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enteka's review against another edition
4.0
At those times, when my kites were flying away from me, their faces fluttering in the wind, I felt they were laughing at me.
Strangely enough, it's a calming read, though it is not cozy. The writing was a bit too sparse for my personal liking although it fit the setting... an apt atmosphere-- weary hearts buried in years of snow, but the characters, too, were only faintly adumbrated, which of course fits them nicely into the place, but left me wondering how and when and why the feelings sprouted.
Maybe it's not so important, because how do we really know when and where and why feelings start, but it was especially jarring in part one. Preferred all the other parts, though, maybe its because the characters grew on me. Suppose it is a bit like Winter in Sokcho in that sense, which I loved, since if given the choice I prefer detached writing over sparse writing.
Technically I would give this 5 stars considering the themes and atmosphere and how the characters fit into it but... I have to dock a star for my enjoyment and near-dropping of it at the start.
emsemsems's review against another edition
4.0
“You idiot, a fourteen-year-old boy still doesn’t know that? If the stars don’t take shits, why do we see stars shitting down at night like birds?”
Atmospheric, and so fucking frosty (more precisely, wintry — which I love in every way — aesthetically, literarily, and literally). The ending was (satisfyingly) poignant. It finishes off with something akin to a quiet redemption(?) — kind of cinematic, almost (is it alright to describe writing as being cinematic? Maybe I should say it’s silently dramatic — but that also doesn’t feel right either — weirdly oxymoronic). Perhaps not to/for the narrator, but to at least in some way(s) to a few of the characters? But it also seems to me like a somewhat open ending — which inadvertently(?) adds to the ‘beauty’ of the writing/book. Whatever it is, the entire book is so saturated with domestic bleakness, which gets diluted here and there, but can never really be washed off.
‘People often say weeds are nameless, but there’s no weed without a name. That worthless flower, the cockscomb, even has a name. And you, a human being, shouldn’t drift about without one. This must be the reason you’ve been wandering as a beggar until today—because you didn’t have your own name, a girl like you, who can speak clearly.’
Brilliant characterisation. None of the characters felt unnecessary (to the plot) — their roles no matter how small — contributes significantly to the progression of the plot. And that in itself feels (for the lack of a better term) poetic as fuck. I would think it fair to liken the novel to a ‘Ghibli’ film/production, almost; plot-wise especially, and in many ways the setting as well (in the sense that the environment/nature are written as if they’re always so connected to the characters — so powerfully ‘animated’. Mesmerisingly ethereal, despite the constancy of bleakness, and the characters’ wistful coils of emotions that fogs up the entire vibe of the novel like endless smoke) — so carefully composed. Madly beautiful.
‘Where was — ? Where would such a woman have spent a cold snowy night, a woman who’s not afraid of any change that life has to offer?
— I finally called out her name loud enough that all my intestines and organs felt like they would pop out through my mouth. But she vanished without a trace, taking the millet and rice fields with her. All I saw was the snow-covered road lying wretchedly in the cold moonlight, a road that once had made me feel secure.’
A massive part of the book explores the societal ‘focus’ and/or value on ‘shame’ and reputation — to ridiculously absurd degrees that it just goes on (and on) to exacerbate the already declining relationships (not ‘romantic’ ones, more like ‘familial’ and ‘plationic’ ones). I think this has something to do with the ‘conservative ideals’, and some late forms of ‘Confucianism’ (but I’m not clever or culturally-aware of it, so I will just leave it at that). I feel like if I knew a bit more about the historical context, I would be able to pick up some of the things I inevitably lost because of my ignorance. And maybe that’s why feel a bit hesitant about rounding this off to a 5*.
‘The light looked like a red radish dangling in the moonlit night. For a moment the red radish ceased moving and remained still but soon appeared as if it was swaying while pushing away the moonlight, little by little. Nu-rung-jy shook the snow off his body before he and I began running home.’
The collaborative translation work is fascinating (to me). I don’t know how they did it, the process of it all — but I don’t really have anything to complain about. Except that (very minor complaint) sometimes they use ‘noona’, and sometimes they use ‘sister’ (in the dialogues) which I don’t know if it was intentional or if it was a mistake? The inconsistency threw me off a little, but it wasn’t so much that it affected my reading experience. I think it’s incredible how well they’ve translated and depicted the ‘setting’, really impressive. It’s been a while since I’ve read something so richly ‘atmospheric’. A book I never knew I needed. Also, I don’t usually gravitate towards novels with ‘child narrators’, but this one’s alright, brilliant actually. His hopeless helplessness paired with his acute sensitivity to the people and environment around him brings the readers uncomfortably close to the characters’ conflicted conditions. Well-written, well-translated, wouldn’t mind a re-read at a later date.
‘As the match’s tip, burning like a tantalising red mulberry, gradually lost its colour, the feathers of darkness, which had temporarily withdrawn, rushed back like a swarm of dayflies, and with this, the yellow poppy flower also vanished.
— I kept striking matches, one after another, each of which bloomed a beautiful but sad yellow flame. And this mysterious atmosphere created by the match flames brought back memories of the time I spent with her, memories that were fading away.’
xengisa's review against another edition
4.0
At those times, when my kites were flying away from me, their faces fluttering in the wind, I felt they were laughing at me.
Strangely enough, it's a calming read, though it is not cozy. The writing was a bit too sparse for my personal liking although it fit the setting... an apt atmosphere-- weary hearts buried in years of snow, but the characters, too, were only faintly adumbrated, which of course fits them nicely into the place, but left me wondering how and when and why the feelings sprouted.
Maybe it's not so important, because how do we really know when and where and why feelings start, but it was especially jarring in part one. Preferred all the other parts, though, maybe its because the characters grew on me. Suppose it is a bit like Winter in Sokcho in that sense, which I loved, since if given the choice I prefer detached writing over sparse writing.
Technically I would give this 5 stars considering the themes and atmosphere and how the characters fit into it but... I have to dock a star for my enjoyment and near-dropping of it at the start.
trulybooked's review against another edition
4.0
This is not a book to read if you are looking for plot. It feels like you're walking beside Se-young and his mother throughout the novel, spying on their innermost thoughts. The action in this book is next to nonexistent, but that's okay because that's not what the book is about. It is the story of a person as told by another person with all their faults, their biases, and their foolishness plain to see.
It's a beautiful book and highly recommended, but it feels more like walking through snow than a sprint.
It's a beautiful book and highly recommended, but it feels more like walking through snow than a sprint.
spacestationtrustfund's review against another edition
3.0
『홍어』 (skate; Rajidae) by Kim Juyeong (김주영). Translated by Louis Vinciguerra and Inrae You Vinciguerra.
frida_epilogo's review against another edition
3.0
3.5
Hace unas semanas leí este libro surcoreano, estoy intentando expander mis horizontes en cuanto a literatura, por lo que pretendo leer algo de diferentes países y regiones. Éste fue mi primer acercamiento a la literatura surcoreana y a continuación les diré qué me pareció este libro.
"La raya" narra la historia de una familia surcoreana en tiempos de después de la guerra (yo me imagino que es la guerra entre el sur y el norte, pero en realidad nunca se especifica claramente). Sin embargo, la guerra no juega un papel importante en este relato, pues se le menciona únicamente en dos ocasiones e incluso entonces es un comentario aleatorio, no realmente algo significativo.
La historia es contada a través de Seyong, un chico de 12 ó 13 años que vive únicamente con su madre. Viven en un pueblo humilde donde está constantemente nevando (o al menos las partes importantes de la vida de Seyong se ven envueltas entre la época de nieve). El padre de Seyong los abandonó hace años y la madre pone rayas (el animal) en la cocina, que según Seyong, representan a su padre; asimismo, él las usa como cometas. Debido a esto, Seyong relaciona las cometas con su padre perdido, y a éste con las rayas.
Al principio de la historia, una chica (que después es bautizada como Samne) entra a la casa de Seyong para refugiarse de la nieve. La madre y Samne desarrollan a lo largo de la historia una relación un poco extraña, es como de madre e hija, pero Samne parece nunca interesarse por la madre y ve por ella misma; mientras que la madre no puede tenerla como hija porque podría traer deshonor a la familia, y lo que piensen los vecinos y la sociedad es de suma importancia.
Lo que me llamó la atención del libro (POSIBLES SPOILERS):
*Primero me gustaría resaltar que al principio del libro me gustaba el estilo de escritura, sin embargo en ocasiones lo encontraba muy barroco. Claro que eso se puede deber a que no lo leí en el idioma original.
* La madre es un personaje muy orgulloso, no expresa claramente sus sentimientos (quizá debido a la importancia del honor en la cultura coreana), incluso se llega a pensar que para ella quienes expresan sus sentimientos son personas sumamente imprudentes. Esta característica hizo que fuera un poco difícil descifrarla y entenderla, de alguna manera, siempre fue un misterio.
*De alguna forma, la historia me recuerda a Penélope y a Ulises, en el sentido de que ella podría estar esperando al esposo eternamente; pero no saldría a buscarlo.
*En una parte de la historia en que Samne se escapa, el esposo de ésta va a la casa de Seyong para buscarla, y la mamá lo trata muy bien. En el momento, yo tenía la percepción de que la madre lo trata bien porque él la busca y siente que eso debió hacer su esposo con ella: buscarla. Más tarde esta percepción resulta verdad.
*Como ya se mencionó, el orgullo resulta ser un leitmotiv en la historia.
La historia al final dio un par de vuelcos que no veía venir y que fueron sorpresivos. Como con casi toda la literatura asiática del siglo XX (al menos la que he leído), hay una parte que siento que no se puede vislumbrar correctamente si no se pertenece a dicha cultura, siempre hay un velo que permanece intacto e invisible para otros lectores. En este caso, para mí, fue el final.
Hace unas semanas leí este libro surcoreano, estoy intentando expander mis horizontes en cuanto a literatura, por lo que pretendo leer algo de diferentes países y regiones. Éste fue mi primer acercamiento a la literatura surcoreana y a continuación les diré qué me pareció este libro.
"La raya" narra la historia de una familia surcoreana en tiempos de después de la guerra (yo me imagino que es la guerra entre el sur y el norte, pero en realidad nunca se especifica claramente). Sin embargo, la guerra no juega un papel importante en este relato, pues se le menciona únicamente en dos ocasiones e incluso entonces es un comentario aleatorio, no realmente algo significativo.
La historia es contada a través de Seyong, un chico de 12 ó 13 años que vive únicamente con su madre. Viven en un pueblo humilde donde está constantemente nevando (o al menos las partes importantes de la vida de Seyong se ven envueltas entre la época de nieve). El padre de Seyong los abandonó hace años y la madre pone rayas (el animal) en la cocina, que según Seyong, representan a su padre; asimismo, él las usa como cometas. Debido a esto, Seyong relaciona las cometas con su padre perdido, y a éste con las rayas.
Al principio de la historia, una chica (que después es bautizada como Samne) entra a la casa de Seyong para refugiarse de la nieve. La madre y Samne desarrollan a lo largo de la historia una relación un poco extraña, es como de madre e hija, pero Samne parece nunca interesarse por la madre y ve por ella misma; mientras que la madre no puede tenerla como hija porque podría traer deshonor a la familia, y lo que piensen los vecinos y la sociedad es de suma importancia.
Lo que me llamó la atención del libro (POSIBLES SPOILERS):
*Primero me gustaría resaltar que al principio del libro me gustaba el estilo de escritura, sin embargo en ocasiones lo encontraba muy barroco. Claro que eso se puede deber a que no lo leí en el idioma original.
* La madre es un personaje muy orgulloso, no expresa claramente sus sentimientos (quizá debido a la importancia del honor en la cultura coreana), incluso se llega a pensar que para ella quienes expresan sus sentimientos son personas sumamente imprudentes. Esta característica hizo que fuera un poco difícil descifrarla y entenderla, de alguna manera, siempre fue un misterio.
*De alguna forma, la historia me recuerda a Penélope y a Ulises, en el sentido de que ella podría estar esperando al esposo eternamente; pero no saldría a buscarlo.
*En una parte de la historia en que Samne se escapa, el esposo de ésta va a la casa de Seyong para buscarla, y la mamá lo trata muy bien. En el momento, yo tenía la percepción de que la madre lo trata bien porque él la busca y siente que eso debió hacer su esposo con ella: buscarla. Más tarde esta percepción resulta verdad.
*Como ya se mencionó, el orgullo resulta ser un leitmotiv en la historia.
La historia al final dio un par de vuelcos que no veía venir y que fueron sorpresivos. Como con casi toda la literatura asiática del siglo XX (al menos la que he leído), hay una parte que siento que no se puede vislumbrar correctamente si no se pertenece a dicha cultura, siempre hay un velo que permanece intacto e invisible para otros lectores. En este caso, para mí, fue el final.
ewoo670's review against another edition
3.0
2020 reading challenge: Read a book selected at random from the shelf.
I went to the library one afternoon, selected a book shelf and stared at the spines, knowing that whatever book I touched would be the one I committed to for this challenge.
Some of the books had titles that gave a bit more away about their contents, but for some reason, this one caught my eye - Stingray.
This is the first time I've read a Korean book, so I feel like I was missing some of the context. There were some beautiful descriptions in the book and relationships between characters, but sometimes I didn't quite understand what was happening.
I went to the library one afternoon, selected a book shelf and stared at the spines, knowing that whatever book I touched would be the one I committed to for this challenge.
Some of the books had titles that gave a bit more away about their contents, but for some reason, this one caught my eye - Stingray.
This is the first time I've read a Korean book, so I feel like I was missing some of the context. There were some beautiful descriptions in the book and relationships between characters, but sometimes I didn't quite understand what was happening.
bghillman's review against another edition
4.0
Good shot novel, decent narrative structure, not a ton happens but that's alright with me. I am really glad that the Dalkey Archive is publishing this series of Korean literature in translation.
ccmontgom's review
4.0
A beautiful story that combines some very traditional Korean tropes (including some that are traditional but looked down on), with a family story and lovely surprise ending. One of the best three of the first Dalkey Collection.
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