This is somewhere no reader has ever ventured. No eyes have seen the city of Hattengraju over which the disquieting Tower of Hearts looms, nor the treacherous forest of Kiboren, where the trees hide the sky. No foot has ever crossed the Border Line between two mutually fearful civilizations. No one has been here because this world did not exist before it was created in The Bird That Drinks Tears by Korean author Lee Youngdo, born in 1972. This writer has shaped a fantasy universe populated by characters of striking originality, producing an ambitious, richly detailed saga that first became a bestseller in its homeland, then in East Asia (China, Japan, and Taiwan), and finally achieved 
success on the global literary scene.

        The first volume was released in Korea in 2003. It took exactly twenty years to arrive in Italy with Feltrinelli’s publication of Il cuore del naga. L’uccello che beve lacrime Vol. 1 in October 2023. Sara Bochicchio’s task in translating from the Korean was challenging, since she had to introduce neologisms to convey certain specificities of the novel, starting with the naga people’s telepathic abilities. Another difficulty was the narrative’s use of register, particularly its epic cadence and lyrical moments, interspersed with suspenseful scenes and even virtual comedic sketches.

        Lee’s novel embraces a typical fairy tale frame: a journey of initiation, and a mission uniting various characters who are superficially allied but also carry histories of rivalry. This structure recalls The Lord of the Rings, to which it sometimes seems to pay homage. The overall conception of the story world itself is reminiscent of J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterpiece: a familiar structure for which the Korean writer establishes deep roots in his country’s traditional culture, and onto which he grafts surprising invention. Readers are thus supported by familiar elements, allowing them to enjoy those which are more unexpected. Although the references to Eastern myth may not be immediately clear to all readers, the plot maintains strong momentum and is consistently engaging. The adventure begins with a “rescue mission.” We witness the meeting of a trio assembled on the basis of an old saying: “Three seize one.” This is how a human, Keigon, comes to set out with two unlikely companions: Tinahan, a rekon (a sort of large bird), and Pihyong, a tokkebi (a goblin who in Korean tradition fights against the forces of evil). They must come together to save a naga (a reptile similar to the mythical serpent found in Hindu and Buddhist mythology) who has chosen not to undergo the ritual required of every member of his people: having his heart extracted to acquire a kind of immortality.

        One of the most intriguing and remarkable aspects of the novel is the characterization of the naga. Lee occasionally makes use of inspiration from well-known mythological figures to explain the habits and customs of a group he has invented, but more often he appeals to the readers’ imaginations with simple descriptions. Thus we understand that although the naga are anthropomorphic, they are also covered in scales (after all, they are half reptile), but the reader isn’t burdened with an excess of description which would rob them of the pleasure of imagining the world for themselves. The females are portrayed lusting after young males to mate with in order to produce offspring, but Lee also tries to show the fragile psychological balance of a sophisticated society. The fantasy genre heightens its depiction of characters’ sense of belonging or exclusion and intra-species tensions, and this attention to detail is precisely what makes Lee’s story credible: any of us can understand what it feels like to be a naga, because the naga (and the rekon, and the tokkebi, just like the human Keigon) are like us.

        Another innovative aspect of the work is Lee’s effective conceptualization of creatures that extend the limitations of biology: gigantic and untamable heavenly cetaceans that carry the ruins of ancient civilizations on their backs, or bodies that fuse and regenerate in deluges of blood, as illustrated in a dramatic fight scene between the protagonists. As in Tolkien or C. S. Lewis’s Narnia series, spiritual aspects are also relevant. The mission decided on in a remote temple and the invitation for different species to join forces are expressions of the sacred. At every latitude, in the East as in the West, fantasy suggests a universal truth: that beyond the individual lies something greater, often taking the form of a long journey.

Marco Del Corona

Author, Asiatica (Add, 2021)

Deputy Editor, Culture Section, Corriere della Sera