Whenever I am asked to explain the works of Hwang Sun-wŏn, my initial reaction as a translator is to quote a professor under whom I studied classical Chinese in Graduate school: " I can tell you what it says, but I can't tell you what it means." Not that Hwang's fiction is so cryptic as to defy analysis; rather, Hwang is not a didactic writer, and his remarkable diversity of theme and technique forbids facile interpretation of his works. Indeed, I have a hunch that Hwang's approach to writing fiction may be similar to the approach Faulkner professed to have used - running after his characters, pencil in hand, trying to jot down what they say and do (this actually happens in the story "The Curtain Fell, but Then…" to be discussed latter).
This seemingly waggish description of the creative process may have a germ of truth as far as Hwang is concerned. For, as I hope to show, many of Hwang's stories and novels portray people who are on the fringe of society, either by choice or by necessity. We might say these individuals are out of touch - sometimes with themselves; often with their families, friends, and lovers; and usually with society in general. What is fascinating about their predicament is the unusually broad scope it gives them to shape their future, for better or for worse, in the tightly structured society of Korea.
Alone in the crowd
There is, in the room of one of the central characters of Hwang's novel The Moving Castle (1972), a reproduction of the Giacometti sculpture City Square. In this composition, five figures with elongated limb sand trunks walk toward the middle but "seen to brush past each other, even while congregating in the same place. They seem to lack a means of communicating with one another."
To Song-ho, a minister, the scene suggests not only the loneliness of people who cannot make lasting contact with others but also an immeasurable pain. Song-ho should know: As a young man he became involved in an affair with a Mrs. Hong, wife of a church elder who had disappeared during the Korean War. They had conceived a child but had it aborted, and the woman's heart, weak by nature, could not withstand the agony lingering from that decision. Song-ho never married and was eventually disgraced when the women's dairy ended up in the hands of the elders of his church.
The importance of this image of unconnected souls in understanding Hwang Sun-won's fiction cannot be overemphasized. Time and again, we encounter in Hwang's stories and novels people who for one reason or another find it difficult to form lasting bonds with others. Although the paths of these individuals sometimes cross in moments of "exquisite juncture," the contact often proves ephemeral.
In some cases, as in "A Peddler of Ink and Brushes" (1955), the juncture comes too late in life. In many cases, such as "The Diving Girl; (1956), the relationship is a mismatch, usually involving an ineffectual man and a strong woman. In other stories, as in "Old Man Hwang" (1942), custom militates against the viability of the relationship.
The sense of solitude of isolation that appears again and again in Hwang's fiction has a variety of sources. History is a factor in some works. Such as Trees on the Cliff (1960); custom in others, such as "Old Man Hwang" and
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