K-LIT REVIEW Pretension meets its match in absurdist world of 'Art on Fire'
A copy of "Art on Fire" by Yun Ko-eun / Courtesy of Faye Leung
It’s a traveler’s worst nightmare. You fly from Seoul to Los Angeles only to find that the prestigious art foundation that was supposed to pick you up from the airport isn’t responsive. You look for a hotel nearby, but everything decent is booked, and you end up forced to share a connecting bathroom with a stranger. You decide to look around while you wait, but get scammed into a $200 dinner bill. All the while, the worst fires California has ever seen are raging.
This is how An Yiji’s journey begins in “Art on Fire” by Yun Ko-Eun. Penniless and resorting to food delivery work to make ends meet, Yiji is at her wit’s end when the world-famous Robert Foundation of Art makes her an offer she can’t refuse. They will sponsor her in exchange for incinerating — yes, burning — one of her pieces at the end of her residency. Considering the prestige that comes from working with the foundation, Yiji decides to take the plunge. Fast-forward a few weeks, and she is understandably second-guessing her choice.
Several harrowing days and one perilous drive later, Yiji finally reaches the Robert Foundation’s Palm Springs headquarters. Settling into a luxurious compound built for artists, surrounded by people who claim art as their life’s passion, and dedicating all her time to creating art should be an artist’s dream come true. Yet, as soon as Yiji arrives, she begins to count the days until her escape.
The chief cause of consternation? Robert, the head of the foundation, respected patron of the arts, fastidious art critic — and papillon dog.
At the Robert Foundation, there is one thing everyone agrees on: Robert is a once-in-a-century genius. Rocketed into the stratosphere of fame overnight by a viral photo he allegedly took, Robert has transcended the constraints of species, language and common sense to become a symbol of artistic greatness.
Haughty letters signed with gold pawprints; dinners flush with pomp and circumstance; a team of sycophantic employees ready to ask “how high?” — everyone and everything at the foundation seems to reinforce the belief that Robert is no ordinary dog. When Yiji reveals the slightest doubt over this claim, she is met with a sniff and impatient disdain. “You need a special kind of literacy to read Robert’s letter,” she is told. “Robert literacy.”
Arrogance, exclusivity, mystery and a cult of personality. By placing a dog at the center of this maelstrom, Yun stretches these pillars of the art world’s imposing edifice to the extreme, dragging them straight into the territory of ridicule. Yet, while we laugh to ourselves at the bizarre notion, we are also prompted to think: How many times have we nodded along with the masses, following popular opinion because everyone else seems to?
Just as the emperor’s new clothes were only as grand as his fawning admirers made them out to be, a symbol is only as dignified as the people who keep it hoisted in the air. Yun makes this point blatantly clear as we follow Yiji deeper into her ludicrous journey, and the illusion of grandeur gets wrapped up in layers of mystique and rule after ridiculous rule.
Just when it seems like the foundation couldn’t look more like a circus, Yiji has the following mind-boggling conversation that had me laughing out loud:
“Are the dogs not allowed to poo?”
“The dogs here are a different kind of dog,” she said. “Don’t you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“The dogs here don’t behave like that. That’s the premise of the rental service. But today I had to clean up their poo. You understand?”
“Dogs poo,” I said. “All of them. Seriously, all of them.”
As the deadline for the final exhibition of her residency — and the dreaded incineration of her art — approaches, Yiji flounders. No matter how many walks she goes on or who she talks to, the spark of inspiration remains elusive — until one shocking incident brings the entire facade of magnificence crashing down, leaving Yiji with the inspiration she so desperately needed. But now, she has a new problem: Can she renege on her promise and make it to the end of her residency without setting her precious creation on fire?
From start to finish in this absurdist fever dream of a book, Yun makes a point of turning over stones left untouched by tacit agreement. Subtle exaggerations and small falsities that most people are too polite to point out are no match for Yun’s pen. She invites all pretension onto center stage and shines the spotlight of scrutiny onto the ugly cracks in its foundation, making “Art on Fire” a satirical force to be reckoned with. By encasing the merciless blade of judgment in a gaudy sheath of comical ridicule, Yun delivers both a spectacular show and some serious food for thought once the laughter dies down.
“Art on Fire” is available at dbbooks.co.kr.
Faye Leung runs @the_bibliocracy, an Instagram account dedicated to singling out reads for savoring. She regularly posts book reviews and recommendations, and has a particular fondness for Korean literature.