The Penguin Book of Korean Short Stories by The Penguin Book of Korean Short Stories (epub)

Author:The Penguin Book of Korean Short Stories (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241448526
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2023-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

HELL CHOSǑN

Yi Sang

Wings

Translated by Kevin O’Rourke

Have you ever met a stuffed genius?

Look no farther – I feel good about being one.

Makes me feel good about romance too.

It’s only when my body creaks with fatigue that my mind begins to glint like a silver coin. Nicotine takes over my wormy tummy, and a clean page opens in my mind where I can plop down my paduk stones of wit and paradox. It’s known as the awful disease of common sense.

I’m drawing up plans to live with a woman again. I’m a bit of a schizophrenic, inadequate in the arts of love but aware of the acme of intellectualism. I plan a life where I have half the woman – that’s half of everything. I plan to dip one foot in, sort of like two giggling suns staring at each other. Maybe life is so boring I’ve opted out. Goodbye.

Goodbye. It might be good occasionally to practise the ultimate irony: wolf down the dishes you dislike most. Wit and paradox and …

Maybe construct an artificial self, not a novel ready-made product, but something convenient and saleable.

Block out the nineteenth century – if you can – from your consciousness. The Dostoevsky spirit is garbage. And I don’t know who called Hugo a chunk of French bread, but the comment is apt. You can’t afford to let life or the personality quirk of a life model deceive you. And don’t seek out calamity. Do you understand what I’m saying … When the Band-Aid bursts you get blood. You just have to believe the wound will heal soon. Goodbye.

Emotion is pose (maybe more accurately an indicator of a small element in pose). Emotion cuts off its supply when pose intensifies to immobility.

My view of the world comes from reflection on my unusual development.

Queen bee and widow. Is there a woman in the world who isn’t a widow in her heart? I see all women as widow-natured. Is this insulting to women? Goodbye.

No. 33 is set up a bit like a brothel. Eighteen households shoulder to shoulder, one roof; identical papered doors, identical fire holes in the kitchen; and the residents are all young flowers. The sun doesn’t come in here. The girls pretend to be unaware of the rising sun. They stop the sun getting in by running a clothesline across their sliding doors and hanging stained bedding up to dry. They nap in the dark interiors. Don’t they sleep at night? How would I know? I sleep day and night myself. The eighteen households in No. 33 spend quiet days.

But only the days are quiet. At dusk when the girls bring in the bedding and light the lamps, the houses take on a much more exotic appearance. And as the night progresses, doors slide open and shut more frequently. No. 33 becomes busy, busy. And it exudes all sorts of smells: grilling mackerel, foundation cream, rice water, soap …

But it’s the nameplates that really put the heads nodding in comprehension. No. 33 has a

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