'Korean Cool' is hot in books
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By Andrew Salmon
In late 2012, the globe was gobsmacked when a mutant hit by an unknown artist ― “Gangnam Style” by Psy ― stormed across the Interweb.
Here in Seoul, foreign hacks, scribblers and pundits were less astonished. Given this nation’s surging global profile in sectors as varied as commerce, technology, sport and diplomacy, plus its heavy investment in pop culture, many reflected that a Korean breakthrough had only been a matter of time.
At the Seoul Foreign Correspondent’s Club bar, the (hopeful) question that followed among this community ― several of whom were feverishly penning their own masterpieces ― was when a book about this nation might hit the big time.
Drum roll, please ― that moment has arrived.
I was holidaying in the U.K. when a tome by Korean-American reporter Euny Hong (disclosure: I don’t know her) appeared, winning glowing review after glowing review ― in The Economist, The Times, The Daily Telegraph, the BBC and Bloomberg. Even the mass-market rag Metro penned one.
My first reaction ― given that my fifth Korea-focused book is about to hit bookshelves ―was jealous indignation: “Hellfire and damnation! Who is this woman? Why her and not me? And why don’t my blasted publishers put as much effort into marketing as hers obviously do?”
After a soothing glass or two, calm was restored. My second reaction was more measured: the success of one book on Korea generates more interest, hence a bigger market for the rest of us.
So, Ms. Hong: I doff my hat.
Given the ongoing fascination with Psy, it is no coincidence that Hong’s “The Birth of Korean Cool” dissects not war, economic miracles, conglomerates, dictators or gulags: It covers hallyu.
I should say at the outset that, like one of Hong’s interviewees, I disagree with her central contention: that hallyu is a top-down, government-directed movement. My observation is that while bureaucrats have leapt aboard the bandwagon with incentives and promotions, hallyu started (and largely remains) a bottom-up, private-sector movement.
Moreover, Hong may have bought into the hallyu hype in local media: While soft power is important in any national asset portfolio, hallyu is nowhere near as central to this economy as is manufacturing. (To be fair, Hong includes a grudging chapter on Samsung.)
And several “facts” are plain wrong. Communications agency Edelman was not hired by the Blue House to do global public relations for Korea during the financial crisis. (Merit/Burson-Marsteller was). The Korean language was not “banned” from 1910-1945. (Korean language instruction was forbidden in schools in the final colonial years). And Kim Dae-jung was not responsible for Korea’s high-tech makeover. (The weapons-grade broadband Internet and wireless telecom infrastructures were laid by the preceding administration).
Likewise, her analysis that restructuring and gold drives were behind Korea’s swift recovery from the 1997-98 economic crisis is simplistic: a brutally devalued won (igniting surging exports) and provision of easy credit reversing decades of savings policies (leading to a spending boom, and latterly, high household debt) were more central.
But such things are unknown to Anglosphere book reviewers, and are peripheral to Hong’s core topic. I suspect her rapturous reception is because while hallyu remains a niche in Western markets, thoughtful Westerners are vaguely aware that it is a major trend beyond their shores, and want to know more. For this audience, Hong delivers a cracking read.
There is much here I did not know. I was unaware that undercover Korean officials craftily arranged French flash mobs to demand hallyu concerts. I did not realize that some South Koreans still have nightmares about the North due to the horrific anti-communist education that persisted even into the 1980s. And I had no idea that there are more shamans in South Korea than all other clergy combined.
The pages froth over with memorable anecdotes. Many stem from Hong’s personal experiences living here ― her torture-chamber school days are recounted drolly and extensively ― and she has nailed down some great interviewees: wunderkind auteur Park Chan-wook, insightful journalist Jeff Yang and even one of the Las Vegas-based Kim Sisters, long-forgotten staples on “The Ed Sullivan Show.”
Above all, Hong has a keen eye for the zany, and writes like Dickens. Her pen is savagely (and delightfully) catty at times. K-pop stars are “brutally attractive,” while the plastic surgery mania (Hong herself is a victim) is dubbed “The Gangnam Chainsaw Massacre.”
I suspect that this exposure of Korea’s whackier side, and Hong’s stiletto wit, will mean that the inevitable Korean translation may not receive the warm local reception accorded to Daniel Tudor’s recent “Korea: The Impossible Nation,” a kinder and gentler work entirely.
Still, South Koreans should be grateful.
While Psy’s grinning mug became the first Seoul face to win more global prominence than those of Pyongyang’s cartoonish dictators, Hong’s may be the first tome about South Korea to muscle North Korean volumes off the top shelves of the “Korea” section in bookshops worldwide.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.