A few months ago, I had decided that I would completely give up reading new authors. They may be the “exciting new voice” or be a “true portrayal of the lonely existence in a digital age” or whatever their clarion call, I was done with them! I was done with hogwash of using sexuality to convey “raw emotions or brutal reality” and I completely abhorred the gratuitous and unnecessary violence. With a few rare exceptions like Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus and The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman, most of the modern writers left me feeling meh! Even the stunning The Love Songs of W.E.B. Dubois by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers went over the top with the details of the protagonist’s sexual history which added nothing to the actual narrative of Black Women and their history. But nothing beats the absolute filth of Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melcho. I am wary of using strong language when talking about somebody’s creation but 170 pages of unceasing violence and sex and filthy language cannot be called art, even when describing a poverty stricken community whom the world has forgotten. In the words of a GoodReads reader review, if this is the future of modern novels, then I give up on them. And with this determination, I went back to Dickens and Dumas and Puskin and Gaskell.
Last weekend, in-between having finished The Pickwick Papers and starting on The Count of Monte Cristo. I looked around for a quick easy short read and someone in Instagram had posted a story on a “heartwarming” Korean novel about a bookshop. I am also wary of tags like “heartwarming”. Also any story about bookshops are usually a let down with the bookshop being a mere backdrop without any literary significance. In addition my tryst with Korean Literature has not been anything to write home about. I am devoted to K Series and films and think the world of them but books have been a far more complicated affair. There was no reason for me to try to read this book and I was going to give it a miss except the phrase “slow living” beneath the “heartwarming” caught my attention. Forced as I am by this never ending Cancer saga to to adapt to a slow life, savoring the now and finding pleasure in everyday routines and learning that this style of life is actually very rewarding and entails more “living” than the usual hustle culture. I therefore naturally gravitate towards books or films on such theme and while not all of those adventures are rewarding, I am always on the outlook for more such material. And thus, I ended up reading Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop by Hawang Bo-Reum translated by Shanna Tan.
The novel starts with setting the stage of the Hynam-Dong Bookshop. Set in a quiet neighbourhood of Seoul, away from the main thoroughfares, the reader is introduced the bookshop and to Yeongju, the bookshop owner. She is a burnt out corporate wheeler dealer, attempting to rebuild her life through the bookshop and trying to keep her emotions and her business afloat somehow. There is Minjun, the bookshop’s Barista, an university educated young man in his 30s who exhausted by the fruitless search for jobs, settled to making coffee and doing the best he could. There are regulars in the cafe – like Jungsuh who spends her whole day at the bookshop crocheting and the teenage Mincheol who rebels against the existing system of school-university-job cycle as a purpose of life or his stressed out mother. As Yeongju rediscovers her confidence and her skills, she undertakes more activities for the bookshop with book clubs and blogs and author talks which brings her in touch with other individuals who help her overcome her past. As the bookshop evolves so does the life of the characters like Minjun who finds that making good coffee everyday helps him find a purpose and maybe even contentment and with this evolution, the bookshop and it’s people find both a closure and a future. The language of the novel is simple and the chapters at times jumps from the perspective of one character to another. There is no strong plot arch, but meanders and somehow manages to find a natural conclusion.
This is not a book for those looking for a thrilling page turner, though you do turn the page because you are enjoying the gentle tugs at your heartstrings that this book brings. The characters some may contend are flat but I believe that in today’s day of celebrating “grey” or “complex” characters, we under appreciate every day people like us who form the core of this narrative. There are no perfectly tied of explanations to the past nor riding in glory to the sunset, real life is rarely like that; but there is understanding of human fragilities, of disappointments and a hope of a tomorrow. There are several pages filled with reflection on life, humanity and what it means to live a life or be happy. The novel gently critiques the Korean and all of Asian and South Asian culture of the never ending treadmilling of schools-jobs-family and asks if following this path is truly the path to success or are there other paths we can explore? It is indeed a novel that tries to understand if slowing down and just being present may not be a good road to contentment? Finally the book is an ode to books and authors and bookstores. This is truly a book about books and the novel is replete with bookish reference and quotes. One of the Good Reads reviewers had mentioned that in Korea such novels are often referred to as Healing Books and I can quite understand why. As a convert to the slow life, books like these help us find more ways to enjoy our chosen path and for those still struggling to find a balance, it may nudge them towards a closure.
Definite recommend. Do you know any other such “Healing Books”?