Novelist Running Through Time

TL: KSD

In this country, it’s a common occurrence for the yellow-skinned monkeys to get beaten up on the street. (TL: Yellow-skinned monkeys is a derogatory term used for asians)

Not even 20 years have passed since the cries of “kill japs” during the war, so living near the Brooklyn Navy Yard could practically be considered a crime for a monkey.

In Korean terms, it would be ‘bringing the whip upon oneself.’

So, on a fine day in April, while I was getting beaten up in a back alley, thinking ‘this is all my fault’ wasn’t due to my weak will but because the times were strange.

People nowadays might find it hard to imagine, but back then, the one doing the beating was considered manly, and the one getting beaten was seen as girlish.

Even as I was being beaten like a girl, I tried to maintain the minimum ‘manliness’ by thinking of this pain as a trial given to me by God, and I held back my tears.

That was the era.

“Hey! You fucking bastards!”

Then, some strange woman, picking up a plank from the dock, ran towards us and started hitting the guys beating me as if she was shooing away seagulls.

Of course, what strength could come from her slender arms? Her swinging the plank was, in the grand scheme of things, no different from waving it through the air.

However, hitting a woman was considered unmanly, so the few vagrants beating me just spat on the ground and went their way.

I pondered whether beating up a yellow guy walking down the street was considered manly, yet hitting a woman was not, as I barely got up from the ground.

Of course, the nameless woman offered her hand to help me up, but accepting it seemed unmanly, so I stood up on my own. (That’s how things were at the time)

Seeing me refuse her support, the woman looked at me with disapproval, and I, embarrassed to have received help from a woman, replied curtly.

“Why did you help?”

“Well, how could I just watch someone getting beaten?”

I was thankful that there was someone in this country who saw me as a person. But showing that gratitude outwardly was unmanly.

Instead of saying thank you, I said:

“It’s not a big deal, why make such a fuss.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you. That’s really gratifying.”

Even in this situation, I was embarrassed that I couldn’t easily say thank you, but I tried to appear as dignified as possible and said:

“I am John Stilwell, living in the red building next to the shipyard over there. Contrary to appearances, I am American. If you ever need my help, come find me.”

At that time, I secretly hoped she would share her name and where she lived. Although I didn’t know it then, upon reflecting after her question later on, I couldn’t deny such dark motives were present.

Anyway, instead of introducing herself, the woman just smiled and said:

“Good! Then follow me!”

“What?”

“Quickly!”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the back alley. Then, she led me into the heart of Brooklyn, heading somewhere.

I was so taken aback that I almost tripped once, but after that, I easily kept pace, being dragged along by her.

Then, suddenly, I saw the world.

It looked different.

The red brick houses with smoke rising from the chimneys. Dock workers coming and going from the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Children chasing seagulls and playing. A boy selling newspapers and a gentleman buying one. A young lady and a young man stepping lightly out of a movie theater entrance. And amidst this bustling downtown, there was me, being dragged somewhere by her, holding onto my wrist.

On a fine day in April, the white clouds leisurely flowed by, like whales stretching out.

EP 5 – A Love Story

Sophisticated brick houses. A first-floor cafeteria. Bustling tourists. People carrying iPhones. Foreign cars honking as they pass by (here, they’re considered domestic cars). And McDonald’s.

Walking through downtown Brooklyn, I stopped in front of McDonald’s, feeling something was amiss.

The familiar sights of Seoul were visible in the unfamiliar New York.

“Um.”

This wasn’t the Brooklyn I had imagined.

As I stood there pondering, I bumped into someone who was walking by hurriedly.

It was entirely my fault for suddenly stopping and causing the person behind me to bump into me.

I apologized in a fluster.

“Ah, ah, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay.”

“…?”

The nameless Korean just coolly walked away. As I stood there, pointing at their back and stammering, Gu Yubin laughed and playfully hit my shoulder.

“It’s a tourist spot, right?”

That was true. This place was a tourist spot.

A photo spot that offers a view of the Brooklyn Bridge between the rows of magnificent buildings.

It felt exotic in photos, but the familiarity of everyone around taking selfies was undeniable.

“…Shall we stop walking around and grab something to eat?”

Even the weather was similar to Seoul’s. If it was winter in Seoul, it was also winter in New York. Though a bit chilly, it was just as cold.

Gu Yuna, who was waddling around wrapped in a scarf and jacket, unlike her, Gu Yubin maintained a stylish appearance and asked me.

“Really? What do you want to eat?”

“Since we’re in America, we should eat traditional American food.”

“Okay, hamburgers~”

I went into McDonald’s first with Gu Yuna,

and Gu Yubin called over Professor Gu Hak-jun and Min Chae-won, who were affectionately taking a commemorative photo from afar.

Ma Ki-hoon, who ended up being the photographer, also entered McDonald’s belatedly.

“You’re in your third year of high school? It’s not too late for you. Honestly, the primary to high school curriculum is more of a test of diligence than intelligence…”

“Yes, Professor. Yes…”

“I know all sorts of books and materials used in tutoring schools worth hundreds of thousands of won, and I can’t say they’re decisively better than EBS. In the end, it’s about whether you do it or not. If you want, I can…”

“No, it’s really okay, Professor…”

Unexpectedly, Ma Ki-hoon and Gu Hak-jun got along well.

Gu Hak-jun, who tends to open his wallet at the sight of unfortunate young people, couldn’t see Ma Ki-hoon, who has lived diligently looking after his siblings without being cunning, in a bad light.

Even hearing from me that Ma Ki-hoon was earning money for his girlfriend, Gu Hak-jun was already offering life advice to Ma Ki-hoon with an open heart.

Min Chae-won seemed slightly displeased that her husband was not playing with her but mingling with a complete stranger, yet she wasn’t petty enough to show it.

Unless her daughter was marrying an orphan, that is.

Anyway, our group naturally split into Gu Hak-jun-Ma Ki-hoon-Min Chae-won and me-Gu Yuna-Gu Yubin. It could be seen as a combination of OBs and YBs. (TL: Commonly used in Korean to denote “Old Boys” (seniors) and “Young Boys” (juniors) )

The same was true in McDonald’s. We split into groups of three and sat at adjacent tables.

“Hmm.”

Looking out the McDonald’s window at the Brooklyn scenery for a moment, I quickly lost interest. On the first day, I felt unfamiliarity from the diversity of skin colors, but after a few days, New York felt like Seoul. Had I become a New Yorker now?

“Yuna, how many times have you been to the US?”

“I don’t know.”

Gu Yuna responded in her typical manner, but Gu Yubin answered for her.

“Yuna’s probably been to the US four times? As a baby to the Grand Canyon, then LA, after that Las Vegas, and now New York.”

“…”

This is what it’s like with the silver spooners!

Here I am, living my life twice just to barely make it to the US, and there’s someone who’s been to the US four times by the time they’re in the first year of middle school. It’s disheartening.

So, as I dejectedly turned my gaze back to the streets of Brooklyn and let out a deep sigh, Gu Yubin, guessing my feelings, asked me.

“Why? Is the research not going well?”

“Yes. This isn’t the Brooklyn I had in mind.”

Coming here, I learned that. The old Brooklyn used to be a rundown outskirts city, but modern Brooklyn is among the wealthiest neighborhoods. It’s part of New York, the economic capital of the United States, so perhaps it’s an obvious tale.

Ultimately, my goal to explore Brooklyn was impossible from the start.

“But does it have to be Brooklyn?”

Gu Yubin asked me with a meaningful look.

“Is there a specific reason it has to be Brooklyn, especially the old Brooklyn?”

“…”

At that moment, I felt a certain irony. From receiving such a question from Gu Yubin, who had the face of Gu Yuna, to being asked this while sitting at the same table as Gu Yuna.

I calmly nodded.

“Yes, there is.”

“What is it?”

“If you ask me to name a place where love begins for me, I can only mention Brooklyn in the 20th century.”

* * *

“What? You haven’t watched Captain America?”

To specify when this was, it seems more appropriate to describe it not by the year or the season but by our relationship at the time.

It was when Gu Yuna and I, who were rivals acknowledging each other, gradually started to recognize each other as friends and began to open up a little.

Gu Yuna knew I was from an orphanage, and I knew she harbored a deep inferiority complex towards her sister.

In those days.

After a writing contest had ended. On the bus back to Seoul, Gu Yuna was shocked to learn that I hadn’t watched the movie “Captain America.”

“How could you not watch it?”

“One can simply not watch it.”

“Isn’t it mandatory for Koreans to watch Marvel movies?”

“Are you saying I’m not Korean now?”

“Are you a spy?”

“I’ve been caught, then.”

Eventually, Gu Yuna forcibly took me to the cinema.

The movie was nothing special. It was about a weakling from the back alleys of Brooklyn who meets comrades, overcomes trials, and becomes a hero.

But as soon as we made plans for the weekend, realizing that this was my first ‘meeting’ on a weekend with a girl of my age.

And going through the realization that such ‘meetings’ are called ‘dates’ in English.

Then, as if he wasn’t the only one who thought so,

Seeing a differently dressed Gu Yuna waiting for me in front of the cinema, shyly,

Ah.

I realized that love had come into my life for the first time.

So, for me, the place where love began is Brooklyn.

Not any other time, but Brooklyn in the 1950s.

If I were asked to choose a place where love could begin for me, that’s the place I would have to choose.

* * *

“If you ask me to name a place where love begins for me, I can only mention Brooklyn in the 20th century.”

Gu Yuna looked puzzled, but Gu Yubin, as if discovering a childlike aspect in me, playfully pointed it out.

“You enjoyed watching Captain America, huh?”

“You could say that.”

But the Brooklyn of the 20th century is no more.

It has disappeared into the annals of time.

Just like Gu Yuna, with whom I watched the movie…

As I was morosely munching on a hamburger from the mainland, Gu Yubin, who seemed unusually interested in my writing, grinned and asked me a question.

“Is this new work a romance ?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes.”

“Really?! Are you still together?”

“Now, I’ll never see her again.”

Gu Yubin froze like ice. Gu Yuna, who had her mouth wide open ready to bite into a hamburger, also froze with her eyes wide open.

“…”

“…”

“…”

After that, silence lingered around the table for a moment.

I morosely nibbled on the fries, Gu Yubin remained still with her pupils shaking as if an earthquake had hit them, and Gu Yuna was frozen mid-motion, attempting to bite her hamburger.

To clarify the situation, I spoke in a gloomy voice.

“Now that I can never see her again, recalling the bad memories of our separation hurts. It’s not just about love, but relationships between people. You never know when or how they’ll end. So, if you’re in a good relationship with someone, give it your best, and even if you part ways, do so with dignity.”

“…”

“…”

“Well… That’s just how it is.”

Despite my attempt to clarify the situation, the silence didn’t easily dissipate.

Fortunately, at the next table, Professor Gu Hak-jun, apparently having heard nothing, was giving a torrent of advice to Ma Ki-hoon, and inside McDonald’s, people of various colors were speaking in various languages, each telling their own life stories.

Unexpectedly, it was Gu Yuna who broke the silence.

“…But.”

Gu Yuna cautiously started.

“You do want to see Brooklyn in the 20th century, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why not look for movies set in Brooklyn in the 20th century?”

“Ah, that’s…”

“…”

“That’s…”

I paused for a moment, thinking about why that wouldn’t work.

There wasn’t any reason.

So, the conclusion was simple.

“Let’s do it right away.”

* * *

“Okay. This movie is clear.”

“…But if you’re going to do this, why did you come to the US?”

“It’s a loss if you care about that.”

One more movie ended and was checked off the list. Above the checklist, an endless record of movies depicting 20th century Brooklyn continued.

From that day on, Author Moon didn’t leave his hotel room, endlessly searching for movies depicting Brooklyn. Gu Yuna volunteered to be his assistant.

While Gu Hak-jun, Min Chae-won, and Ma Ki-hoon toured New York, Moon stayed in the hotel.

And Gu Yubin watched this bizarre writing process from beginning to end.

“Where was the most famous cafe in Brooklyn in the 50s? I mean, a place where a poor dockworker would take the woman he loves.”

“Weren’t date spots back then bars, restaurants, or cinemas rather than cafes?”

“Then let’s learn about the dating styles of that era.”

Moon In-seop and Gu Yuna’s research went exceptionally well together. Gu Yubin guessed it was probably because of the web they wrote together in school.

However, in the realm of writing, Gu Yuna couldn’t offer even a little help to Moon In-seop.

It wasn’t due to a lack of creativity on Gu Yuna’s part, but because Author Moon’s writing method was already fully formed.

‘It’s like they’re writing together…’

Professor Gu Hak-jun, who had wanted to discuss literature while touring New York with Moon, was disappointed, but for Gu Yubin, it was an opportunity to achieve her goal.

What was the reason for bringing Moon to the US in the first place? Wasn’t it to catch a glimpse of his talent?

People think of Moon as a monkey, a young age prodigy performing tricks. And so, they laugh and cry at his remarkable talents.

But to the literati, at least to Gu Yubin, Moon was an entity beyond understanding. How could anyone dare to laugh when they’ve been so effortlessly trampled by a mere 13-year-old monkey?

Thus, in the end, Gu Yubin pulled back the curtain on Author Moon and peeked at the talent lying beyond.

But what lay beyond the curtain was not a sparkling talent but a coldly rolling machinery.

“What’s needed to write a love story that seems whole, romantic, and eternal? What makes love stand out? A trial? Then if we incorporate racial issues as social trials, the gap between rich and poor as structural trials, and complexes as personal trials…”

“To highlight the charm of the opposite sex in the … Instead of putting effort into describing their appearance or personality, it’s better to introduce another competitor who desires that person. The fight over a female by males has been a natural law for millions of years…”

“Let’s pretend the character Tris never existed. There’s no role for her in the . We need to introduce someone who can appear just to die, insert a character symbolizing the labor rights situation of 1950s America, get them quickly off the stage to build tension…”

To Gu Yubin, it seemed like inside Moon In-seop, there existed both an author and an editor.

It was as if two people were writing.

When the author writes freely, the editor coldly makes corrections.

These two seemed completely different, with different standards of judgment.

The author is emotional, impulsive, and sometimes seems caught in a delusion of persecution, writing not about the narrative but focusing on messages to throw at this irrational world.

But the editor coldly cuts out parts of the writing, trimming excessive descriptions, removing problematic narratives, and reorganizing the story around the plot, not the message.

This crucial reason for Gu Yubin’s perception of Moon In-seop’s writing process came to light.

“It’s just like… my dad.”

The two standards emerging in Moon In-seop’s writing process.

“The author” and “the editor.”

In the editor’s work, Gu Yubin saw Gu Hak-jun.

The way to assess what makes good writing, what descriptions are effective, and what narratives are interesting perfectly aligned with Gu Hak-jun’s evaluation.

It wasn’t just a close match; it was a perfect match. Realizing this, Gu Yubin felt a shiver almost akin to terror run down her spine.

While shocked at how such a thing could happen, Gu Yubin also somewhat understood why Gu Hak-jun was irresistibly drawn to Moon In-seop’s writing to an incomprehensible degree.

And, as the trip was nearing its end,

Moon completed the .

A ‘Love Story’ meticulously tailored by machinery.

* * *

“…”

Gu Yubin quietly read through the ‘Love Story.’

A tale of a man and a woman coming together.

Romance.

The oldest genre and the most beloved.

Naturally, there is a formula.

And this followed that formula with eerie precision.

A man meets a woman, they are drawn to each other, overcome obstacles, and then come together…

“How is it?”

Moon asked.

As someone who had watched the creation of this from start to finish, Gu Yubin evaluated it.

“Like a mass-produced item.”

“Something churned out by a factory?”

“Yes.”

Gu Yubin knew all the formulas that comprised this . She was already aware of how the clichés were woven together, how each character played their role in the narrative.

That’s why such an evaluation came forth.

But those encountering this for the first time would have a different impression.

Gu Yubin could almost see the people who would be ecstatic over this enchanting love story.

“In my opinion, it might be the best-selling among your s.”

“Is that so?”

“You’ve perfectly captured mass appeal.”

Gu Yubin knew the essence of this . It was a cold mechanical device. But this was wrapped in pink packaging.

That packaging is precisely Brooklyn in the 1950s. Classic landscapes, people with traditional mindsets, and discourses on racial and gender discrimination.

Such classical elements, therefore the trendiest elements, uniquely wrap the romance of this .

“Many people will call this a masterpiece. Some critics as well.”

“That’s good to hear.”

However, Gu Yubin felt a bit disappointed.

Is this the essence of Moon?

An author who weaves stories mechanically?

Without any inspiration or emotion, just structural combinations?

Trying to hide her disappointment, Gu Yubin heard Moon say calmly.

“A perfect romance… I’m glad the first part turned out well.”

“…What? The first part? So there’s a second part?”

“Yes. Actually, I wrote the second part first.”

Gu Yuna, who had been watching, hastily interjected with a question.

“When?”

“That, well, when I didn’t go to school.”

“Could it be…”

Gu Yuna seemed to have a premonition of something ominous, but Gu Yubin, unconcerned about that, pleaded to see the second part quickly.

Moon hesitated, saying the second part was unfinished, but under Gu Yubin’s urging, eventually handed over the draft of the second part.

And Gu Yubin witnessed it.

30 years later.

-How could a person do that! How could a person do such a thing?

-Shut your mouth, you piece of trash!

-We’re done. Get out of my house.

In the flow of time, she saw the appearance of a love that seemed eternal shattering into pieces.

*****

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