Widely seen as her most ambitious, most personal work, The End of August is a spellbinding multigenerational saga based on Yu Miri’s family history: Set in 1930s Japanese-occupied Korea, her grandfather was a running prodigy and a contender for the Tokyo Olympics who would have had to run under the Japanese flag. The story was deemed too controversial for print when it was first serialized in Japan in the early 2000s for its depiction of the injustices Koreans experienced under Japanese rule. A groundbreaking feat of translation, The End of August is a structurally adventurous novel comprised in part of fragmented sentences, dialogue written as if from a play, and streams of consciousness.
Lost Faces and the Sound of Countless Footsteps
| 잃어버린 얼굴과 무수한 발소리 | 失われた顔と無数の足音 |
Running the riverside but there’s no sound of water no sound of wind the water and wind are both pretending they’re not there all I can hear is the sound of my breathing in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale my breath is a whip in my heart a red horse running around inside me each drop of sweat becomes a shout and is shaken off I’m shouting no I’m not I’m singing my bones are Korean my blood is Korean this blood these bones will live in Korea will die in Korea and be part of Korea the song spurs my legs on faster faster there is no pain under my left kneecap nor from the blister on the fourth toe of my left foot now! there is only now pull ahead right now if my mother and father are looking for me tell them I’ve joined the Kwangbokkun ari, arirang suri, surirang arariyo Kwangbokkun, sing arirang! pull ahead? from who? aren’t I running along the bank of the Miryang River? isn’t this my hometown? what path am I running instead? is this a competition? am I in the lead? I can’t hear the sound of others’ breathing in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale that’s me breathing in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale no sign of my shadow, my constant companion in‑hale ex‑hale nor can I see the rising sun on my chest it’s completely dark no moon no stars no cast shadows if I turn back maybe I can see something but I can’t turn back someone might be coming up behind me holding their breath run leave somewhere behind get closer to somewhere else that’s the only thing that’s clear so run hana, dul hana, dul hana, dul hana, dul clench your asshole lift your thighs let your hips lead hana, dul hana, dul raise your head swing your elbows close your eyes like a bird flying straight a fierce wind is blowing a fierce wind is blowing a fierce wind is blowing in thirty million hearts boats gently bobbing on the sea have come to take the Kwangbokkun on board at Arirang Pass the drums beat on in Hanyangdoseong the Taegukgi waves the song blows through my body an old song but one I don’t tire of singing just like you never get tired of a name songs and names alone die out if not said aloud names my name in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale there is only one thing I can tell you in‑hale ex‑ hale in‑hale ex‑hale I’m getting short of breath I take a deep breath let it out another deep breath let it out that’s better in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale lead with your hips, fire out your voice Lee Woo‑cheol! in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale my father’s name is Lee Yong‑ha my mother’s name is Park Hee‑hyang my brother Su‑yong died when he was one my second brother, Woo‑seon, died right after birth my sister So‑won died at eleven my third brother, Woo‑gun, was killed at twenty‑three the only one still living is my sister from a different mother, So‑jin in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale oh, Woo‑gun you looked just like me same height same way of running too I’m the one who taught you how to run in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale you joined the Korean Democratic Patriotic Youth League the fundamental social cause of illegal activities violating the norms of communal living is the exploitation of the masses we know that as we destroy the major causes of their poverty and destitution inevitably we shall also eradicate illegal activity in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale you were afraid of being tortured and having your legs broken you fled from safe house to safe house but in breaks between meetings and pamphleteering you still couldn’t stop running 1948, an August afternoon you were running on campus some right‑wing student had informed on you and nearly a dozen police came you ran away in‑hale ex‑hale when you tried to jump the wall in‑hale ex‑hale they shot you in the leg in‑hale ex‑hale limping, bleeding in‑hale ex‑hale you ran in‑hale ex‑hale five hundred meters up a mountain in‑hale ex‑hale you passed out near a reservoir we do not know at what speed or in which order they will be eradicated however we do know that we will destroy them and with their destruction we will also destroy the state I had been smuggled out and was hiding in Japan I learned later that you’d been shot and dragged in in‑hale ex‑hale when where were you killed we couldn’t even bury you in‑hale ex‑hale Lee Woo‑gun tell me the names of the men who killed you what day you died where they dumped your body in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale I was twelve when I held you in these arms looking at your baby face I will protect him I won’t let him feel any sadness, I vowed, and yet aigo neomuhada! sesange maldo andwae! I couldn’t even see your face in death in‑hale ex‑hale an August afternoon an evening shower cut through the cries of the cicadas like a knife in‑hale ex‑hale I ran by the riverside after the rain with my brother did you hear me, Woo‑gun stay away from the water in‑hale ex‑hale don’t slow down I can hear the sound of you breathing loud as if your whole body is a throat in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale the river runs I can’t see or hear you near me in‑hale ex‑hale but I sense you I can smell the rain in‑hale ex‑hale it’s rain that muddies the path it’s han muddying my heart in‑hale ex‑hale the river runs where does it run from in‑hale ex‑hale my abeoji was a wandering fortune teller always drifting in‑hale ex‑hale after he exchanged vows and cups with my eomoni he quit reading faces in‑hale ex‑hale he sold rubber boots at the foot of Namcheong Bridge I was mistaken I was mistaken I was mistaken I came as a bride in a carriage I was mistaken in‑hale ex‑hale I’m the only one my eomoni gave birth to who remains do you know the legend of Arang, who was killed protecting her purity in‑hale ex‑hale is it due to her curse that my brothers and my sister in‑hale ex‑hale died virgins in‑hale ex‑hale they are dead and my brothers wander lost now, bachelor ghosts the bird crying in the pine trees sounds so sad does it suffer the curse of Arang? the moon that falls on Yeongnamul is clear but the Namcheong River just flows silently in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale oh I’m short of breath hana, dul hana, dul oh you dead, not buried in the soil of your hometowns but cremated your ashes washed away, you dead with so much han hana, dul hana, dul you mongdal ghosts give your grievances to my legs now in‑hale ex‑hale body and soul may tire but in‑hale ex‑hale han never tires in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale Su‑yong Woo‑seon So‑won Woo‑gun a person’s name is heavy and heavier than the names of the living in‑hale ex‑hale are the names of the dead nothing is heavier than a name As part of the process of integrating Korea within the empire and in accordance with the wishes of imperial subjects to be such in deed as in word, the pathway to gaining a family name has been opened to you. in‑hale ex‑hale Kunimoto Utetsu? Say it again! say what— Kunimoto Utetsu? In particular, as we implement the draft system, the imperial army will carry out its service as one unit, regardless of origin. Although there was once an idea of having Kims and Lees mixed into the imperial army, for the above reasons the merits and demerits of this have soon become apparent. I fled the draft and hid away on a boat to Japan in‑hale ex‑hale I was found by the military police in Shimonoseki I ran in‑hale ex‑hale was that a bird the MP gasped in astonishment in‑hale ex‑hale call my name call my name like you’re driving in a stake in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale I ran no matter how I ran to shake off the name Kunimoto Utetsu and arrive at the name Lee Woo‑cheol in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale where am I running? Japan? Korea? in‑hale ex‑hale it’s pitch‑black, I can’t see anything although any country must have a sky I can’t see one here is it the middle of the night? why am I running and not sleeping? am I running while I wait for the dawn? why? in‑hale ex‑hale I feel like step by step I’m expanding the night in‑hale ex‑hale what if I’m not getting closer to anywhere but instead getting farther from somewhere? in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale my feet make no sound like I’m running barefoot in‑hale ex‑hale grass? soil? gravel? sand? I can’t feel anything on the bottom of my feet where am I running? in‑hale ex‑hale I can’t feel my legs either is it because I’m not in pain? in‑hale ex‑hale the spit wells up in my mouth in‑hale ex‑hale I gulp it down in‑hale ex‑hale it tastes like swamp water in‑hale ex‑hale I want to drink cold water and calm down my breath is speeding up Woo‑cheol! Calm down! breathe deeply in out and again in out tighten up your shoulders lift them now relax loosen up yes in‑hale ex‑hale in‑hale ex‑hale the wind the wind is blowing don’t slow down lean forward a little clench your stomach muscles hana, dul hana, dul attack the wind hana, dul hana, dul let your iron voice ring out carry the smell of blood oh, you wind that spreads fire! “Mahabanyabaramildasimgyeong gwanjajaebosal haengsimbanyabaramilda . . .” the sound of sutras and a jing wind their way into my eardrums hana, dul hana, dul “Grandfather, when you died none of your family was there such a sorrowful way to die being beaten to death is not the only sorrowful way to die a death witnessed by no one is also sorrowful.” it’s a woman’s voice talking about me “Mahabanyabaramilda Lee Woo-cheol, born December 19 in the year of the Black Rat in Gyeongsamnam-do, Miryang, Ne-il-dong, number 75 aje aje bara aje.” who is calling my name?! “She has come from a foreign land thousands of ri away grasping tens of thousands of ri of rope to ask what did my grandfather’s face look like what kind of person was my grandfather your halbi will be here soon so while we invoke the teachings of the Buddha we do not need any other ancestors.” that’s my granddaughter there! the oldest daughter of my daughter who lives in Japan I must go to her ggeumjadonga eunjadonga uri baegokdongi! (a child like gold a child like silver a child like white jade)
From The End of August by Yu Miri, translated by Morgan Giles. Used with permission of the publisher, Riverhead. Copyright © 2023 Yu Miri/Morgan Giles.