Yi Kwang-su is undisputedly known as the father of modern Korean literature. Before Yi, a new mode of Korean literature called New Fiction (sinsoseol) briefly emerged in the early 20th century and yet remained largely sentimental and old-fashioned in style, not completely free from the classical theme of “promoting virtue and reprising vice.” It was Yi Kwang-su who boldly adopted colloquial expressions and a modern narrative technique suitable for depicting and wrestling with the complex issues of modern man. In that sense, Yi resembles the Japanese writer Natsume Soseki, who is called the father of modern Japanese literature.
Unlike Soseki, however, Yi has not been featured on Korean currency due to his pro-Japanese activities. In addition, in today’s Korea, there are countless literary awards and yet, not a single one has been named after this great pioneer of modern Korean literature. Initially, Yi was a stout anti-Japanese intellectual who not only actively participated in the March First Independence Movement in 1919, but also was arrested and imprisoned several times by the Japanese police for his anti-Japanese activities. Unfortunately, however, we just brand him as an unpardonable pro-Japanese intellectual, completely forgetting his outstanding anti-Japanese career and his invaluable contributions to modern Korean literature.
It is a shame that such a great writer as Yi Kwang-su has to be denounced simply because he became “pro-Japanese” later in his life. In that sense, Yi embodies the tragic destiny of Korean intellectuals who are constantly forced to choose one of two extremes, or be situated in the crossfire of two antagonizing groups: pro-Japanese and anti-Japanese, pro-American and anti-American, and these days, pro-North Korean and anti-North Korean.
Yi Kwang-su explicitly stated that he deliberately chose to become “pro-Japanese” for the sake of the Korean people. In his autobiography Yi wrote: “Why, then, did I choose to be pro-Japanese at the cost of my honor and reputation? In short, I chose to sacrifice myself in order to protect my fellow Koreans. I did it in order to save the lives of 38,000 Korean elites whose names were on the elimination list of the Japanese colonial government.”
Besides, it never seemed to have occurred to Yi that Japan would lose the war against any country, including the United States. In fact, who could possibly have imagined at that time that the mighty Japanese Empire would lose the war and consequently Korea could be liberated? Perhaps Yi must have thought that under the circumstances ― since Japan seemed an invincible, everlasting empire ― uniting with Japan was the best way for Korea to survive and prosper.
Initially, however, Yi believed that Korea’s independence could be achieved through the enlightenment of the Korean people, alteration of people’s consciousness and social reform. For that purpose, the denouncement of the feudal, Confucian past was a prerequisite. In his first novel, “The Heartless” (1917), which is generally known to be the first modern Korean novel, Yi Kwang-su presented his belief through the symbolism of free love, which was an innovative idea in the early 20th century when arranged marriages were the norm.
Ostensibly, therefore, “The Heartless” is a love story, a menage a trois between the protagonist and two charming women. But the novel is more than a love story. Like Erich Segal’s “Love Story,” “The Heartless” is saturated with socio-political implications, using the motif of free love in order to tackle the issues of conservatism vs. liberalism, the past vs. the future and nationalism vs. internationalism. Between the old-fashioned kisaeng who is the daughter of his deceased former mentor/guardian, and an educated modern girl who is going overseas to study, the protagonist chooses the latter, heartlessly severing his Confucian moral obligations with the past.
While advocating free love and criticizing the pre-modern concept of chastity imposed upon women, Yi Kwang-su surprises the reader by introducing another realm of love that was never openly discussed in society during his time: homosexuality. For example, Yi implicitly brings up homosexual issues through the protagonist’s relationship with his favorite students: “He felt towards a few students like Hui-gyong, moreover, the kind of very passionate love that a man feels for a woman.” Homosexuality is more explicit when Yi writes: “Once, when the two women had gone to bed together in the same bed, Yong-ch’ae put her arms around Wor-hwa in her sleep, and kissed her on the mouth.” (Translated by Ann Lee)
Rereading Yi Kwang-su’s “The Heartless,” we realize how little we have changed since the early 20th century. We now live in the 21st century and yet, we are not free from our dark past that is still haunting us. And we are still divided into two antagonizing groups and skirmishing over the issues of conservatism vs. progressivism, capitalism vs. Marxism, and haves vs. have-nots. As Yi Kwang-su advocated, we urgently need to alter our consciousness and put an end to the bipolarity that has plagued our society since Yi’s times. We should no longer be a victim of the ghosts of our tragic past. And it is definitely about time to reinstate Yi Kwang-su to his rightful position as the father of modern Korean literature.
By Kim Seong-kon
Kim Seong-kon, a professor of English at Seoul National University, is editor of the literary quarterly “21st Century Literature.” ― Ed.
