The Nine Cloud Dream by Kim Man-Jung

Translation by Heinz Insu Fenkl published by Penguin Classics on February 12, 2019

The Nine Cloud Dream is a 17th century Korean novel set in China during the Tang Dynasty. The translation is new and lively. The story, about a young man who is seemingly reincarnated into a long and prosperous life, draws upon Buddhist faith to teach the protagonist a valuable lesson. The young man lives a full life as the story unfolds (or so it seems), and only at the end does he achieve a spiritual awakening. Along the way he encounters ghosts, fairies, fortune tellers, and all varieties of mystics. Offhand references to specific figures from Chinese history or stories from Chinese folklore are footnoted, so scholarly readers can consult the footnotes to learn more about the background that informs the story.

Modern readers might also note that the women in the story exist solely to serve men and are expected to be faithful, while men are free (and successful men are apparently encouraged) to sleep with as many women as they can. “Though I am lowborn and uneducated, I have always longed to serve a great man” one woman confesses after concealing her identity so she could “serve” the protagonist in bed. Becoming a concubine is a path of upward mobility, the Chinese version of “Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.” But if things do not work out as planned, women pray to Buddha that in the next life they will be reborn as a man.

Master Liu-Kuan sends a young monk named Hisng-chen to pay the Master’s respects to the Dragon King in his Underwater Palace. Hisng-chen has a nice time, drinking forbidden wine to avoid offending his host. He encounters eight fairies on his way home. Back at the monastery, his meditation is interrupted by thoughts of the property and women he has sacrificed to seek enlightenment. Later, the Master banishes Hisng-chen to the Underworld for his sins of drinking alcohol, flirting with fairies, having carnal thoughts, and yearning for a life of pleasure.

The King of the Underworld knows that each man follows his own path to perfection and that each is reborn to “work out his karma.” That “cycle of samsara” is inevitable; Hisng-chen cannot escape it. He is reincarnated as a baby named Shao-yu and must start the cycle again. In the months that follow his rebirth, he forgets his prior life.

The bulk of the story follows Shao-yu as he moves from a simple but impoverished life to a position of great importance in the service of the Emperor. Shao-Yu dresses as a woman to get a glimpse of a girl he desires and must face the wrath of a woman deceived as she plots a trick of her own. The girl, of course, is the Emperor’s daughter. Shao-yu has a much-admired flair for poetry, as do many of the women he desires. His blend of skill and humility brings him to the attention of the Emperor and the Emperor’s mother. He becomes a diplomat in the service of the Emperor and visits the rebellious governor of a distant province. Eventually he fights a war with Tibet, although he falls under the spell of a Tibetan woman (or spirit) who beds him. Then he beds an old love, then beds two women at the same time, before deciding to take them home and make a permanent arrangement with the women and his fiancé. But the Emperor wants Shao-Yu to wed his beautiful daughter, a request that is complicated by his engagement. Before that conflict can be resolved, he rides off to fight a battle and sleeps with a Dragon Princess who also decides to marry him. As I was reading these chapters, my only thought was, “Man, I want to be this guy.”

By the time the story ends, Shao has two wives and a gaggle of concubines. As an aging man, he decides the time has come to retire to a rural home with a mountain view. It is only then that he realizes that all he has achieved has been meaningless because it has not brought enlightenment. The reader at that point learns the true nature of his life, although the title kind of gives it away.

The story will certainly appeal to readers with an interest in Buddhism or Chinese history. But there’s something here for fans of fantasy, adventure, and coming-of-age stories. The protagonist’s sex life alone would have been enough to hold my interest. It is easy to understand why The Nine Cloud Dream has endured as a classic of Korean literature.

RECOMMENDED

The Plotters by Un-Su Kim

First published in Korea; published in translation by Doubleday on January 29, 2019

If you want someone dead in South Korea, you hire a plotter, who plans the assassination. The plotter gives the plan to a contractor who supplies an assassin. Since the assassin doesn’t know who paid for the murder, that hierarchy protects the person who hires the plotter. And since plotters never use their real name, the police cannot find them even if they catch the assassin and are inclined to climb the hierarchal ladder. That, anyway, is the premise underlying The Plotters.

According to a key character in Un-Su Kim’s novel, everyone who holds any sort of power in South Korea knows a plotter. That key character has a plan to change the system. The novel’s protagonist, Reseng, doesn’t believe the system can be changed, but Reseng is a fatalist.

Reseng is also an assassin. He works for Old Racoon, a librarian who is a long-time contractor. Reseng was adopted and raised by Old Racoon, along with Trainer, who taught him his skills, and Hanja, who is now in competition with Old Racoon.

Reseng taught himself to read in the library. He learned from Achilles the importance of protecting your weak spot. His friend Chu’s weak spot was a young prostitute he decided not to kill. To punish his failure, assassins were hired to kill Chu until he became proactive and decided to take out the assassins. Now someone is trying to kill Reseng. Learning who, and then why, is Reseng’s mission during the novel’s second half. A brewing war between Old Racoon and Hanja also contributes to Reseng’s grief.

Reseng doesn’t have compassion for his victims, but he has a detached curiosity when he interacts with them. Reseng feels a stronger attachment to his cats, Desk and Lampshade, than he feels to any person. He feels no guilt or remorse when he kills, but he comes home drained of energy and purpose. He has an interesting mix of character traits, making him the kind of philosophical protagonist who can carry a crime novel that focuses on the criminal’s point of view.

The story recounts some of Reseng’s backstory, including a former girlfriend and a factory job that could be the story of man anywhere in the world living an ordinary working-class life. Only by living as an ordinary person does Reseng discover his true nature. Ironically, one of his associates strives for ordinariness, to be a person who will go unremembered, because it is the safest way to live. The burning question as the novel progresses is whether Reseng will learn to be ordinary again. Whatever the answer to that question might be, the lesson is that “a life not spent asking yourself what you truly love is a cowardly life.”

The Plotters is interesting for its political perspective, particularly its explanation about how the overthrow of military dictatorships and the rise of democracy might open the door to an assassination industry. The novel is also notable for the complexity of its characters: the assassin-raising librarian who has more respect for the innate knowledge of dogs than he has for human scholarship; the friendless Reseng, whose childhood taught him nothing beyond apathy; deadly women who have humane agendas despite their reliance on murder to achieve their goals.

The mystery behind the apparent attempt to assassinate Reseng is a good one, reflecting Kim’s careful attention to the details of storytelling. Dialog is clever and covers unexpected ground. The ending is unexpected but fitting. The combination of plot, characterization, and philosophy makes The Plotters a good choice for fans of international crime fiction.

RECOMMENDED

The Republic of Užupis by Haïlji

Published in Korea in 2009; published in translation by Dalkey Archive Press on October 14, 2014

I can't pretend that I understood The Republic of Užupis but I enjoyed it. I'll try to explain why although I'm not certain that I can.

The Republic of Užupis is at least in part about the disappearance of nations and the loss of identity experienced by a nation's inhabitants once the nation no longer exists. Užupis is actually a poor but artistic neighborhood in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania (the word užupis means "the other side of the river" in Lithuanian). Užupis declared itself an independent republic on April Fool's Day in 1997 -- a declaration that no country, including Lithuania, takes seriously, despite Užupis' adoption of a constitution, currency, a flag, and a president.

The novel's protagonist, Hal, insists that Užupis is an actual republic. While the story follows Hal's search for Užupis, the novel offers insight into the impact of conquest and political change on people who lose their homelands, an experience common to many Eastern Europeans as borders have been redrawn and divided nations have gained new names or lost old ones. The question that Haïlji contemplates is serious -- What becomes of a people who have lost their country? -- but he explores it with a playful (if puzzling) touch that makes The Republic of Užupis a pleasure to read.

Hal, an English speaking Asian from the country of Han, lands in an unwelcoming Lithuania and promises immigration officials he will soon depart for the Republic of Užupis. He isn't sure where to find Užupis but he has a postcard that says he can take a taxi across the border from Vilnius. Although nobody he talks to knows where Užupis might be found, a taxi driver takes Hal on a roundabout trip to the Hotel Užupis. A group of drinkers at the hotel bar assures Hal that Užupis is no republic and that "the Republic of Užupis" is a mocking reference to the poorest area in Vilnius.

Hal insists that he was born in Užupis and has family photos to prove it. He even has his father's medal, awarded by the President of Užupis. He wants to return to bury his father's ashes if only he can find his homeland. He meets people who claim to know about the history of Užupis but they are vague when asked where it is. Others deny it ever existed. Hal hears the Užupis national anthem and encounters several people who speak Užupis, a language he understands perfectly although he can't speak a word of it.

The story achieves new levels of weirdness when Hal learns that another Asian once came to Vilnius in search of Užupis -- an Asian very much like Hal. A number of similarities between past and present events occur that seem strange to the reader if not to Hal. They give the novel the air of an absurdist mystery, as do the arguments characters have about whether certain other characters are living or dead. Was the poet Urbanos just seen in Užupis or did he die years ago in Belarus? Is his famous poem about Belarus or Užupis? And if he is long dead, who fathered the young boy who is said to be his son?

How does one regain a lost country? That's the central question in this charming novel. One character answers that the key lies in regaining the country's lost poetry. There is a certain poetry in this novel -- meaning is very much a matter of interpretation; like poems, the novel can be understood in different ways. I don't know that I ever developed a good theory about its meaning (particularly the foreshadowed ending) but I easily became lost in the narrative and enjoyed being baffled by it all.

RECOMMENDED