By Mark Peterson
One of the hallmarks of Korean culture has been "han," the supposedly untranslatable concept encompassing the feeling of resentment, angst, victimization, anger, frustration ― all rolled into one. The term often comes up in describing Korean culture and the essence of the Korean personality. "Han" is often mentioned with its untranslatable partner, "jeong" ― love, affection, rapport, camaraderie, friendship ― all rolled into one. I'm happy to report "jeong" is alive and well, in my opinion. But "han" might be on the way out.
The idea had its genesis in my mind when I was watching the blockbuster drama, "Crash Landing on You." My wife had seen the 16-part series first, and suggested ― scrap that, insisted ― that I watch it. We watched it together. She couldn't resist drawing me out to predict what was going to happen next. The drama had lots of twists and turns that made it interesting, but after all was said and done, she reminded me that Korea dramas always end in tragedy. Somebody dies. And we all have a good cry.
She was right, of course. When I first started teaching at BYU, I was saddled with teaching modern literature. My main field in grad school was history, but I did study pre-modern literature a bit. But modern literature was a completely new preparation. So, I elicited my wife's support. She is a voracious reader and in those days, 1984, there weren't many translations of modern Korean literature, mainly a few short story collections. She read everything I could find and then she reported to me: "I've got this figured out. There's a drunk, a whore and somebody dies." That's not too far off for literature up to the 80s.
When I was first in Korea, I found that Korean movies had sad endings. It was explained to me by dozens of friends that happy endings seem artificial, that a sad ending, where "somebody dies," was more realistic. And we all need a good cry.
In those days, the '60s, a popular singer was Patty Kim. She had taken the name Patty as a tribute to one of the biggest American singers of the time, Patty Page. Korean radio ― this is pre-TV time ― played Patty Page and Patty Kim all the time. One song they both liked was "Sad Movies, Always Make Me Cry." It was more than a popular song. It spoke a message ― the message was han.
Well, my wife had me going. At each juncture, at each cliff-hanger episode of the "Crash Landing on You," I could see the story careening off into the inevitable sad ending. Yoon Se-ri flat-lined at the end of episode 15.
But [spoiler alert ― don't read beyond this point if you haven't seen it], at the beginning of episode 16, the flat-lining was saved by shock treatment and Seri lived to meet her Captain Ri again ― and without unnecessary spoiler details ― we careen off to a happy ending. My friends who are fans of the Korean drama and have seen lots of them tell me that that is the rule for the day. No more "sad movies always make me cry."
If sad endings, and sad songs, were the symbols of han, does it mean that the happy endings are a harbinger of the end of han? I'm going to take that position. My "older-than-me friends" will probably not be happy with that position. They are the ones who have lived the han on a daily basis as a life story. They will talk of the Japanese take-over, the unwelcomed division of Korea, the Korean War, the poverty, the hard work to build an economy "for which we get no credit." It's all han.
But the younger generations, and the younger the more so, don't buy into the sad stories of their parents and grandparents. The parents and grandparents often tell me that the younger generation just doesn't understand, just doesn't want to hear of the suffering of the older generations. "They don't understand, won't listen to me" on the one hand; "I'm tired of hearing about the poverty; we're not poor now" on the other hand.
I've written before that the "generation gap" ― like the phrase used in America in the Vietnam War era ― is not just a "gap" in Korea, it's a chasm, a gulf ― uncrossable, immutable, a separation of perceptions that is unresolvable.
And that too makes me think that han is heading for the dustbin of cultural idioms.
The older generation speak of han as a real thing. They know what it is. The younger generation doesn't speak with as much conviction. Yeah, there's this thing called han, and it means we've been victimized, yada, yada, but it doesn't come across with the same conviction, if it comes across at all.
Time will tell. What do you think? Be careful. Your attitude or agreement/disagreement with me, might be more a matter of your own generation. Will the younger generation eventually see the end of han?
Mark Peterson (markpeterson@byu.edu) is professor emeritus of Korean, Asian and Near Eastern languages at Brigham Young University in Utah.
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The idea had its genesis in my mind when I was watching the blockbuster drama, "Crash Landing on You." My wife had seen the 16-part series first, and suggested ― scrap that, insisted ― that I watch it. We watched it together. She couldn't resist drawing me out to predict what was going to happen next. The drama had lots of twists and turns that made it interesting, but after all was said and done, she reminded me that Korea dramas always end in tragedy. Somebody dies. And we all have a good cry.
She was right, of course. When I first started teaching at BYU, I was saddled with teaching modern literature. My main field in grad school was history, but I did study pre-modern literature a bit. But modern literature was a completely new preparation. So, I elicited my wife's support. She is a voracious reader and in those days, 1984, there weren't many translations of modern Korean literature, mainly a few short story collections. She read everything I could find and then she reported to me: "I've got this figured out. There's a drunk, a whore and somebody dies." That's not too far off for literature up to the 80s.
When I was first in Korea, I found that Korean movies had sad endings. It was explained to me by dozens of friends that happy endings seem artificial, that a sad ending, where "somebody dies," was more realistic. And we all need a good cry.
In those days, the '60s, a popular singer was Patty Kim. She had taken the name Patty as a tribute to one of the biggest American singers of the time, Patty Page. Korean radio ― this is pre-TV time ― played Patty Page and Patty Kim all the time. One song they both liked was "Sad Movies, Always Make Me Cry." It was more than a popular song. It spoke a message ― the message was han.
Well, my wife had me going. At each juncture, at each cliff-hanger episode of the "Crash Landing on You," I could see the story careening off into the inevitable sad ending. Yoon Se-ri flat-lined at the end of episode 15.
But [spoiler alert ― don't read beyond this point if you haven't seen it], at the beginning of episode 16, the flat-lining was saved by shock treatment and Seri lived to meet her Captain Ri again ― and without unnecessary spoiler details ― we careen off to a happy ending. My friends who are fans of the Korean drama and have seen lots of them tell me that that is the rule for the day. No more "sad movies always make me cry."
If sad endings, and sad songs, were the symbols of han, does it mean that the happy endings are a harbinger of the end of han? I'm going to take that position. My "older-than-me friends" will probably not be happy with that position. They are the ones who have lived the han on a daily basis as a life story. They will talk of the Japanese take-over, the unwelcomed division of Korea, the Korean War, the poverty, the hard work to build an economy "for which we get no credit." It's all han.
But the younger generations, and the younger the more so, don't buy into the sad stories of their parents and grandparents. The parents and grandparents often tell me that the younger generation just doesn't understand, just doesn't want to hear of the suffering of the older generations. "They don't understand, won't listen to me" on the one hand; "I'm tired of hearing about the poverty; we're not poor now" on the other hand.
I've written before that the "generation gap" ― like the phrase used in America in the Vietnam War era ― is not just a "gap" in Korea, it's a chasm, a gulf ― uncrossable, immutable, a separation of perceptions that is unresolvable.
And that too makes me think that han is heading for the dustbin of cultural idioms.
The older generation speak of han as a real thing. They know what it is. The younger generation doesn't speak with as much conviction. Yeah, there's this thing called han, and it means we've been victimized, yada, yada, but it doesn't come across with the same conviction, if it comes across at all.
Time will tell. What do you think? Be careful. Your attitude or agreement/disagreement with me, might be more a matter of your own generation. Will the younger generation eventually see the end of han?
Mark Peterson (markpeterson@byu.edu) is professor emeritus of Korean, Asian and Near Eastern languages at Brigham Young University in Utah.
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