The Surrendered by Chang-rae Lee
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
I chose to read this book because of its roots in the Korean war, written by a Korean. Current events compel me to be very interested in Korea these days. Also, I'm writing a novel and a screenplayrefer hinged to the ongoing strife between North and South Korea as backstory.
In "The Surrendered" we first meet the protagonist, June, as an eleven-year-old refugee fleeing Seoul for Pusan and struggling to protect her two younger siblings against horrific physical and human challenges. Following June's life in a non-chronological way, we eventually come to know the other main characters, Hector and Sylvie, through their own stories. All are rooted in one way or another to the Korean conflict of the early fifties, but carry forward to the modern era as well. The author skillfully and meticulously weaves the characters' lives together through the second half of the book, creating at the end a cohesive tapestry of both yearning and fulfillment.
It's a well crafted, provocative story with some magnificent prose, albeit overly descriptive at times. Not as dialogue/action rich as other contemporary novels, it is worthwhile read nonetheless. I especially appreciated the well described insights about the physical and psychological effects of war on common people and young conscripted soldiers.
Some of the images are not pretty, but then neither is war or its aftermath. And sometimes life is just like that.
....kim chee, of course.
I'm back in Korea for a few days. Seoul, to be exact, a very different place from Busan, the southern port city where we usually stop with the Flagship. Seoul is to Busan as New York is to Norfolk. Seoul is sophisticated, cosmopolitan, with a panoply of architectural delights and any delectable ethnic cuisine that you want. Driven in from the airport this evening, I saw a Mexican restaurant next to an Australian fish house. Did I mention cosmopolitan?
Seoul is one of those cities that you know you'd love if you could just spend more time getting to know it. We usually stay in Busan two weeks at a time twice a year. I get to Seoul once a year for two days of meetings. Make no mistake, Busan is just fine to visit. Even neighboring Chinhae has its own special charm. But Seoul is an international destination, like many of the world's capital cities. Koreans go to Busan for a beach vacation. Americans go to Seoul to see Korea.
Oh yeah, I know about that crazy man up north and his erratic shenanigans. So what? As it should be with any terrorist, he doesn't deter the ROKs from enjoying life, even within range of whatever destructive toys he claims to have pointed in their direction today. Maybe living under that repetitive threat enables the GSMA* denizens to enjoy life all the more. "Better the devil you know," right? Would victims of 9/11/2001 have lived their lives differently knowing they were under imminent attack? Perhaps for the better. Life is fragile, wherever you live and whoever has you in his/her gunsights. So, carpe diem. The ROKs seem to have a heckuva good time doing just that.
Koreans typically use metal chopsticks...washable, reusable. You can take them with you if you have to move in a hurry. Japanese use wood, some of which are washable, many disposable. Plenty more from where those came. They don't plan to move any time soon.
Although they certainly have their own history and culture, ROKs seem more westernized. They drive on the right side of the road. ROK music and movie stars are pop icons, even in Japan. In general, our ROK friends seem less encumbered by history, tradition, and austere culture than their Japanese counterparts. Neither is bad. This job enables me to learn about both these and the many other Asian cultures in the region.
Naturally, each culture enjoys its own cuisine. I relish both. I can wrap my lips around Korean BBQ any day, or bulgogi, or bibimbap, and -- yes -- kim chee. I also enjoy my sushi, sashimi, ramen, and tempura. It's a blessing to have access to both. (As well as the scrumptious Chinese food to be had in Singapore, but that's for another post on another day.)
Tomorrow we will parlay with our ROK medical counterparts over some fairly serious business. We do live in a hazardous world that makes for daunting challenges in force health protection and operational medical support. Our main purpose, however, is learn about each other's capabilities, so we can work together as a team. After these serious discussions, then, we will do what men and women of good will and mutual respect often do when teambuilding. We will man up our metal chopsticks and dine together. We'll probably drink a bit together too. That's diplomacy, folks.
*GSMA ("gizma") = Greater Seoul Metropolitan Area
The sight was unusual because you seldom see a man wearing yukata on the Shinkansen, the Japanese bullet train. You would more likely come upon a woman in kimono, but even that would be extremely rare. Sojourning nihonjin typically wear casual travel attire or the ubiquitous dark suits that mark traveling business men.
Nearing the end of a pleasant weekend in Osaka and Nara, we stood by on the Osaka platform as the train scheduled ten minutes before ours disembarked its passengers. The yukata-wearing gentleman caught my eye as he completely filled the train's doorway. Perhaps his huge body mass, atypical of slighter Japanese frames, first drew my gaze. My mind quickly associated the yukata, the roughly 300 pound build, and traditional hair bun to identify this man as a sumo wrestler. Encountering one of these professional athletes on a train platform in Japan would be as noteworthy as spying a professional ballplayer at the departure gate of an American airline.
I wondered if a sumo tournament had come to Osaka, all the more puzzled why a man of such stature would arrive by Shinkansen. Sumo wrestlers enjoy the elite status in Japan similar to professional athletes in the U.S. Perhaps, I thought, this man is juryo, like a U.S. minor league baseball player, as opposed to a makuuchi, which is the higher division of most accomplished banzuke. In the U.S., one might see a minor league ballplayer traveling commercial air, although probably sporting a muscle shirt instead of yukata.
The man who must be sumo moved very slowly through the doorway, pushing a wheelchair ahead of him. "Perhaps he is injured," I mused. But once he was on the platform, he raised his hand to the official whose job is to keep the trains moving on time. The gesture clearly said chotto matte, "Wait a minute." Then he turned to assist someone disembarking behind him. His traveling companion was a thin, frail man who moved painfully slowly with the shuffling gait so typical of one stricken with Parkinson's Disease. (I know it well.) Then the huge man very gently assisted the impaired man off the train and helped him into the wheelchair. Only when his companion was fully secured did he signal the railway official to release the train on its way.
As the bullet train left the station, the sumo man pushed his fragile companion in the wheelchair towards the elevator. Here was a full slice of the human condition. This athletic behemoth, who devotes his entire adult life to heaving other big men onto the dirt, was now very gently and humanely engaged in the care of his frail and failing father.
As the enfeebled father and burly son slowly left the platform, I recalled another time and place. A small tear came to my eye.
