Although my exploration of Korean Literature is a pastime that stretches back less than a year, I’ve already come across numerous interesting and accomplished stories that have in one way or another deepened my understanding of the country that I now call home. Among these, there is one that stands out above the rest, The Chronicle of Manchwidang by Kim Moon Soo. Its prominence is not to be accounted for by the narrative itself but rather the era in which the story is set. Like many other Westerners of a certain age, my initial awareness of Korea was the direct result of the 1988 Seoul Olympics.  Although decades have passed, there is still an aspect of my image of country that originates with that first early exposure.  The Chronicle of Manchwidang makes no reference to the Olympic Games, and I imagine they were far from the thoughts of the author as he was writing. Nonetheless, the image of Korea conjured up by the story (which was written in 1989) inspired feelings of nostalgia that enhanced my appreciation of the tale.

 

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The Chronicle of Manchwidang – like much of Korea’s post-industrial literature – is an elegy of sorts to a way of life that has all but disappeared. The story is told from the perspective of a successful but conscience-troubled government official by the name of Yi. Although he’s succeeded in overcoming a tumultuous childhood to secure a promising career in the civil service, problems both personal and professional in nature conspire to overshadow his happiness. On the personal side, Yi is saddled with guilt for the extraordinary sacrifice made by his family (especially his mother and sisters) for the sake of his education.  Professionally, his position, once thought to be a stepping stone to greater things, hangs in the balance because of his refusal to do the bidding of a corrupt superior.  

These problems alone would be enough to cause considerable hardship. However, in the case of Yi, his cares have been compounded by the burden of supporting (and controlling) his aging father, whose battle with alcoholism has been a lifelong struggle. For as long as he can remember, Yi’s father has obsessed over a prophesy relating to the family’s ancestral home, Manchwidang. According to legend, the house was situated on a ‘propitious site sure to produce three ministers of state’. Upon learning of his son’s troubles at work, Yi’s father’s falls into a state of despair. He becomes convinced that his son’s misfortunes are due to the fact he allowed Manchwidang to fall out of the family’s possession after incurring considerable gambling debts.

When his father suddenly disappears, Yi is sure that he’s gone back to his birthplace, a small countryside town by the name of Dongchon, for the purpose of reacquiring Manchwidang. Yi travels south by train in search of his father. Along the way he meets a number of interesting characters, all of whom in one way or another represent the rapid changes that the society is going through. In one such encounter he shares a train carriage with a young man whose health has been ruined by exposure to phosgene gas. According to the man, the factory owners were well aware of the dangers yet did nothing to mitigate the potential damages. The man’s tale cannot help but bring to mind Yi’s own mother, whose health was destroyed by years of toil in a factory.

Eventually, Yi locates his father on a ridge of land that overlooks the family’s ancestral home, Manchwidang. Despite his best efforts to buy it back from his creditors, the plan has failed. The house, we learn, has been abandoned, and the entire village of Dongchon is scheduled to be demolished to make way for an industrial complex. The obliteration of traditional village life in the name of progress is a theme that resonates through much of the literature produced since the end of the War. In this context, Manchwidang is but another casualty in the ceaseless struggle between the forces of tradition and modernization.

                  Elton LaClare

2010/04/15 08:24 2010/04/15 08:24

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