Auld Author – Hwang Sunwŏn (1915-2000) by Bruce Fulton

Hwang Sunwŏn was born near Pyongyang, the capital of present-day North Korea, and was educated there and at Waseda University in Tokyo, where he majored in English literature. He was barely in his twenties when he published two volumes of poetry. His first volume of stories appeared in 1940. He subsequently concentrated on fiction, producing seven novels and more than a hundred stories. In 1946 he and his family moved from the Soviet-occupied northern sector of Korea to the American-occupied South. He began teaching at Seoul High School in September of that year. Like millions of other Koreans, the Hwang family was displaced by the Korean War (1950-53). From 1957 to 1993 Hwang taught creative writing at Kyung Hee University in Seoul.

Among modern Korea’s short story masters, Hwang Sunwŏn reigns supreme. He was the preeminent short story writer in a nation that prides itself on its accomplishments in that genre. His coming-of-age story “The Cloudburst” is known by every Korean with a middle-school education. And he is the Korean short-fiction writer best represented in the English-speaking world, attracting some of our finest translators. This is the legacy; how did it come about?

Three Miniatures by Hwang Sunwŏn

Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton

Week 480: Tabby Rasa and Cat Commandements

Tabula rasa, the blank slate, has taken a new meaning in the courtyard. One recent morning I left for work and saw a Red Cat of maybe four months in a window. Almost indigestibly cute, he was a war with the window shade and was, judging by the bent to hell slats, winning a decisive battle.

Quality Photos by Steven McBrearty

The summer of our wedding my bride Claudia VanderMeer and I leased a split-level duplex on a dead-end street in a close-in gentrifying area of south central Austin, a quiet, in-transition neighborhood of young families and senior citizens and dogs.  The opposite side of the duplex was occupied by the owner/landlord, a white-haired University of Texas professor who we figured was gay.  We were fine with him being gay (perhaps we even wanted him to be gay), both for philosophical reasons and as a counterpoint to our conspicuously heterosexual, pre-children, pre-jaded bliss.  

Pulse by Gregory Golley

Before data can be captured, it must be desired
Steve F. Anderson

He came out of the tunnel and there she was, perched at one of the patio tables of the Greenleaf Café. Even from that distance her long, jointed legs and oversized sunglasses recalled the grasshopper he’d met that very morning on the bike path.

Looker by JJ Graham

He says I look bad on me.

He says it’s not my fault that no one does us any kindnesses since I’ve never done a kindness for someone else, so how should I know how to receive one.

On a computer at the library, he shows me YouTubes of homeless people getting their hair cut.

“It’s not that hard,” he says.

Neither of us needs a haircut, but he says that’s not the point. The point is that it takes commitment.

Miss Teen Chemainus by Harrison Kim

Richard Stanley opened his mouth at the back of the school bus and told Len “You look like a rat.”

Amy Cooper giggled “Yes, you sure think you’re something Len but you’re ugly did anyone ever tell you that.”

“I know I’m ugly,” said Len, thinking “stay cool,” and noticing Amy’s acne puffed face blotchy against the sunlight that pierced bright through the windows on all the student riders. “I’m the lowest of the low, that’s for sure.”

“Going forward into a new day of learning,” he thought, “They’re telling me their truth, it’s what they do and really it’s what everyone does,” as he squinted his eyes at the the passing cars and stroked his nose “yes, kind of resembling a rodent.”

The Adventures of Beezer and Barkevious by Leila Allison

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I heard toenails slipping on linoleum in the kitchenette off my office. Only Dogs create that sound; and sure enough, upon inspection, I discovered the “Baw Brothers,” Beezer and Barkevious, teaming to raid the refrigerator. I am guilty of leaving the fridge door ajar, so this situation happens almost constantly.

Sunday Whatever – In a Word by Karen Uttien

Today’s treat is from an author who has already been published by us so do check out her back catalogue. We thought this piece would speak to many of us. That niggle that you know is unreasonable but by gum you can’t let it go. Amusing but very well observed. We give you In a Word – enjoy

***

In a Word by Karen Uttien

This morning, I watched a woman walk towards me.  By the time she reached me, I had assessed her in one word.  Privileged.

Gold Gucci sandals complimented the little black dress, swaying elegantly just above her knee.  Large fashionable sunglasses accentuated glossy red lips.  Long dark hair rolled playfully down her back.  Golden sun-bronzed skin – a recent trip on a private yacht no doubt.

As she walked past, Chanel No. 5 overwhelmed me.  Consuming me all the way home.  So much so, by the time I got there, I had reassessed the woman entirely. 

Her hair, although beautiful, was rather too long.  Tired.  Her skin was over-baked.  Withering.  Her pouty lips, somewhat sulky.  And the sunglasses – I suspected were masking a congregation.

Yes.  This once highly desired woman, was hanging on for dear life.  In a word.  Madonna.

Now, you realise this assessment is probably not true.  No.  But it does tell a truth; no one knows how others see you.  Which brings me to this little story …

*

It was my friend’s 40^th birthday.  A best friend.  Let’s call her Jenny.

There was me and Jenny.  Her other three best friends, and our partners.  So, 10 of us.

Jenny’s a bit flash.  And very generous.  A superb combination.

She hired a room on the top floor in a very fancy restaurant. 

We were greeted by Don Perignon and sculptured canapes.  Then glided to our seats.  Chairs pulled out.  Napkins draped.  Swarovski filled with sparkling from the Nile itself.

There were somewhere between six and way-too-many delectable courses, each paired with our precious chef’s personally selected wines.

The sheer privilege, my new dress, the altitude, and Don – all attributed equally to my giddy happiness.  The entire room now reflecting nothing less than a woozy beehive overflowing with honey.

Then, just as I thought I might explode with glee, came the speech.

‘… I have thought of one word to describe each of you,’ Jenny said, pointing.  ‘You.  And you.  And you!  What each of you are to me.  My.  Dear.  Dear.  Friends.’

She began on her right.

Inspiring.  Loyal.  Thoughtful.  Fun.  Adventurous …

Now – as I said earlier – I know one can’t see how others see you but, when Jenny and I exchange our fond twenty-five-year friendship smile, I was not expecting –

‘Dependable!’  I yelped.

The night went on and my volatile happiness wafted into a small headache. 

We said our good-byes and clambered into a taxi. 

As we drove along the highway, a giant billboard illuminated the skyline shouting … DEPENDABLE DRYCLEANERS!!   I nodded sadly, and fell asleep.

*

That was nearly ten years ago.  I still bring it up.  Still throw it out to new audiences for discussion.  Most agree it is an excellent trait … on a resume.  And everyone most certainly would use a dependable drycleaner.

I have brought it up with Jenny.  Several times.  She stands by it.  I should let it go, but …

The last time I felt so aggrieved – I was six.  We were to perform Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Swineherd” for our end-of-year panto and, without doubt, I would be the princess.

‘But princesses don’t wear pink jumpsuits and curly tails,’ I explained to stupid Mrs Elliot.

Karen Uttien

Week 479 – A Curley Wurley Was Only 3p, Faye Wray Was A Screaming Bitch And I Dare You, No, I double Dare you!!

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stated that there was no such thing as coincidence.

By the way, Mark Harmin has never done better than when he played Bundy in ‘The Deliberate Stranger’

But we had a coincidence this week. Our lovely Diane’s Sunday Section intertwined with something I read and that gave me fuel for this posting.