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Lately, whenever I've walked into a bookstore, I've noticed a rising number of short crime thriller books written by Korean female writers on the shelves of both chain and indie stores. And they're not the classics being translated into English for the first time, but relatively recent releases getting an English translation a couple of years after the original book's publication in Korea. That is, American bookstores are finally getting hip with contemporary Korean literature. 

I've spent countless hours of my life perusing the shelves of bookstores, but it's only been recently that I've started regularly coming across Korean short novels on shelves. I suppose that, as an Asian American, I'm always keeping an eye out for stories from Asian authors. And like so many people around the world, I've streamed dozens of K-dramas on Netflix, be they romantic comedies or political thrillers. I've enjoyed learning about Korean history and culture. Though I'm not Korean, there are a lot of elements about Korean culture that I can relate to because my family is Chinese. 

And while I connect with Korean literature, film, TV, music, what have you, as an Asian person whose people also suffered under the Japanese Empire, I'm also fascinated by how Korean pop culture has gone global over the past decade. When media created in an environment shaped by a very specific set of cultural, social, and historical forces move beyond their original borders, how is it received differently? In other words, I'm curious about how Korean arts and culture are, for lack of a better word, repackaged for "American" audiences. So when I read Korean novels, I'm reading them with one eye looking out for their reflections on Korean society, while the other parses through how the story might be received by Americans who aren't of Asian descent. 

How are Korean novels being packaged for American audiences?

Take, for instance, The Hole by Hye-young Pyun. On the paperback cover, a pull quote from Time magazine dubs it "A Korean take on Misery." You have to flip over the book to its back cover to read pull quotes describing Pyun's prowess as a writer. Huh. Okay. 

Likewise, the back of Lemon by Kwon Yeo-sun describes the story as "Parasite meets The Good Son." After finishing Lemon, I was a bit bewildered as to why Kwon's story was even compared to Parasite. Beyond the fact that they're both Korean stories involving classism, there's really nothing else that they have in common. If you've seen enough Korean films or TV shows, or read enough Korean books, or simply had conversations with Korean people, you'd know that examinations of class and privilege are pretty common. 

But then my other eye, looking at the story from an "American" point of view, snapped back into place. Oh yeah. Publishers are betting on American readers having Parasite as their only touchstone for Korean class struggle. I can't exactly be mad at Other Press for framing Kwon's novel this way, I'm glad they published a translation of her novel, but I hope that one day Korean crime thrillers can be described without invoking the arguably the most famous Korean movie in the West - when there's not that much connective tissue to begin with. 

Binge-watching to binge-reading

Something that has also intrigued me here is that so many of the Korean novels I've come across have been short. They can be binged on a cross-country flight. I wonder if this is intended to evoke the experience of binge-watching a K-Drama on Netflix in one weekend. Of course, Korean novels aren't the only short novels you find in bookstores. Claire Keegan's novel, Small Things Like These, about the legacy of the Magdalene Laundries in Ireland, has been a massive hit. So maybe all of us are just running seriously low on shelf space, or perhaps time (I know I am). 

Either way, it's interesting to see how, when, and why specific international books are brought into American bookstores. For instance, Gu Byeong-mo's The Old Woman with the Knife, which was originally published in 2013 in Korea, was finally published in English in 2022 (which was the inspiration for If It Bleeds, We Read's type face!). It's also Gu's first work to be translated into English, with the inside flap of the hardcover touting her as "an award-winning South Korean author." I came across this book at a vendor at the LA Times's Festival of Books, and picked up a copy. It's worth noting that a film adaptation of The Old Woman with the Knife premiered at Berlinale earlier this year, and is playing in theaters now. So perhaps, there is something to be said for the synergy between Korean film and television, and now literature. 

As someone who loves to debate whether or not a book was better than its screen adaptation, I'm all for it. 

Just like yourself, the Popverse staff spends a whole lot of time with our respective noses in respective books. It's why we've come up with stuff like:

• The hottest upcoming fiction
• Queer romance to add to your reading list
• A reading guide to Cassandar Clare's Shadowhunter Chronicles

...and a whole lot more. Join our metaphorical library, won't you? There are no late fees and you can be as loud as you want, so long as the people you live with are OK with it.