In this monthly column, writer Sohini Basak sets out to interview contemporary writers from Asia to understand the nuances of cultural practices, power hierarchies, literary lineages, gender norms, all the while asking the question: Is there an Asian way of thinking? The hope for the column is to not only celebrate, but also sharpen our understanding of the countries geographically closest to us, and heighten our collective curiosities about the shared colonial histories, mythologies, sentimentalities and anxieties. Here’s an excerpt from her interview with writer Bora Chung:
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Bora Chung is the author of three novels and three short story collections, including the International Booker Prize–shortlisted Cursed Bunny, translated from the Korean into English by Anton Hur. Chung is also a translator herself, working on translating modern literary works from Russian and Polish into Korean. In 2020, Chung participated in a ‘ritual prostrating’ protest in opposition to two draconian laws being passed by the South Korean parliament at the time, and writes about her experience alongside the haunting and eerie stories in her new book (in English translation) Your Utopia.
Are you writing full time these days?
Yes. I write and translate full-time and go to protests and write about the protests I go to.
I was very moved by the author’s note at the end of Your Utopia. You write about the body in protest and the body in mourning and about how making these public can bring change to the society. I wanted to know if/how your social activism affects your writing ...
I feel that the more I protest, the less “weirdly” I write. At protests the organizers and participants have a very firm goal in mind, with clear demands, and speeches that explain the situation. Especially at feminist protests I learned why I was always so confused, why I always felt so angry and unstable, and what I needed to know as an Asian woman (but of course nobody ever explains anything to a woman in Asia and that’s a big problem.) So now I’m more clear-headed. But I look back at The Head and The Embodiment, both of which I wrote in my twenties, and I think I probably won’t be able to write like that. As a person I do not ever want to go back to that kind of confusion, loneliness and anger. As a writer I sometimes miss the ability to write very weird stories.
Tell us about your craft. For example, for a longer short story like To Meet Her, when do you know it’s complete?
Short stories usually come very naturally to me. I start with the ending, spend some time trying to find a good beginning (the first sentence is as important as the ending) and the rest works out quite easily. To Meet Her was written in a matter of a month or maybe five to six weeks at the most. The news that Staff Sergeant Byun was found deceased was such a horrible blow to me. She was a great person and a very brave woman and I wanted her to be happy. So in the story, that had to be the ending. I also wanted her to have the respect she deserved but first and foremost she had to be happy. And I was determined to go through anything to see her alive and happy. Even if it was only in my story.
You spent twenty years studying Russian and Polish languages and literatures. I was curious to know if the interest in these cultures came about when you were still in South Korea?
These days there is a lot of Russian and Slavic literature translated into Korean, with a whole bookshelf full of various Russian language textbooks. I’ve also seen a plethora of material on other subjects of Russian studies such as research papers, philosophical treatise, and medical and technical manuals.
However, before the fall of the Soviet Union in December 1991, the situation in Korea was drastically different. Anything and everything related to modern Soviet Union was strictly prohibited because we have North Korea above our heads and they are a very real threat. In South Korea before 1991, people went to prison for simply having a book written about the Soviet Union (not even written in Russian or written by a Soviet person). The study of Russian literature and culture stopped at Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy and that was it. I’m not exaggerating.
My curiosity was fueled by such a strict ban and the complete change in international politics after 1991. Everything that was so deeply condemned throughout my childhood was suddenly freely available! So I wanted to read Russian letters. Didn’t know that would get me into a twenty-year mess.
When your stories were first published in South Korea, do you remember what the audience reaction was? Were they considered provocative?
The Head was published in my school newspaper in 1998 and my friends all read it and complained that they were scared to go to the bathroom. Afterwards I stayed virtually unknown to the general reading public of Korea until the unexpected International Booker nomination in 2022. The very few people who read my stories seemed to like them for some reason. I am very grateful to these early readers of mine.
In several of your stories, there is a parable-like quality, perhaps because the fear or awe these stories strike in us is primal, or perhaps because often the characters are not named. For example, the line in your story The Embodiment which goes: “But the gynecologist’s office was not a place a young unmarried woman could visit without feeling guilty” is sadly completely true here in India too. Now that your work is widely translated, do you think of a “global audience” when you write these days?
I don’t think of a particular audience because the thought of having an audience terrifies me (“who’s gonna like a story about menstruation?!”). I write for myself. And I, as a reader, am a great big fan of mythology and folklore. I think we are all familiar with stories where a nameless protagonist is suddenly or accidentally drawn into unrealistic situations and magical adventures. That is the backbone of almost every folktale in every culture. It’s just that in my stories the main character happens to be an Asian woman living in the modern era and the magical things kinda have a lot to do with … um … indoor plumbing.
By the way it breaks my heart that almost everywhere in the world women of all colours are very often denied adequate medical care because they are women…. This really has to change.
A list of five books from Korea about which Bora Chung would like more people around the world to know
