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POSTED: 24 MAY 2010 Eugenia Kim, The Calligrapher's Daughter Bloomsbury | 400pp paperback | $23.99 Growing up female in Australia, I would think being described as a bright and ambitious girl, to be desirable and welcome praise. Not so for Najin, the calligrapher's daughter, growing up in Korea in the first half of the 20th century. In the world of ancestral Korean tradition, such characteristics are flaws in expected feminine propriety, and when exhibited bring shame on the individual and her family. Luckily, despite the pain inflicted by rapid, unwelcome and intrusive political and social change, and the upheaval and economic dislocation caused by imperialist Japanese aggression, this tale also tells of personal liberation, the breaking down of oppressive traditions, and new opportunities for future generations. The Calligrapher's Daughter — a commendable debut novel by Eugenia Kim — begins in rural Korea on an estate that well supports the Han family and their servants. The central characters — father, mother, daughter and son — are yangban, the aristocratic class of literati-scholar-artist. Father Han is a traditionalist, rooted in the customs of Korea and Confucius. He demands absolute obedience from his household, to the extent that women must never initiate conversation, ask questions or even volunteer information without permission(holy schmoley!). But he is not evil, nor a devil; this is just how it has been for centuries in one of the longest-sustained monarchies in world history. Najin is born the first child to the family, and not a boy. For this sin, her father fails to name her on the usual 100th-day ceremony. She is in his constant bad books for her gender waywardness, and her behavior “like a monsoon wind”. Mother, not at all wayward, epitomises the Korean feminine ideal, but at the same time she is affected by the winds of change and quietly supports and arranges Najin’s life to allow her daughter to follow a new radical path to education, travel, work and marriage outside of class. Dongsaeng, her younger brother, is adversely affected by the breakdown of traditional life. He fights duty and his father’s expectations in a Korean version of “angry young man” mixed with Sebastian from Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited. Najin’s life experience presents the medium by which all of the themes in the novel are presented and explored. Her years at the Emperor’s court, and later as a teacher, a nurse, midwife, deserted wife and loving family member through the years of Depression and war, provide the means of describing a world in change. There is a strong religious theme permeating the story. Apparently Christianity did not come to Korea through missionaries as was the typical way, but was encountered through the written word in the 17th century and incorporated into the Buddhist world by the Koreans themselves. Mother is a committed Christian and Najin’s husband is finally accepted by father — despite his lower class — due to his religious position and nationalist affiliations. Father is a committed nationalist, resisting the Japanese appropriation of his ancestral land and culture. This is a fascinating book, partly because it portrays a country I know little about, but also because of the way it cogently and sensitively explores the shades and subtleties of enormous societal upheaval and change. NOTE: Eugenia Kim is the daughter of Korean immigrant parents, she has previously published short stories and essays. She now lives in Washington DC with her husband and son. |
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