“It’s a party of ‘immersion.’ It’s filled with works I want to turn into movies.”
- Actor Park Jung-min
What is real and what is fake?
Questioning ‘Honmono’ at the boundary
What first catches the eye in the collection titled ‘Honmono’ is the title itself, which is difficult to grasp at once. ‘Honmono’ is a transliteration of the Japanese word ‘本物’ (ほんもの), meaning ‘real,’ which was once widely known as a neologism mocking ‘jinsang’ or ‘otaku’ on the internet. As the author mentioned in an interview, they wanted to convey the current era where even if something is false, if many believe it, it becomes truth. This collection consists of works that explore the boundary between ‘real’ and ‘fake’ while posing fundamental questions about what ‘real’ truly is.
The protagonist of the titular story, “Honmono,” is a 30-year veteran shaman named ‘Munsu,’ who one day realizes that the spirit he has been serving, ‘Jangsu Halmeoni,’ has left him. Coincidentally, a twenty-something ‘Shinaegi’ moves in next door and tells him, “Halmeoni, you’re too old” (p. 145), claiming that she has come to him, which shakes the very foundation of Munsu’s belief that his faith is ‘real.’ Munsu struggles to live as a ‘fake’ shaman while pretending to be ‘real,’ but even while trying to procure a model sword, he refuses to take on the ‘today’s fortune’ that is “only for shamans” (p. 122), and while he feels disdain for Shinaegi, who mocks him saying, “What does a mere imitator know?” (p. 120), he is troubled by the shouts coming from her house, constantly questioning, “What is real, and does it truly exist separately from the fake?” (Commentary, Yang Kyung-eon).
Meanwhile, the conflict between Munsu, who has traditionally served Jangsu Halmeoni, and the young shaman Shinaegi, who seems to be “equal to Halmeoni” (p. 144), reflects the generational conflicts commonly faced in modern society. Thus, “Honmono” is not just a provocative work that examines individual desires and struggles, but also questions social issues such as generational conflict and the clash between tradition and modernity.
An overwhelming narrative that digs in without a breath
A shining future of Korean literature with talents worth stealing
Another work that deals with these issues in a timely and concrete manner is “Smooth,” which portrays the day in the life of ‘Dewey,’ a third-generation Korean American and agent of world-renowned artist ‘Jeff,’ as he visits Korea for the first time, depicted like a black comedy. Having been ignorant enough to view Korea as a “dangerous area filled with shops selling snake liquor and dog meat” (p. 69), he is “more American than a ‘real’ American” (p. 69) and gets lost in Korea while searching for Jeff’s exhibition, accidentally blending into a procession holding “the American flag and ‘Taigeukgi’” (p. 84). At the scene of this “festival” (p. 86), he encounters warm and kind elderly people, feeling a sense of connection and belonging to Korea. However, when an elderly person, who shared unconditional kindness, refers to Gwanghwamun Square as ‘Iseungman Square,’ “the anxiety and deficiency are smoothly shaved off” (p. 82), and just like Jeff’s art piece shaped like a sphere, we begin to feel a chill in our hearts.
The opening story of the collection, “Guilty Club: Touching the Tiger,” features a narrator who is a member of the ‘Guilty Club,’ a gathering of so-called “true” (p. 12) fans of world-renowned director ‘Kim Gon.’ Kim Gon faces ethical criticism from the public due to an incident from his past, but the members of the Guilty Club believe that ignoring and keeping quiet about the incident is the role of a ‘true’ fan. The narrator, too, desires to be ‘real’ and denies the incident, but when Kim Gon acknowledges his mistakes and apologizes, they feel something inside them break. Later, while experiencing ‘touching the tiger’ at a zoo in Chiang Mai, they realize what that identity is. Thus, “Guilty Club: Touching the Tiger” vividly explores the contradictory desire known as ‘guilty pleasure’ through a fandom culture familiar to us, prompting us to reconsider what lies behind the things we easily regard as ‘true’ and what distinguishes the real from the fake.
The subsequent stories also leave unique and powerful impressions. The faction “House of the Sphere: 98 Galwol-dong” treats the question of who designed the brutally infamous building based on the ‘Namyeong-dong Detention Center’ in a sort of investigative documentary style, while the social satire “Conception” depicts a raw conflict of desires between a daughter-in-law and her father-in-law ahead of the daughter-in-law’s planned delivery abroad. “Friendly Feelings” portrays characters working at a regional regeneration startup who meet those who moved to the countryside with “idealistic” (p. 211) intentions, revealing each other’s true selves, and “Metal” tenderly unfolds the process of three friends who were in a metal band during high school facing reality. Each of these stories, as actor Park Jung-min said, “Why watch Netflix? Just read Seong Haena’s book” (Recommendation), vividly and clearly slice off the corners of reality, allowing readers to fully experience the world within the stories. The overwhelming narrative that you cannot stop once you start will also provide the pleasure of reading through this thick collection in one go.
“It no longer matters.
Honor, youth, timing, conflict,
even the real and the fake.”
Seong Haena, who endlessly questions what ‘Honmono’ is while traversing between ‘real’ and ‘fake,’ does not draw a smooth and perfect answer like a sphere. Where ‘Honmono’ comes to a halt is rather on the rugged and precarious edge that separates the real from the fake. In the face of this polyhedron (多面體) of answers that has neither perfect right nor wrong, nor complete good or evil, nor grand separations or easy reconciliations, what we can do is to continue to walk along that ambiguous boundary, following Seong Haena’s reliable steps as she opens the tomorrow of Korean literature, without ever losing strength in the pursuit of ‘real’.”