After the collapse of Soviet communism, gloomy sequels to Korean dissident literature of the 1980s were predominant in South Korea during the 1990s. One of these works, The Long Road, portrays the trauma endured by a pot-smoking singer, his self-centered brother, and a student activist during the turmoil of the 1980s. Set in Australia, where its three male protagonists have emigrated, the novel presents the trials of the 1980s as flashbacks, and the characters' dark psychological abyss is contrasted with the bright sunshine of their new home. Their “long roads” are their individual struggles for freedom, love, and political utopia.
The story line is strikingly simple and appears to be based on the author's own experience. Kim In-Suk, a leading writer in the minjok munhak (national literature) movement of the 1980s, lived in Australia for two years during the mid-1990s and published The Long Road shortly after her return to Korea. The novel opens with Han-Yeong receiving a letter from Seo-Yeon, a former lover who still lives in Seoul; Seo-Yeon tells him to forget her and their mutual past. Yu Han-Yeong, his brother Yu Han-Rim, and an acquaintance, Gang Myeong-U, embark on an overnight fishing trip. Predictably, the three encounter a storm and end up drinking together in the cabin of the boat. As they recount their experiences in Korea during the unrest of the 1980s, we learn that each has conflicted feelings about his homeland and his new life in Australia. On the one hand, they have achieved what they desired by moving to Australia and wish to forget what Han-Yeong describes as “warped” Korea. Australia is beautiful. They all have work and live in a peaceful society. Each, however, is haunted by his past, as well as a sense of hollowness and alienation in his present life.
This novel's simple plot is meant to be a vehicle for its elaborate symbolic structure. For example, the fact that the three men's plans have been foiled by the storm and they have been stranded together is an obvious reference to the political circumstances of 1990s South Korea. The boat can imply the men's current alienation from their homeland while simultaneously suggesting that, as Koreans, they share a history that shapes the dilemmas they are struggling to overcome. The recurrent image of a whale recalls the popular song “Whale Hunting” from the 1980s, and would be associated by Korean readers with the pursuit of freedom—a freedom that these men cannot find even in their self-imposed exile.
As is often the case in Korean fiction from the 1990s, in which symbolic associations are the binding force of the narrative, the characters are rather static and their dialogue is often dry and choppy. Because of this, Han-Rim's frequent laughter is creepy, and the endlessly recurring flashbacks, along with Myeong-U's auditory hallucinations and sobbing, grow tiresome. In addition, Han-Yeong's unnecessary explanations of actions and words do not deepen our sense of the characters and can be irksome. Despite this, the well-articulated symbolic network enables readers to understand how the history of a place, even a traumatic history, can unite individuals. We feel a subtle sense of satisfaction when we realize that the egoistical Han-Yeong understands something about Han-Rim's pain and begins to empathize with Myeong-U's fears.
The problems inherent in the novel are compounded by its translation and removal from its original context. Portions of its symbolic system are inevitably lost. Stephen Epstein's faithful presentation of the original Korean does not include footnotes or rework any of the novel's structural devices, which is likely to make the novel even more awkward to readers who are less familiar with contemporary Korean literature and history. For example, Epstein has chosen to retain the hundreds of ellipses that appear in the original, exacerbating the work's sentimentality. And Epstein chooses not to explain the symbolism of the whale, so frequently mentioned by Han-Rim. Inconsistencies in the spelling of Gang Myeong-U's name (Kang Myeong-U on page 25) suggest that the translation also would have benefited from better editing by the book's publisher.
Despite its problems, The Long Road will reward readers who are seeking to understand the lasting social and psychological effects of dissident movements such as those that took place in South Korea during the 1980s. This is especially true if The Long Road were to be experienced along with other books such as Hwang Sok-yong's The Old Garden and Ch'oe Yun's There a Petal Silently Falls, and films such as Lee Chang-dong's Peppermint Candy.
