The Old Woman with the Knife | Gu Byeong-mo

Over the past few years we’ve seen a surge of crime fiction novels where the main protagonist is someone from the elderly community who bravely fights criminals along with their gang of fellow pensioners. Hornclaw, the narrator of Korean author Gu Byeong-mo’s new novel, might be sixty-five, but her story isn’t one fit for a cosy crime novel. Because Hornclaw is a criminal herself, a knife-wielding assassin who works alone. She’s the type of person you should be scared of – fast, silent and deadly.

At Hornclaw’s age women become invisible, passed over and ignored, but if you are an assassin this is beneficial to your career. If you want to kill people quickly and efficiently you don’t want to make a lasting impression.

“She exists like an extra in a movie, woven seamlessly into a scene, behaving as if she has always been there, a retiree thrilled to take care of grandchildren in her golden years…”

But Hornclaw’s age also has its disadvantages. She is no longer sought-after even though she’s one of the founders of the “disease-control” agency she works for. Just as in her prime, she still knows how to make a heart stop without leaving behind any evidence. Yet she is no longer respected for her expertise and referred to as “Grandmother” or scornfully as “Granny” by Bullfight, an arrogant young assassin.

When she is wounded during a knife fight she has no alternative but to go to a doctor for help. Dr Kang puts two and two together when he sees the knives in her coat, but remains professional despite Hornclaw’s threat. Contrary to her nature and the requirements of her job she warms to the doctor and his family who own a fruit stand. She’s never experienced the warmth and security of a family and she envies “… a family that is warm and soft like steamed rice cakes”.

Her lapse in professionalism and weakness is exploited when the family is targeted. Hornclaw feels responsible and realises that someone has a personal vendetta against her. While she unravels the person’s identity, readers are transported back to her past and how she became an assassin. Her story is a melancholic and tragic one which will elicit sympathy. Not only does it include a lost love, but it also outlines her troubled childhood.

“Everything eventually succumbs to erosion, including the soul. Everything ruptures; possibilities, like aging bodies wither.”

Ageing and being disregarded is something some readers will be able to identify with. Hornclaw ages like everyone else; it makes her human despite her career choice. The loneliness that comes with it is underscored by her relationship with her dog. Deadweight is the only consistent and certain aspect of her life. Just like Hornclaw he doesn’t demand much and isn’t big on affection, yet he is something to come home to – something she’s never had.

The Old Woman with the Knife isn’t an assassin story like the ones you are used to. This is no Kill Bill, Bullet Train or Kill Eve action thriller. It’s a slow-developing story which focuses on one character and it does so with pathos. Especially noteworthy are Byeong-mo’s beautifully vivid descriptions which in itself feels like a slowing down and savouring of time.

“The aroma lingered in her mouth without having tasted the peach; the scent of the sugary, sticky nectar, so sweet that it stings – she locks it all in her heart, not easily visible, like a small new leaf sprouting on a tree.” and “She can’t help herself; she wishes the words had a texture and a shape so that she could crumble them like cookies as they emerge from her mouth.”

If you enjoy fiction from the Far East, you’re bound do appreciate the style and simplicity of The Old Woman with the Knife.

The Old Woman with the Knife is Gu Byeong-mo’s third novel, but the only one so far to be translated into English by Chi-Young Kim. It is published by Canongate who kindly provided me with a review copy via NetGalley.

The Disaster Tourist | Yun Ko-Eun

Shortly after the HBO series, Chernobyl, aired and became an instant hit, influencers started visiting the site of the nuclear accident. Surreal photos of a desolate landscape suddenly appeared on Instagram and other social media. While some claimed an upsurge in opportunistic selfie posting in a disaster area, it was quickly debunked as untrue. Even though the images were trending, only a few people actually visited the location. Whether these posts were insensitive, created awareness of the true events of 1986 or were just hype, they did highlight the phenomenon of disaster tourism.

Even though it might seem new to many of us, disaster tourism has been around for longer than we realise. The most well-known example being Pompeii where Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79AD. Even today the most popular disaster sites are the areas surrounding volcanic eruptions.

The main character in The Disaster Tourist, Yona, has been working as a programming coordinator for Jungle, a company specialising in package holidays to disaster areas, for ten years. Jungle has 152 travel packages including trips to areas where there are typhoons, war, droughts, tsunamis and earthquakes – something for everyone and anyone who needs an escape from their mundane lives. And Yona’s job is to find new and exciting opportunities and create unique travel packages for adrenaline junkies. Through the years her job has made her realise that disaster lurks around every corner resulting in a preoccupation with misfortune.

Adding to her understandably pessimistic outlook, she works in a hostile work environment where the slightest mistake could result in a demotion. When Kim, a senior colleague, blatantly sexually harasses her she arranges a meeting with a colleague in HR. Despite multiple complaints against Kim, hers is merely brushed off and she is told to put the issue behind her. Shortly after Kim offers her a month long paid holiday using one of the company’s travel packages. Yona’s task is to assess the travel package, write a report and advise whether it should be kept in the company’s portfolio. Seeing no other alternative, Yona agrees to go to Mui, the site of a desert sinkhole in the southern part of Vietnam.

On her trip Yona is accompanied by four other travellers, a 40 year-old screenwriter, a college student and an elementary school teacher and her spoilt daughter. Details about their trip to the resort, for example the old Korean buses, the fishy smell of anchovies in the harbour and the motorcycles swarming across the roads add colour to the story.

“The travellers recorded each moment, clicking their camera shutters as they glanced out of the windows at an outdoor wedding, and later when they drove past a cemetery busy with funeral-goers.”

When the group visit Mui’s volcano, Yona realises why the company wanted to cancel the Muir travel package. The geyser is a gurgling fountain and the sinkhole has turned into a lake. The tourists are struck by the poverty of the locals and purchase merchandise from children hawking food, postcards and carvings. As is the case with most travel to a third-world country the contrast between wealthy tourists and poor locals is harsh, yet tourism is needed to keep the economy going. At the same time the tourist feels as if they’ve experienced poverty, but are relieved to eventually go back to their comfortable lives.

When it becomes apparent that tourism might dry up, just like Muir’s geyser, Yona is coaxed into plotting a scheme to help create a fake disaster to lure tourists back. She realises that most of what is on display for tourists is already made up and artificial. When she visits the town outside the resort, it looks like “a theme park that wasn’t yet open”. Even those she met during the educational one night home-stay miraculously appear elsewhere as entirely different people and she realises they were just playing a part. The whole scenario, as well as the almost omnipotent presence of “Paul”, a company which seems to control everything, reminded me of Westworld. At this point the novel takes a more surreal turn and the looming possibility of an unfortunate event becomes a reality.

Yun Ko-Eun unmistakably satirises society’s obsession with seeking sensation, but The Disaster Tourist also highlights and questions the value and validity of so-called eco-tourism. The question remains if it truly benefits the local inhabitants or if it merely eases the tourist’s guilty conscience? Here the of effect tourism and the overpowering greed for money and development is over-dramatised and inevitably leads to literal disaster, but the same applies to real life, just more subtly.

The Disaster Tourist is published by Serpent’s Tail and they provided me with a review copy via NetGalley. The novel was translated by Lizzie Buehler whose work has appeared in Asymptote, Azalea Magazine, Litro, The Massachusetts Review, and Translation Review.

About Yun Ko-eun:

Ko Eun-ju (Yun Ko-eun’s real name) was born in 1980 in Seoul, South Korea and studied creative writing at Dongguk University. She made her literary debut in 2004 when she won the 2nd Daesan Collegiate Literary Prize. In 2008, she won the 13th Hankyoreh Literary Award for her novel Mujungryeok jeunghugun (The Zero G Syndrome) The Disaster Tourist is her second novel published in English.

The Only Child | Mi-Ae Seo

It all starts with a fire, two bodies and an eleven-year old girl. Yi Sangwuk, a fire inspector, is woken from his sleep and joins Sergeant Yu Dongsik of the Seoul Metropolitan Police at the scene of the fire in the Eugam area. Both have been on high alert due to an increase in fires in the area and the odds of five fires in a short time span was highly suspicious.

Seeing the girl, looking lost and clutching a large teddy bear, Sergeant Yu softens and takes it upon himself to find her only surviving family member, after the two people who died in the fire are identified as Hayeong’s grandparents. Yun Jaesong, her father, has no choice but to take the girl home to live with him and his second wife, Seonkyeong.

But Yun is an ambitious surgeon with no time for a child and Seonkyeong has her own problems – unravelling a serial killer’s motive. Yi Byeongdo had kidnapped and murdered thirteen women in the Seoul and Gyeonggi areas over three years and for some reason requests an interview with Seonkyeon – unfortunately we never find out why. There’s no doubt that he’s a cold-blooded killer and over multiple prison visits and cat-and-mouse conversations, the root of his psychosis is slowly exposed.

From the get-go Hayeong shows her manipulative and violent nature, but only to her step-mother, who brushes it off as a minor issue and feels partly to blame. Being a behavioral analyst Seonkyeong should be skilled in detecting psychopathic behaviour, but she’s oblivious to the clear-cut signs Hayeong displays. There’s even reference to the possible serial killer warning signs in children during a lecture she gives.

“They were much too cold to be the eyes of a child, Seonkyeong felt a chill at the back of her neck.”

It’s blatantly obvious that Hayeong has severe psychological issues and it’s revealed through the sections where she is the narrator. But is she just a misguided child who struggles to adapt to being torn away from her comfort zone or is there more to her hostile behaviour. Hayeong’s character is truly chilling and Yi Byeongdo doubles the creepiness factor.

The alternate narration from two perspectives – that of Seonkyeong and Hayeong – prevents the story from being too predictable. Even though it’s not difficult to solve the puzzle of the initial fire which led to Hayeong’s inclusion in her new family, there is, thankfully, more to the story.

The Only Child might change your mind about having children, but nonetheless, it’s a laudable psychological thriller and just a story.

The Only Child is published by Oneworld and they were so kind to provide me with a review copy for an honest review.

About the author
Mi-ae Seo is a bestselling Korean thriller writer and screenwriter. Her works include the novels The Doll’s Garden, Arin’s Gaze, and The Night Your Star Disappeared. In 2009, she won the Grand Prize for Korean Detective Literature for The Doll’s Garden. The Only Child is her English language debut.