  In the second spring, Lee reveals the grandfather’s wish to walk into the DMZ to reunite with long-lost relatives.  The image of the gate he wishes to open is a two-page spread that opens into an imagined spring where this wish comes true.

The paintings beautifully illustrate the paradox of the DMZ.  Because the DMZ is forbidden land, nature has flourished free of human intervention.  Lee paints seals, salmon, cranes, water deer, mountain goats and other animals alongside razor wire, patrolling soldiers and rusting military gear.  The images show the beauty of mountains and trees throughout their seasons, while also highlighting the ongoing tensions at the border.

The book’s design also speaks to a wish for reunification and peace.  The endpapers in the front of the book depict a world map with the Koreas divided by razor wire.  The endpapers at the book’s back show the same map with the razor wire gone.  An illustration on the page following the story’s end shows where the various animals live along the razor wire with blue dots on a Korean Peninsula map.  Text aimed at the adult reading the book to a child is on the opposing page.  It describes the division of the Koreas, defines the DMZ and calls for the razor wire to be removed, a wildlife refuge to be preserved and opportunities for separated families to reunite.

Lee’s biography at the book’s end highlights his long-time work for social justice from teaching factory workers painting at no cost to his involvement with the Peace Picture Book Project.  This group includes illustrators not only from Korea but also from Japan and China, and Lee created When Spring Comes to the DMZ as part of this project.

Overall, When Spring Comes to the DMZ is a beautiful call for peace.  It provides a way to gently introduce young children to the history behind the DMZ and the pain separated family members experience, all while celebrating the beauty of nature.

Korean Quarterly is dedicated to producing quality non-profit independent journalism rooted in the Korean American community. Please support us by subscribing, donating, or making a purchase through our store.  

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