Modern Lady Shin Saimdang

By Kyung Moon Hwang

Shin Saimdang, a figure from the 16th century, has become a hot topic, especially with the new historical drama that reimagines her life and connects it, through the reliable evocation of reincarnation, to the present day. A slew of novels, children’s books, and academic works has also fueled this popularity, as has undoubtedly the circulation of the new 50,000-won bank note that bears her image. Leisure and entertainment culture, consumerism, and increasing wealth, in other words, have helped laid the basis for her meteoric rise, as if she were some Hallyu star.

She might as well be. The previews and opening episodes of the television series suggest another example of modernizing, through popular reinvention, a female figure from the distant past. In this case, Lady Shin has been refashioned into the opposite of what she was earlier known and valued as: a filial and learned daughter and wife, and the wise mother of the great philosopher Yulgok.

Those qualities don’t disappear in this television drama, but the greater motive is to show her as a daring, ingenious, and complex artist who pursues her true passions in the face of societal and familial constraints. She is, in short, the everywoman of South Korea today.

Such an exaggerated portrayal might be objectionable, but this has been going on for a while. Just a few years ago Empress Gi, the Korean-born wife of the Mongol emperor in the 14th century, was reconceived by television as a male-masquerading teenager who then turns into a fierce Korean nationalist. And back in 2009 Queen Seondeok, the first female monarch of the ancient Silla Kingdom, underwent the Hallyu treatment and emerged as a cross-dressing, visionary, socialist unifier who juggled complex romantic feelings.

Not as far-fetched but just as creative was the historical drama that perhaps started it all, the so-called “Jewel in the Palace” (“Daejanggeum”) television series of fifteen years ago that became a mega-hit across Asia, especially China, and starred the same actress who now plays Lady Shin. This dramatized profile of an early-Joseon court lady, whose wit, skill, and perseverance takes her from service as a menial cook to status as a royal physician, highlighted the glories of traditional cuisine, medicine, and values, to be sure. But clearly the appeal of the main character, loosely based on a real historical figure, lay in her being both traditional and strikingly modern at the same time.

Given what has been taking place in South Korea over recent decades regarding women’s rights and social standing, such trends in popular culture make perfect sense. Since the mid-1990s sweeping legal and social reforms have liberated women from deeply entrenched inequalities, and likewise Korean women have swept into the upper echelons of modern life, including even politics.

Indeed that a woman would eventually be elected president by 2012 was not that surprising. And attitudes have changed so dramatically that even when such powerful women are discovered to be engaging in corruption and abuse of power, they are publicly condemned for their transgressions as if they were men. Perhaps this is a sign of progress.

Still, other signs and concerns of sexism in the popular reaction to the Choi Soon-sil scandal seem to lie just beneath the surface, and this might reflect the delicate balance between customary and contemporary expectations that seems to burden women disproportionately. In such a way, these television dramas can serve as thought-provoking reflections of a growing awareness of stubborn biases and unjust hardships.

If purveyors of popular culture wish to continue helping to cultivate a more healthful and forthright image of women, as well as other marginalized groups, through dramatizations of history, I might suggest some tweaks to the formula, based on the Sin Saimdang television series going on now:

First, it would be beneficial to present a more realistic depiction of the debilitations of the Joseon-era social hierarchy. Lady Shin, in fact, was an aristocratic woman who owned dozens of hereditary slaves, which we know about through surviving documents. But this dramatization and many others continue to put forth “happy slaves” as light comic characters, which makes for a sad irony in featuring the protagonist’s struggles with gender discrimination while ignoring other forms of bondage, including those perpetuated by the heroine.

Second, I personally would find it refreshing to watch a dramatization of life in the old days that is absent of court politics, especially the monarchy. The Shin Saimdang series is set in Gangneung, Lady Shin’s home town, which lies far away from Seoul, but her fictional love interest is a wayward prince and, as if on cue, the factional politics of the capital eventually play a role in the storyline. The latter is not completely unrealistic, considering that Lady Sin’s ancestors and family members did include some political figures, but one cannot shake the sense that, once again, we are seeing the trope of a woman finding validation through a connection to royalty.

Such hackneyed portraits of royalty and conniving court ladies actually highlight the uncomfortable realities behind the rise to power of both Park Geun-hye and Choi Soon-sil. And given the apparent connections between the ongoing political crisis and the Gangneung Winter Olympics effort, we are reminded that everything in the public realm these days can have unintended consequences, even an innocuous television series celebrating female accomplishment.

Kyung Moon Hwang is a professor in the Departments of History and East Asian Languages and Cultures, the University of Southern California. He is the author of "A History of Korea ― An Episodic Narrative" (Palgrave Macmillan, 2016). This and Prof. Hwang's other columns can be found onhttps://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/category/subsection_633.html.