by Kim Gyeong-Uk ; translated by Kang Sunok & Melissa Thomson ‧ RELEASE DATE: Dec. 8, 2015
Kim opens an intriguing window into modern South Korean society, a slice of the world that is confoundingly different from...
Scenes from the class struggle, Gangnam-style.
Grandpa is convinced that the Japanese, who have not ruled Korea since 1945, are bugging his phone. Pop has taken to calling Grandpa “the old man.” Grandpa is old, of course, born in 1916, but that’s no reason to rub it in—it’s just a sign of the coldness and disrespect that has settled in between the generations. “I’m not trying to make an ethical point here,” insists the protagonist of Kim’s story “The Country Where the Sun Never Rises,” whose day consists of work, sleep, and stopping at the corner store for a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of soju, and a lottery ticket—the cigarettes for Pop, the booze for Grandpa, and the lottery ticket for the young man, desperate for a way out. Kim’s characters are much put upon, long enduring, and discontented no matter what rung of the social ladder they’re on. In “Ninety-Nine Percent,” an ad writer is convinced that he’s seen his well-heeled, abrasive boss somewhere before—but where? Both boss and writer lock into a weird head butting that hinges on the elevation of the Jungfrau, the Swiss alp that speaks volumes about “new market segments that we can explore.” In the world Kim limns, people are commodities, and those who can afford it are slaves to whatever fashion happens to be current; in “The Runner,” a yuppie’s girlfriend turns up “wearing a hoodie and a denim mini-skirt with black knee-socks and expensive, imported running shoes,” guided to her look by a Japanese fashion magazine. So are the Japanese bugging her phone, too? That would be the least of the conflicts that unfold, conflicts on which Kim’s elegant vignettes turn.
Kim opens an intriguing window into modern South Korean society, a slice of the world that is confoundingly different from ours—but also much the same.Pub Date: Dec. 8, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-62897-117-0
Page Count: 256
Publisher: Dalkey Archive
Review Posted Online: Oct. 6, 2015
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 2015
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by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992
The Brat Pack meets The Bacchae in this precious, way-too-long, and utterly unsuspenseful town-and-gown murder tale. A bunch of ever-so-mandarin college kids in a small Vermont school are the eager epigones of an aloof classics professor, and in their exclusivity and snobbishness and eagerness to please their teacher, they are moved to try to enact Dionysian frenzies in the woods. During the only one that actually comes off, a local farmer happens upon them—and they kill him. But the death isn't ruled a murder—and might never have been if one of the gang—a cadging sybarite named Bunny Corcoran—hadn't shown signs of cracking under the secret's weight. And so he too is dispatched. The narrator, a blank-slate Californian named Richard Pepen chronicles the coverup. But if you're thinking remorse-drama, conscience masque, or even semi-trashy who'll-break-first? page-turner, forget it: This is a straight gee-whiz, first-to-have-ever-noticed college novel—"Hampden College, as a body, was always strangely prone to hysteria. Whether from isolation, malice, or simple boredom, people there were far more credulous and excitable than educated people are generally thought to be, and this hermetic, overheated atmosphere made it a thriving black petri dish of melodrama and distortion." First-novelist Tartt goes muzzy when she has to describe human confrontations (the murder, or sex, or even the ping-ponging of fear), and is much more comfortable in transcribing aimless dorm-room paranoia or the TV shows that the malefactors anesthetize themselves with as fate ticks down. By telegraphing the murders, Tartt wants us to be continually horrified at these kids—while inviting us to semi-enjoy their manneristic fetishes and refined tastes. This ersatz-Fitzgerald mix of moralizing and mirror-looking (Jay McInerney shook and poured the shaker first) is very 80's—and in Tartt's strenuous version already seems dated, formulaic. Les Nerds du Mal—and about as deep (if not nearly as involving) as a TV movie.
Pub Date: Sept. 16, 1992
ISBN: 1400031702
Page Count: 592
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1992
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SEEN & HEARD
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SEEN & HEARD
by John Steinbeck ‧ RELEASE DATE: Feb. 26, 1936
Steinbeck is a genius and an original.
Steinbeck refuses to allow himself to be pigeonholed.
This is as completely different from Tortilla Flat and In Dubious Battle as they are from each other. Only in his complete understanding of the proletarian mentality does he sustain a connecting link though this is assuredly not a "proletarian novel." It is oddly absorbing this picture of the strange friendship between the strong man and the giant with the mind of a not-quite-bright child. Driven from job to job by the failure of the giant child to fit into the social pattern, they finally find in a ranch what they feel their chance to achieve a homely dream they have built. But once again, society defeats them. There's a simplicity, a directness, a poignancy in the story that gives it a singular power, difficult to define. Steinbeck is a genius and an original.Pub Date: Feb. 26, 1936
ISBN: 0140177396
Page Count: 83
Publisher: Covici, Friede
Review Posted Online: Oct. 5, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 1936
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