Over the winter holiday, I had the
opportunity to read some books about Korea. Not only is it
interesting to read about things Korean, but it is relaxing to turn
over arguments about Korea in a non-confrontational zone. No
discussion board, no subway or classroom bravado by supercharged
Koreans. Just me and two women. It's no wonder women are smarter
than men in Korea. All that listening to soju-soaked twit-chatter
should give Korea a Nobel Prize in about another husband's
lifespan.
These two books are available in Korean; one is so
well-known, most Koreans roll their eyes just as Americans do during
discussions of Moby Dick, the other is the oldest and most popular
novel in all of Japanese literature. I thoroughly enjoyed both and
recommend each. I read many more, but these two are most noteworthy,
because they provided insight into the same questions about
Korean/Japanese (is that Kapanese or Joryo) society about which I
have written before repeatedly.
The first book is The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyong: The
Autobiographical Writings of a Crown Princess of Eighteenth Century
Korea, as translated and edited by JaHyun Kim Haboush. The Memoirs
is actually four different works written by one woman, Hyegyonggung
Hong Ssi, a circumspect, scrupulous, unfortunate daughter of a minor
provincial aristocrat. The memoirs are, successively, a family
injunction, a memorial, a biography, and a historiography. At the
center of the collection sits Hong Hyegyong and her husband, Crown
Prince Sado. The Memoirs span the reigns of Yongjo, Chongjo, and
Sunjo, and the careers of Lady Hyegyong's father, Hong Ponghan, and
her older brothers.
Lady Hong Hyegyong was the wife of Crown Prince Sado, who
in 1762, was ordered by his father, King Yongjo, to step into a rice
chest, which was susequently bound and covered in sod. Crown Prince
Sado had been punished by his father for a series of heinous murders
caused by Sado's mental illness. Lady Hyegyong and her family,
including her son, the future King Chongjo, then became the focal
point of factional quarrels at court, each side using the execution
of the Crown Prince, to its own political advantage.
Lady Hong, in the first three memoirs, strives to defend
her father and brothers against charges of treason and complicity in
Sado's execution. King Yongjo had painstakingly managed during his
reign to adjudicate amongst four factional groupings of Confucian
scholars serving as bureaucrats at the Korean court. Yongjo
attempted to educate his successor, Crown Prince Sado, in the royal
responsibilities, including allowing him to preside over audiences
without supervision and, perhaps too precipitously, naming him
regent. Sado's mental illnees, as well as the strain of his
responsibilities, may have led him to commit wanton murder of palace
attendants, and act in embarassing ways. There may have also been a
degree of youthful rebellion to fatherly rule. I also have read of a
psychological disease, popularly known as "hwabyong", or "fire
disease". As officials within the court, Lady Hong and her family
were condemned by other families vying for royal favor as
accomplices to Sado's death. Her younger brother seems to have also
espoused Christian beliefs.
The last work, The Memoir of 1805 is a defense of her
husband. It is a brilliant psychological portrait of Crown Prince
Sado, and a revealing exercise in historical writing It also reveals
the mind of an extraordinary woman trying to understand some of the
most harrowing personal tragedies any spouse or daughter might face.
This last work ranks with Hamlet, because it also deals with family
and personal tragedy. How does one deal with the fact, that one's
husband is insane and criminal, but yet there is no way to divorce
him, not only because divorce is a repugnant, impermissible option,
but also because the welfare and reputation of one's family depends
upon one's sacrifice? But I did not pity this amazing woman, because
she managed to survive and instil in her son and grandson her same
desire to maintain both her husband's and family's reputation.
One major failing of Haboush's work is, that she does not
place the incidents in a broader historical and international
context. Successive Korean rulers became less innovative than
Chongjo, and Korea descended into isolation and decay. The Memoirs
glimpse at the inward-directed character of the Korean government,
but a more thorough analysis would be illuminating. Also, another
opinion of the cast of characters would be good, if only to avoid
partisan bias.
The second book I re-read was The Tale of Genji by Lady
Murasaki Shikibu, the daughter of a minor aristocrat in Heian Japan.
The 11th Century novel, arguably the world's first, revolves around
the character of the "shining Genji", the illegitimate son of the
Emperor. The novel, like an historical document, depicts the customs
of the Heian imperial court. Genji and his male friends compete for
mistresses and royal favor in an elaborate game of intrigue and
power. But the book has a more serious side. The theme of the book
is karma, and , specifically, that bad intentions and actions will
affect the lives of others in our own life and in the lives to come.
Although the succeeding five novels show much more poignantly how an
ancestor's actions hurt his children, in the first novel, Genji's
actions affects those around him in a very direct way. Loved ones
are possessed and enfeebled by the ghosts of unrequited lovers, and
Genji's career is affected.
Although, from a male perspective, The Tale of Genji is
almost an adolescent romp, the depictions of possession were more
just entertaining, but instructive. Buddhist thinking places
emphasis on clearing the mind of earthly attachments before dying.
Psychological weights, like regret and vengefulness, keep the dying
spirit earthbound and incapable of moving closer to nirvana. But the
scenes where Genji's loved ones suffered pain, because of his
mistakes, poignantly made this seemingly arcane and academic
religious doctrine comprehensible. It is frightening to understand,
that every action has a consequence, especially when that
consequence involves a loved one.
Has anyone noticed that both these books were written by
women? Such acute vision and skill comes only from great trial and
suffering. I know I said I had read about Korea, and The Tale of
Genji is a Japanese novel. Both works by Lady Hong Hyegyong and Lady
Murasaki Shikibu share a family resemblance: both are products of
the same misogynistic culture. A female-degrading culture incapable
of developing fully, despite women like these. Both works reveal
woman-hating worlds and the consequences of male domination, whether
it be psychological illness or religious damnation. The evil is
selfishness, ruthless exploitation of the weak by the strong, and
ignorance. As Korea follows Japan down the path of development first
laid out in the Meiji period by unemployed samurai in Tokyo, as
chaebol and banks falter, as wealthy Koreans expand their gains, and
as North Korea starves, I think of Lady Hong searching for a way to
tell her grandson about his grandfather, the murderer, or Lady
Shikibu torturing her lead character.
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