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PROFILEKim Hye-jin

Kim Hye-jin debuted with the short-story “Chicken Run,” which was the prizewinning work of the 2012 Dong-a Ilbo New Writer’s Contest. She has authored the novels Central Station, Concerning My Daughter, The Work of No. 9, the novella Fire and My Autobiography, and the short story collections Eobi and A Life Called You. She has received the 2013 JoongAng Ilbo Award for Long-form Fiction, the 2018 Shin Dong-yup Prize for Literature, the 2020 Daesan Literary Award, and the 2020 Lee Hochul Literary Prize for Peace Special Award. The English translation of Concerning My Daughter is forthcoming from Picador in 2022.

INTERVIEW

Interview with Kim Hye-jin: A New Kind of “Togetherness” Vol.52 Summer 2021

Your novel Concerning My Daughter begins with a house and ends with a home, one could say. In that sense, I think the story is about forming a family as an economic unit and expanding it into an emotional support unit. The story considers new possibilities and forms of family by bringing together families that don’t meet society’s approval, families that have been torn apart, and families that have been lost. I wonder whether you had set out to write a family narrative different from pre-existing ones when you wrote it. I didn’t start out wanting to write a family narrative. All I knew was that I wanted to write about a mother and daughter. In any case, the daughter moves in with the mother in the beginning of the story and brings her same-sex partner with her, and in the end the mother brings home an old patient named Jen she had been looking after in the convalescent home. It wasn’t until the characters were living under one roof that I realized that this novel could be read as a narrative about a new family. In the initial draft, Jen does not move in with the mother character. I had only written up to the scene where the mother goes looking for Jen when Jen is forced out of the convalescent home. It didn’t occur to me that the mother could bring Jen home with her. ©Ozak The novel is also a portrayal of women of different generations. Many people read the story as a portrait of women’s solidarity, and I wonder what the solidarity could mean for them, what possibilities it opens up going forward in their lives. Any feelings or thoughts on this? The most powerful unit of solidarity in Korean society is the family. When I was writing this novel, I thought it didn’t necessarily require blood relations to form a family. Then, as now, this is not a very radical idea in Korea. It has gained substantial social approval. But I do think that compared to people’s perceptions, the laws and institutions are more conservative. I think that once the laws and institutions become more flexible, family and solidarity will perhaps take much more diverse forms. It was interesting to see that the climax of Concerning My Daughter was different for different readers. For me, it was the scene where the mother couldn’t say her daughter’s cell phone number at the protest scene. Some say it’s when they eat together at Jen’s funeral, while others say it’s where everyone gathers in one house. I wonder what the climax of this work is for you. Or maybe there was an image that inspired this novel? In the second half of the novel, there’s a scene where the mother goes to the hospital to see her daughter who was injured at a protest. There, the mother meets up with her and her daughter’s partner and takes them to the cafeteria. Watching the two of them eat, the mother finally sees that these two are out there in a ruthless world. She realizes that they’re struggling to live their reality, not pursuing an illusion or a daydream. I thought this scene was the climax of this novel. This is also the scene where the change in the mother is most palpable. I think the notion of change is at the core of the novel. The change that happens to the characters is especially important. I imagine you must have given a great deal of thought to how much change the mother can afford. For me, I liked the fact that the change in the mother’s attitude toward the daughter was not shown directly through her own relationship with her daughter, but through her relationship with Jen and through the daughter’s relationship with her partner. The difficulty of understanding a person is revealed very slowly through the changes in her own relationships. I thought the mother was looking at her daughter’s future through Jen. There is also a part of her that understands her daughter a little better through her partner. How should I put it? I think in order to understand a person, you must understand the person’s relationships and circumstances, and your own relationships and circumstances in turn work closely to give you insight. I also think that understanding a person starts with facing and getting to know the external things that surround a person. ©Ozak The novel is being translated into several foreign languages. Some have already been published, and some are forthcoming. Do you have any translation releases you are especially looking forward to? I’m looking forward to the English translation. I think it’s because English is the only foreign language I can read a little at a time. Concerning My Daughter has already been published in Japan. Have you been following the response since then? What was it like to see the Japanese translation? You also spoke at a book event hosted by the publisher of Eobi, your first short story collection. It is always fascinating to see books in Japanese because the text runs top to bottom and right to left. All translations, not just the Japanese ones, feel like strangers to me because they come in different languages and different covers, too. It’s as if they aren’t mine. I haven’t been following the response of Japanese readers, but I’m curious. What was the reaction or review from a reader or critic on Concerning My Daughter that you most appreciated as the author? I remember when a critic said, “This novel is a novel about words.” I had never thought of it that way, because the mother isn’t able to fully articulate herself in the novel. But at some point, she verbalizes her thoughts. And she is astonished to find these words within herself. So the view that this is about a person finding her words stuck with me. How would you say Concerning My Daughter impacted your later works? Several more books have come out since Concerning My Daughter. I can’t say I felt a distinct sense of change each time. However, there is one thing: when I was writing Concerning My Daughter I thought I had to pour more into in the novel. That I had to put more into it and create something richer. But now I think it’s okay to have only one very small but very pure emotion in the novel, and that it’s enough to contain just one very clear thing in the story. You started your career in 2012 with the short story “Chicken Run.” You have had a prolific career for the past nine years, receiving both critical and popular acclaim. What were some changes that occurred in terms of your views for value regarding fiction over the course of your career, if any? I used to think that the narrative was the most important thing in a novel. Now, I think a scene, an interaction, or a sentence can carry greater meaning than a narrative. I guess you could say that my idea of what a novel is has become more flexible. ©Ozak The homeless characters in your first novel, Central Station, and the characters at the protests in some of your short stories are examples of people in the streets who often appear in your works. They come off as having no choice but to go out into the streets, rather than being those who are unable to find a place for themselves. What would you say this instability in your characters represents in your works? I think that a novel is the story of an individual and embodies the process of an individual living life. In that light, I think I consider life itself to be a great instability. I don’t know if instability is representative of something in my works, but I would say that the individuals I am examining live unstable lives. Maybe I want to keep asking through my stories how people are living their lives, and with what thoughts in their minds? You chose the excerpt from Concerning My Daughter that appears alongside this interview. Can you tell us about why you chose this particular scene? I think the scene best reveals the heart of this novel. It is the clearest portrayal of the conflict between the mother and daughter, and an honest depiction of the mother’s character. The theater adaptation of Concerning My Daughter was staged last year. What was that like for you, seeing the sentences you wrote performed through actors’ bodies and watching it in person? People experience the same novel in different ways perhaps because we each have such different lives and experiences. Maybe that’s why we sometimes get the feeling that we are seeing ourselves in the novels we read. Watching Concerning My Daughter on the stage felt like that for me. It was exciting to see scenes from the novel I wrote performed live, but the emotions and scene progressions that the director and actors discovered in my story were astonishing. It was a meaningful experience to reflect on why the stage adaptation took notice of those aspects and scenes. Preparations for the screen adaptation of Concerning My Daughter are underway. I am curious if you ever imagined what the book would look like on the screen. Are there any scenes that you are especially looking forward to watching? Any casting hopes for the mother, daughter, and daughter’s partner roles you have in mind? I get asked about the film adaptation a lot, but I honestly have a hard time picturing what it will look like. Or which actors would be good for the parts. There aren’t many incidents in the story, so I do hope that the everyday scenes of daily routines are portrayed well, but I truly think it’s all up to the director and the actors. One thing I’m curious about is what soundtrack will be used for which scenes. This year marks the tenth year since you debuted as a novelist. How has your perception or attitude toward fiction changed in the last decade? My perception of fiction has changed significantly since long ago when I first made up my mind to become a novelist. Back then, fiction was a story that was separate and distant from me, and that was enough. I must have believed that it was possible to maintain that distance between my life and the novels I write. But I think my stories are bound to come into contact and overlap with my life at a certain point. This is unavoidable. Another change is that I find myself often wondering what it means to be a novelist in this age where personal narratives are increasing exponentially. Why should we read novels today when the stories of individuals are special and important? The standard of art in general, including fiction, is changing, and I wonder if we are living in an age where the value of a work of art is actively and quickly re-established by the audience and readers. I don’t have any good answers to these questions, but I certainly do wonder about more questions and take more things into consideration when I write than I ever did before. Translated by Jamie Chang

FICTION

Concerning My Daughter Vol.52 Summer 2021

Still. Maybe. Perhaps my daughter is mistaken. A misunderstanding between two girls who are still foolish and naive? A few days, a few months from now, it’ll be as if none of this has happened? I can take this sight before me, crumple it up, squash it into a tiny thing, and toss it far away. If I tell myself that it isn’t true and pretend I don’t know, this will be easier for a while. Things I wish I didn’t know. Things that I could believe so easily and naturally when I was oblivious extend claws and reveal their true colors when you really get to know them. Truth and reality. It is the nature of the self-evident to be poised to attack us at any moment. Photograph by An Woong Chul My daughter’s calf is slipped between the girl’s legs. Skin on skin and breathing as one, they draw themselves together and end up looking like one body. Blood rushes to my face. I struggle with the urge to wake them up immediately and separate them, and then carefully leave the room. There are two rooms in the house besides mine. Two fans. Two desk lamps. Two desks. They spend the day in separate rooms, so why sleep in one bed at night? What more do they think they can do besides sleeping with their bare flesh touching? I can’t say I’m not afraid of the things I’ll see while living with the girls. Here’s what concerns me: moments and scenes that appear before my eyes without warning. Having no choice but to see them. Looking directly at the things I only imagined and assumed, and seeing them for what they are. Things that might be far more awful and scarier than I am prepared for. The moment will come when things that ought to be hidden will be revealed and I will witness them. Why me? Some might think that there’s a reason for it. People might joke in hushed voices. But I haven’t found any reason, cause, or mistake that led to this. Maybe that’s why I’m being tortured with sights I’d rather not see forced upon me. One Sunday morning, my daughter leaves the house and the girl leaves, too, before noon. With the excuse of cleaning the house, I open all the doors and windows, and go into my daughter’s room. I put her light summer blanket and dirty clothes in the washer and tidy up her desk that’s a mess of books and documents. Petition to Withdraw Dismissal of Lecturers I find a clear folder of documents. I fetch my reading glasses and peruse the first page. There is a large, square stamp by the university’s name. The color is vivid, deep and red; a fresh stamp. I gingerly turn the pages. I sink into thought as I look down at the angry words my daughter or that girl wrote, or somebody wrote, and leave the room. Isn’t it time you started looking for a proper job? The wording I decide on after many revisions is no stronger than this. But even this I cannot say out loud. Because of money. I know that all of it was precipitated by money. If I hadn’t accepted the rent from the girls. If I hadn’t taken the extra cash they gave me for tax and shared household expenses. If I could get my daughter a place on the condition that she breaks up with that girl. If I could pay off the money my daughter owes and tell the girl to leave the house right now. I could pressure her to tell me what’s going on and dispense warnings and advice with a stern face. The way things are now, I don’t have the right to do that. There was a time when I held that right just by virtue of having brought her into the world. The conditions of qualification are continuously renewed, and I don’t have the ability or energy to keep up with it. Same goes for the girls. If they offered me a jaw-dropping amount of money and demanded that I accepted them, how should I react? Money alone can’t balance this matter, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about money. Is something going on? A few mornings later, I manage this much cautiously, nervously. I make sure the girl is out of the house before I bring up the subject. My daughter, who was nodding off on the sofa, looks up at me. She came home past midnight last night. It’s like this every night. She sometimes stumbles home after sunrise, pale as a ghost. Ma, I’m tired. Let’s talk later. I’m about to walk away when something catches my eye and startles me. There’s a bruise extending down from her temple. Scratches on her nose that look like nail marks, and her shoulders and upper arms are swollen red. Good god, what’s all this? I raise my voice. She shakes off my grip as if she can’t be bothered and rolls over. I sit her up and ask firmly, I said what’s all this? I fell down, she says. It was just a fall. Ma, just leave me alone, her voice breaks. My voice keeps rising and I try to wrestle her up. She catches me on the verge of tears. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, I say. I don’t know where you started to go wrong. A girl of over thirty with no job, no plans for marriage, who brings home some strange girl, and now she’s out there getting into fights. How can you do this unless you’re out to make me suffer? You don’t care even the tiniest bit what your old mother thinks, now, do you? Oh, don’t start. It’s nothing. Don’t say that. She looks up and meets my eyes for a moment. Her eyes are bloodshot with fine, red blood vessels. My emotions carry me away to a place of no return. Instantly. I close the wide-open window and lower my voice. That brilliant education of yours, I say. What was it all for? Ignoring your parents and being insufferable and superior around other people? Is that what you learned? She sits up. Since when do you care about my education? she asks. When have you ever listened to me? You listen to everything other people say, but never, ever what I say. I’ve heard plenty of your nonsense, I lower my voice and respond flatly. I don’t know what else you have left to say to break my heart, but I deserve better. I have earned the right to see the child, whom I went to such pains to raise, live an ordinary, decent life. What’s an ordinary, decent life? What’s wrong with how I live? she shouts. I grab her wrist to calm her down. What’s wrong with how you live? I reproach her. Are you kidding me? Ma, don’t you think you’ve done enough? How much longer? We’ve already settled that issue. Memories of the rawest scene always return. Things I can’t come to terms with, accept. Things that opened up and will not close all the way again, that go on inflaming and irritating. The lid flies open again. There, down the dark, narrow alley, I see my daughter walking toward me. I’d waited for her all day. Pacing in front of the building where my daughter got herself a studio on her own after she left home, I watched the close of day. She returned late at night. She opened the front door to reveal a small, dark room. A futon and a throw blanket. A small floor table and a desk lamp. That was all the furniture she had. No sunlight filtered into the room, day or night. She brought me water in a paper cup. I silently stared down at the paper cup on the floor and left the place. I couldn’t swallow so much as a sip of water. And came the harrowing realization. If I keep pulling my daughter toward me, this taut, tenuous tie between us will snap. I will lose her. But that doesn’t mean I understand. Or that I approve. I only gave her more leeway. I permitted her to move farther away. Giving up on expectations, ambitions, and something else, I kept taking steps away from her. How difficult that was. Does she really not know? Or is she pretending? Or would she prefer not to know? Settled? I say now. What’s been settled? Have you ever thought about what it must be like for me, seeing you live like this every day? Have you ever thought about what it must be like to see your grownup child live this abnormal life? She stares blankly up at the ceiling. She sighs, gets dressed, and opens the front door to head out. I think she’s turned in my direction to say something, but she leaves without a word. My racing heart calms down and a sigh of something like relief slips through my lips. I am a good person. I tried all my life to be good. A good child. A good sibling. A good wife. A good parent. A good neighbor. And another life ago, a good teacher. That must have been tough. I am a sympathetic person. You tried your best. That’s what matters. I am a supportive person. I understand completely. Of course, I do. I am an insightful person. Perhaps not. Maybe I am a frightened person. A person who doesn’t want to hear anything. Doesn’t want to get involved. Doesn’t want to get entangled. Doesn’t want to get dirt on my clothes and my body. I stand on the sideline. I say pleasant things, make pleasant faces and slowly back away when no one’s looking. Do I still want to be a good person? But what can I do to be a good person to my daughter at this point? A dark silence flows between my daughter and me for a few days. Translated by Jamie Chang Copyright © 2017 by Kim Hye-jinTranslation copyright © 2022 by Jamie ChangPublished with permission from Picador

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