listography: books (human acts

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bel

books (human acts - han kang)

making his rule a de facto dictatorship
curtailing the freedom of the press
the alternation in the original between words whose meanings shade from 'corpse' or 'dead body' to 'dead person' or simply 'body' reflects a status of uncertainty reminiscent of Antigone. In the Korean context, such issues can also be connected to animist beliefs and the idea of somatic integrity - that violence done to the body is a violation of the spirit/soul which animates it.
part of the magnitude of the crime
ontological dilemma
obliquely
chronology is a complex weave, with constant slippages between past and present, giving the sense of the former constantly intruding on or shadowing the latter
extremely fraught and painful process
repressed trauma irrupts in the form of memory, one of the main Korean words for 'to remember' meaning literally 'to rise to the surface' - an inadvertent, often hazy recollection
sensationalising the sorrow and shame
anxious that the translation maintain the moral ambivalence of the original
the chill from the concrete steps leaches through your thin tracksuit bottoms
his reply was no more elaborate than it needed to be
the hubbub of a crowd of thousands dies down as instantaneously as if someone had pressed a mute button, and the silence it leaves in its wake seems shockingly stark
the smell of death which hangs like a pall in the room
listened with bated breath to the subtle dissonance this created
she'd been brought up short by the sight of the coffins filling the hall
walking slowly in the balmy morning sunlight
the repetition of that word, 'blood', gives you a tightening feeling in your chest, so you open your mouth Wide and suck in another deep breath
you jerk your head up in alarm, startled witless by the hand that brushed your right shoulder
fragile apparition
he blanched
despite all the upheavals
thirty-odd men and women were pressed up against the wall, a frozen tableau, their staring eyes riveted to the scene in front of them
a strikingly diminutive figure dashed out, unhesitating
they worked swiftly and methodically
sleep sucked you down so suddenly it was like losing consciousness, but not many minutes had passed before you started awake, jolted out of a terrifying dream whose details were already impossible to remember
dumbfounded by this unprecedented volubility
doubts replaced by more intimate imaginings
you felt lacerated by everything you imagined going on in the annex
unassuming, petite young woman
your Father, a dour and taciturn man
that person was seeking to mollify the other
slid into sleep as though falling into a sudden abyss, you lay in your room becoming less and less able to distinguish between the sounds of an argument and the sounds of making up, of Low laughter and shared sighs
my body seemed to slide beneath my wavering grasp, as though trying to shuck me off, but I clung on with a strength born of desperation
pallid ghost
the darkness closed in around us
i felt it touch me; that breath-soft slip of incorporeal something, that faceless shadow, lacking even language, now, to give it body
without the familiar bulwark of language
the night deepened, became threaded through with a string of similar occurrences
in an attempt to batten down the rising tide of fear
if I could sleep, truly sleep, not this flickering haze of wakefulness. If I could plunge headlong down to the floor of my pitch-dark consciousness
hearing your plaintive voice fading away as I increased the distance between us
endless expanse of sky
for the time when I would hold a woman in my arms. that first woman who would permit such a liberty, whose face I didn't yet know, how I longed to extend my trembling fingers to the outer edge of her heart.
the days and nights that passed then did so without note. A succession of dawns and Dusks went by, each half-light the selfsame shade of blue
i wanted to pare myself down to a simpler existence, just as I had while I'd still been alive. I was determined not to be afraid of anything. I'll go to you.
once her tension has dissipated a little thanks to the warmth and her comfortable position, she turns her mind to the task at hand
she sees his habitual friendly smile falter; he seems shocked, but quickly regains his composure
the world imprisoned in the mirror's glass was cold, silent and unchanging. Gazing abstractedly into that world, the face which looked out at her was familiar, but for the bluish bruise branded on her cheek.
the situation was so precarious that meetings frequently had to be called off. Life was a constant skirmish.
she'd thought she'd come to terms with the idea of dying, yet something about death itself, the various forms it might take, still disturbed her. Having seen and handled so many dead, she'd imagined she would have become inured to it all, but on the contrary her fear had increased. She didn't want her last breath to be a gasp from a gaping mouth, didn't want translucent intestines spilling out through a gash torn into her body.
escaping this importunate plea was your only hope of survival
that nobility which is a fundamental human attribute is able to manifest itself through borrowing strength from the crowd
she had no faith in humanity. The look in someone's eyes, the beliefs they espoused, the eloquence with which they did so, were, she knew, no guarantee of anything. She knew that the only life left to her was one hemmed in by niggling doubts and cold questions
once the figures of the men have melted back into the wings, their steps sliding forward with a dream-like lassitude, she begins to speak
aloof, impassive figures
eyes wide open yet seeming not to see the waking world
he starts out of his stasis
he inadvertently scratched his back
our throats were screamingly dry
i remember how savage, how animalistic that thirst was
we allowed ourselves to succumb to drowsiness, sleep blanketing our eyes and ears
somehow, the sound of the door being cautiously inched open made it through the fog of unconsciousness
like me, erring on the side of optimism
i felt the blood of a hundred thousand hearts surging together into one enormous artery, fresh and clean... the sublime enormity of a single heart, pulsing blood through that vessel and into my own. I dared to feel a part of it
mulled over the words
at the time, death seemed as though it would be something refreshing, like slipping on that clean New uniform. If life was the summer that had just gone by, if life was a body sullied with sweat and bloody pus, clotted seconds that refused to pass, if life was a mouthful of sour bean sprouts that only served to intensify the hunger pangs, then perhaps death would be like a clean brushstroke, erasing all such things in a single sweep.
the track marks of suffering which no amount of forced jollity could paper over
we poured glass after glass of strong, clear alcohol in the vain hope that this would help us forget
men and women hastening to work
that familiar, broken cadence of whimpered, desperate pleas
the dawn's faint light was beginning to leach into the sky, but the rain was still mizzling down and outside the window it was as dark as evening
some memories never heal. Rather than fading with the passage of time, those memories become the only things that are left behind when all else is abraded. The world darkens, like electric bulbs going out one by one. I am aware that I am not a safe person.
dissertation
the street lamp's feeble glow encases it in a lead-grey aureole, but beyond the reach of its light the night is pitch-black
pith
venture outside the circle of light
he affects nonchalance
traces of laughter still linger around his mouth, but you can see the suspicion in his eyes
his thick-set frame is tending towards a paunch, his fringe an attempt to mask a receding hairline
the summer night is sultry, its hot fug of air dragging on your limbs
exhaustion battered you like a wave
she neatly dissected all the ways in which you'd failed
pallid cheeks
her voice had sounded so altered you were momentarily unable to picture her face
the nerves threading your eyeballs spark into life, slender as light-bulb filaments, and your eyelids blink open. with the muscles of your face still heavy with drowsiness, you turn to examine the dimly lit corridor, the deep dark beyond the glass door. Again, you experience that moment when the contours of suffering coalesce into clarity, a clarity colder and harder than any nightmare could ever be. The moment when you are forced to acknowledge that what you experienced was no mere dream.
your trainer socks leave your ankles exposed, brushed by the tips of the moisture-beaded grass. You inhale deeply, the impending rain bringing out the rich, Loamy base notes of the soil.
the acoustics were excellent in such a large space, yet I was hardly aware of a single note. It was like being submerged in deep water.
'im the one who's responsible, aren't I?' You ask this of the blue-tinged darkness undulating around you
you had a good head of steam on, whereas I'm a bit doddery these days
cadge a glass of water
throat was parched
but I don't have a map for whatever world lies beyond death. I don't know whether there, too, there are meetings and partings, whether we still have faces and voices, hearts with the capacity for joy as well as sorrow. How could I tell whether your father's loosening grip on life was something I ought to pity, or to envy?
groping through memories for some sense of familiarity
Taegukgi
that winter night, it seemed as though those imagined footsteps which caused a knot of pain inside me were the stuff of waking reality, while the damp floor and the dripping towel were the substance of a dream
i no longer felt fifteen. thirty-five, forty-five; these numbers came, in turn, to feel somehow insufficient. not even sixty-five, no, nor seventy-five, seemed to encompass what i was.
the more of myself i devoted to these questions, the firmer this new strength within me became.
almost unseemly in their nakedness
expunged by white paint
the contours that had defined me, crumbled into ambiguity, leaving nothing that could be recognised as me
vaguely surmise how long we'd been together for
but this thread of quiet nights and days was severed
ablution
melded seamlessly with the shadows
the impression he'd given was far removed from that of a wanted criminal
she'd smiled inwardly at such unwarranted courtesy from someone who was by far her senior
leaving the mood in the office somewhat deflated
this sudden show of sociability chimed oddly with her
her answer might have seemed a little frosty
ramshackle place
pondering his words
how had he contrived to come out of there unharmed?
was that bitter thing called conscience quietly needling away inside him?
she attempted a smile but the pain rendered it a sorry affair
she took pleasure in an unhurried walk home through the streets. this was the only time of day when she chose not to shut out the inchoate thoughts which surfaced, unbidden, as she threaded her way through the streets
quell this familiar nausea
unthinkingly bending down to pick it up, her hand closed upon a flyer that had fallen to the floor
how is it, she wonders, that a face can so effectively conceal what lies behind it? how is it not indelibly marked by such callousness, brutality, murderousness?
distended
its leaden weight was entirely incommensurate with its actual substance
her mind fumbles through those few, scattered sentences that were spared from the introduction
she recalls sentences roughly darned and patched, places where the forms of words can just about be made out in paragraphs which had been otherwise expunged. You. I. That. Perhaps. Precisely. Why did you. Remember? Gasping for breath in these interstices, tiny islands among language charred out of existence.
loveliness in the form of apple-red cheeks, of comely dimples expressing delight in life's brilliance
hunger began to creep up on her
as she silently chewed the grains of rice, it occurred to her, as it had before, that there was something shameful about eating. gripped by this familiar shame, she thought of the dead, for whom the absence of life meant they would never be hungry again. but life still lingered on for her, with hunger still a yoke around her neck. it was that which had tormented her for the past five years - that she could still feel hunger, still salivate at the sight of food
scraping through the year in this on-off fashion
ended up ineluctably drawn into that scrum of students
corpses giving off a foul miasma
in the midst of a heated debate
economical with her words
this was the first time any of them had seen him carrying a gun, and the sight was somewhat incongruous alongside the wireless radio he was never without
i bore more than my fair share of suffering
sleep is still every bit as elusive for me. even now, there's not a single night where I'm able to snatch more than a few hours of shallow rest, rest that barely deserves the name. and it'll be like that for as long as this life clings to me
every day without exception, those same questions niggled away at me
those snapshot moments, when it seemed we'd all performed the miracle of stepping outside the shell of our own selves, one person's tender skin coming into grazed contact with another, felt as though they were re-threading the sinews of that world heart, patching up the fissures from which blood had flowed, making it beat again. have you even known it, professor - that terrifying intensity, that feeling as if you yourself have undergone some kind of alchemy, been purified, made wholly virtuous? the brilliance of that moment, the dazzling purity of conscience
tacit acknowledgement
on amnesty
even this minimal effort leaves your entire body slick with sweat
footsteps, so quiet as to be almost imperceptible
i felt a knot of pain tightening in my solar plexus
the refreshingly chill blasts of the train's air conditioning had briefly dried the sweat on your skin, but now the humid air re-congeals on your exposed flesh. it is a sweltering, tropical night. though it's now close to midnight, the wind is still heavy with heat
inhaling a lungful of lukewarm air
in a past made hazy by time
you keep on walking, remembered dreams lancing through your mind
you're sufficiently aware of the situation to wonder
you feel the weight of an enormous glacier bearing down on your body. you wish that you were able to flow beneath it, to become fluid, whether sea water, oil, or lava, and shuck off these rigid, impermeable outlines, which encase you like a coffin. only that way might you find some form of release.
the dream grows less cruel as you move closer to wakefulness. sleep grows thin, becomes brittle as writing paper, and eventually crumbles away. in the quiet corners of your conscious mind, memories are waiting.
and you've succeeded, haven't you? succeeded in putting it all behind you, in pushing away anyone who, with their insistence on raking up the past, threatened to cause you even the slightest pain
snatching a few minutes of sleep here and there by leaning against a pillar and slipping under with all the abruptness of the anaesthetised
you stare, mute, at the shapes formed by her mouth. as though your mother tongue has been rendered opaque, a meaningless jumble of sounds. the words you are struggling for refuse to come. you can't even remember the girl's face with any clarity. the effort to remember is wearing you out. fragments surface momentarily, only to disappear from whence they came. pale skin. a compact set of small white teeth. nothing else.
paltry bit of rent
my sleep was shallow and fitful at the best of times, then, but that news plunged me into a fresh bout of insomnia.
cold and desolate
a wedding i was obliged to attend took me out of the house for the first time in a long while
oblique shafts of afternoon sunlight slant in through the windows of the gymnasium
the atmosphere inside the house was both subdued and unsettled
how had the seasons kept on turning for me, when time had stopped forever for him that May?
stirred up an oddly discomfiting pathos to find perfect strangers reminding me of family members
the air of friendly camaraderie dissipated

feb 20 2017 ∞
jun 22 2017 +