Korean Crime – Mysteries Ahoy!

Lemon by Kwon Yeo-Sun, translated by Janet Hong

March 23, 2022

Originally published in 2019 as 레몬
English translation first published in 2021

In the summer of 2002, when Korea is abuzz over hosting the FIFA World Cup, eighteen-year-old Kim Hae-on is killed in what becomes known as the High School Beauty Murder[…]
Seventeen years pass without any resolution for those close to Hae-on, and the grief and uncertainty take a cruel toll on her younger sister, Da-on, in particular[…]
Shifting between the perspectives of Da-on and two of Hae-on’s classmates struck in different ways by her otherworldly beauty, Lemon ostensibly takes the shape of a crime novel. But identifying the perpetrator is not the main objective here: Kwon Yeo-sun uses this well-worn form to craft a searing, timely exploration of privilege, jealousy, trauma, and how we live with the wrongs we have endured and inflicted in turn.

I hope you will forgive me starting out by talking about my own blogging process but I think in the instance of Lemon it will be important to consider. This blog, Mysteries Ahoy!, is devoted to discussing works that fall within the very broad and rather imprecise category we term ‘mystery fiction’. I personally interpret that term more widely than some and over the years I have written and posted about works that I think sit on the edge of that genre or that have, at best, genre elements.

The compromise that I typically come to when writing about such works is that I will try and assess them within the context of the genre. I may reference aspects of the book I have enjoyed that fall without that but the focus will usually be on those parts of a work that I think will most directly appeal to genre fans. In writing about Lemon however I think I am going to find that approach tested because while the book may be described as ‘ostensibly tak[ing] the shape of a crime novel’ in its blurb, I think that description misrepresents the themes the author is exploring and the approach they have taken. Or, to put it another way, I would be doing this work a bit of a disservice.

A crime certainly does lie at the heart of Lemon: the murder of teenaged Kim Hae-on. This crime impacts every character in the novel and drives all of the action and the development of each of the characters and yet the novel is not focused on discovering the truth of what happened but rather exploring the impact that crime has had upon the lives of those who were involved. There are no definitive answers given so while the reader will likely finish the book with a sense of who was guilty and why, there is enough ambiguity to allow for other plausible explanations.

The novella is told from the perspective of three different characters: the girl’s sister, Da-on, and two of Hae-on’s classmates. Unlike many books with multiple narrators, the author does not tell the reader who is narrating each chapter – the only information we get is a date and a keyword, the meaning of which will only become clear at the end of each section. I initially found this to be a confusing and perhaps frustrating choice though I quickly came to identify the voices by the context of what was being said.

One interesting consequence of the use of this multiple narrator approach is that the reader will be able to see a contrast between how each character perceives themselves and the way they are viewed by others. This allows our understanding of some of the key figures in the book to shift as we gain additional context. In fact when I finished reading I felt that I wanted to revisit the earlier chapters to reassess them in the light of information I had learned later in the book.

Perhaps the most compelling aspect of the novella for me was its depiction of the intense grief felt by the victim’s mother and sister. The way that this manifests, particularly in the case of the mother, is unusual but it is all the more powerful for that. The book captures that way that grief can be awkward and uncomfortable, and that society can sometimes struggle to know how to respond to it – particularly when it is as raw as it is here. I felt that the author captured those emotions powerfully, connecting me to those characters and their struggles.

I was also quite struck by the scenes involving the character who is supposed to have been the last person to see Hae-on alive, the delivery driver Han Manu. Our first experience of this character is an account of his interrogation by the police based on Da-on’s knowledge and imagination – an interesting idea as it means we have little sense of how reliable or accurate that scene could be. I think that scene does illustrate quite cleverly how a poor interrogation could produce a misleading impression and I thought that the author did a good job of exploring how the consequences of that experience would affect him for the rest of his life, leaving him in an awkward space where he was suspected but unable to prove himself innocent.

Some of the other characters in the story however felt less carefully defined, particularly the other male suspect – Shin Jeongjun. I had little sense of him as a figure and so while I learned some details about his character, I felt that he remained somewhat two-dimensional to me at the end. Similarly I felt that I didn’t really as complete an understanding of Taerin’s character as I would like. Perhaps the biggest questions though revolve around the victim, Hae-on, and while I felt I understood what she did, I was left at the end of the book feeling I didn’t understand why she behaved as she did.

It is that sense that too much remains unexplained or unanswered that keeps this from feeling truly satisfying when looked at through that mystery or crime novel lens. Those questions are simply not of interest to the author and are tangential to the journey that she intends to lead us on. This isn’t a work about the search for the truth but rather an examination of grief and how a lack of resolution affects everyone involved in the case. Viewed at from that perspective it can be an intriguing work but readers who want firm answers and a strong narrative structure may feel a little frustrated.

The Verdict: With an emphasis on theme over narrative, Lemon is an intriguing read but those expecting a genre read may find themselves frustrated.

The Disaster Tourist by Yun Ko-Eun, translated by Lizzie Buehler

June 16, 2021

Originally published in 2013 as 밤의 여행자들
English translation first published in 2020

Jungle is a cutting–edge travel agency specializing in tourism to destinations devastated by disaster and climate change. And until she found herself at the mercy of a predatory colleague, Yona was one of their top representatives. Now on the verge of losing her job, she’s given a proposition: take a paid “vacation” to the desert island of Mui and pose as a tourist to assess the company’s least profitable holiday.

When she uncovers a plan to fabricate an extravagant catastrophe, she must choose: prioritize the callous company to whom she’s dedicated her life, or embrace a fresh start in a powerful new position? An eco–thriller with a fierce feminist sensibility, The Disaster Tourist introduces a fresh new voice to the United States that engages with the global dialogue around climate activism, dark tourism, and the #MeToo movement.

Yona has worked for Jungle for more than ten years. Jungle is a travel agency that takes tourists to visit and work in areas affected by natural disasters and climate change and Yona’s job has been to work out how to create their tour packages. Recently however it seems that her career has stalled as she is increasingly being tasked with handling customer complaints and she suspects that she may be on the verge of being forced out. The proof seems to come when her boss makes unwanted sexual advances to her in the elevator one day, apparently confident that if she complains the company will not want to do anything about it.

As she becomes increasingly disillusioned she decides to resign but instead of accepting her resignation, her supervisor suggests that she take a paid leave of absence and visit an unprofitable tourist destination to offer her thoughts on whether it can be salvaged. She is unsure whether he is trying to buy her off but decides to take up the offer, hoping at least to relax for the first time in years and possibly restore her reputation by preparing an excellent report.

Her destination is the island of Mui which lies a short distance off the coast of Vietnam. She soon discovers why it has become a failing destination but when she experiences a travel mishap she finds herself stuck on the island. As she waits for her papers to arrive to enable her to leave the island, she learns however that some on the island have a plan to restore its status as a thriving disaster tourism destination…

I should probably start by acknowledging that The Disaster Tourist is not easily categorized as a genre work, though I would argue that the scale of the crimes we see planned are on a scale far beyond those of any other novel I have written about on this blog to date. I would also add that while it doesn’t always read like a thriller, it certainly incorporates some elements of that style as the book nears its conclusion and that the book struck me as possessing an outlook on the world and the people that inhabit it that feels like it belongs firmly to the noir tradition.

Perhaps the place to begin is with the book’s central conceit that a company like Jungle could spring up. While some might find it hard to imagine that a company solely devoted to disaster tourism might be a thing, there are clearly examples of package tours that do exactly what is described. What I think Yun does brilliantly is to explore the relationship between those tours and the place that is supposedly being rejuvenated by its tourism industry might be and to sincerely question whether this is aiding the areas’ economic recovery or sustaining and perhaps even prolonging its poverty.

Some of the novel’s most powerful material comes in its exploration of the personalities of the different people who are on the tour along with Yona and their different motivations for visiting. Yun not only describes the reasons they believe they are making their visits and the power dynamics between the locals and the visitors but also gives us a powerful illustration of how Yona, who is more aware of the crafting of the tour experience, finds herself behave in a way she finds shameful at a point in the tour.

I have read some reviews that suggest that Yona is not a particularly forceful or dynamic character, and I think that there is a little bit of truth to that. While we get given a little bit of backstory at the start of the novel, we get little sense of her life beyond work. I think though that is rather the point as we come to realize that Jungle has really consumed Yona’s life and defined who she has become. Here she represents a corporate drone – someone who has little purpose beyond the company and who cannot really envisage their life without it.

The scenario that Yona finds herself in is clearly quite fantastic but I felt that the issues raised were powerful and compelling. What do desperate people do when they risk losing everything? This is a recurring idea throughout the novel and I find it fascinating to observe the parallels between these characters, often coming from very different backgrounds and situations, and the choices they decide to make. Here once again Yun does an admirable job of exploring the reasons behind those choices, even if we do not really get to know those characters on a truly individual level.

This arguably is the greatest issue with the book – that the scope of the story it tells within such a limited page count does not allow for much time to be spent on building up the characters as individuals. Instead they tend to be established with their plot function, described in shorthand such as ‘Man 2’. It is dehumanizing and perhaps numbs the reader to the individual cost of some of what happens, though here once again I feel that very clearly fits with the central argument that the book is making.

I don’t want to say much more about the novel for fear of spoiling the experience. The book is, after all, quite short and to discuss the exact nature of the thriller elements later in the novel would likely detract from them. I personally found them to be engaging and I think the story’s resolution feels appropriate to the themes that the novel had established and discussed.

The Verdict: A fascinating exploration of the ethics of tourism and of the relationship between people and the corporations that employ them. I found The Disaster Tourist to be a thoughtful, provocative and highly engaging novel. It may not be a pure genre work but it is highly recommended nonetheless.

Why I Love… Memories of Murder

May 29, 2021

A few months ago I shared my thoughts on the animated movie, The Great Mouse Detective. This month I discuss the reasons I admire the decidedly not-for-kids procedural film Memories of Murder directed by Bong Joon Ho. Clearly I am trying to illustrate the breadth of my taste in crime-related films… Expect the next installment to fall somewhere between these two extremes.

Whether you share my love of this film or not, I would love to hear your thoughts about it. Please feel free to share your opinions in the comments below.

The Law of Lines by Hye-young Pyun, translated by Sora Kim-Russell

May 7, 2021

Originally published in 2015 as 선의 법칙
English translation first published in 2020

The Law of Lines follows the parallel stories of two young women whose lives are upended by sudden loss. When Se-oh, a recluse still living with her father, returns from an errand to find their house in flames, wrecked by a gas explosion, she is forced back into the world she had tried to escape. The detective investigating the incident tells her that her father caused the explosion to kill himself because of overwhelming debt she knew nothing about, but Se-oh suspects foul play by an aggressive debt collector and sets out on her own investigation, seeking vengeance.

Ki-jeong, a beleaguered high school teacher, receives a phone call from the police saying that the body of her younger half-sister has just been found. Her sister was a college student she had grown distant from. Though her death, by drowning, is considered a suicide by the police, that doesn’t satisfy Ki-jeong, and she goes to her sister’s university to find out what happened. Her sister’s cell phone reveals a thicket of lies and links to a company that lures students into a virtual pyramid scheme, preying on them and their relationships. One of the contacts in the call log is Se-oh.

The Law of Lines is a novel in which two women, one in her teens and the other in her twenties, investigate the reasons that a loved one committed suicide. It is a novel in which we learn about and witness multiple crimes taking place and yet for almost the whole novel absolutely no laws are broken.

A note of warning: While I have tried to avoid revealing the exact nature of the novel’s resolution, I think it would be pretty meaningless to discuss this book without going into some detail about the novel’s themes and ideas. Consider this more a reaction than a review. What follows contains spoilers…

The novel can certainly be described as literary but it also contains elements and an outlook that could be identified as noir. For instance, the novel strikes a rather bleak tone and is fundamentally concerned with the hazy lines that exist between good and evil.

I would suggest too that while the book is about Korean capitalism, the idea of crime sits absolutely at the heart of this story. The lines in the title could be seen to represent legal divisions as I think that a key idea of the novel is that something can be morally wrong and yet perfectly legal. In fact, the entire system may be stacked to produce that outcome.

So, what are those crimes? The book discusses two types of predatory financial systems, each of which strip those caught up in them of their humanity and ability to exercise their free will. The novel explores and reflects on the decisions of those who become the victims of those schemes showing that while some find themselves in danger because of greed, most are simply helpless. When we learn the details of why Se-oh’s father ended up so heavily in debt it is quite clear that the odds had been quite purposefully stacked against him. The system wanted him to fail and he had little power to change it.

While the details of predatory lending are pretty familiar the world over, the description of the lives of those caught in the pyramid scheme are interesting and incredibly sad. I would suggest though that the real interest here lies not so much in the details of the schemes as in the way it affects those who engage with them and the way they respond to the pressures they are placed under.

I cannot say that I particularly enjoyed exploring those feelings and experiences – it is far too desperately sad – but I think the author does a really effective job of creating a sense of empathy for all those involved. In essence the journey we take as readers is to recognize that while we begin the novel, like Se-oh and Ki-jeong, looking for individuals to blame, the entire system is essentially to blame. Everyone is drowning and grabbing hold of someone to keep them afloat.

The other thing that I think that the book does really well is subtly introduce parallels between elements and experiences that might otherwise seem quite disconnected. To give an example the book takes the time to explore the character of the debt collector and while I would not suggest he is a sympathetic character, I think we do understand him pretty well by the end of the book. To take another, in the character of the student who drags Ki-jeong down with him we can see the same greed and calculation that we can see in some of the participants in the Pyramid scheme.

As interesting as these themes are, I think the book does not always balance its two protagonists well. I hinted earlier at how Ki-jeong becomes more of an observer than a participant in events with the action increasingly focused on Se-oh. While the circumstances of her introduction to the story are memorable, her passivity makes her feel underwritten and her journey here feels rather hollow.

Se-oh’s path on the other hand is more interesting, leading up to something of a decision point which at least gives her some agency. Ultimately though I think that the author undercuts that moment but I do appreciate that it does feel like she takes a complete journey and is changed by her experiences.

Ultimately I think I would character The Law of Lines as an interesting series of reflections and ideas concerning the nature of justice. It is often quite provocative and I do think there are some aspects of the conclusion that feel powerful. Looked at purely in terms of the narrative however I think some may find it a difficult read. The world Hye-Young Pyun depicts is bleak and depressing and the story is really driven by its thematic rather than plotting elements, making for a reading experience that is more interesting and powerful than it is entertaining.

The Verdict: I cannot say I enjoyed The Law of Lines but I certainly found its discussion of poverty and the extents people will go to in order to survive interesting, if really bleak.

Seven Years of Darkness by You-Jeong Jeong, translated by Chi-Young Kim

September 7, 2020

Originally published in 2011 as 7년의 밤
English language translation published in 2020

A young girl is found dead in Seryong Lake, a reservoir in a remote South Korean village. The police immediately begin their investigation.

At the same time, three men – Yongje, the girl’s father, and two security guards at the nearby dam, each of whom has something to hide about the night of her death – find themselves in an elaborate game of cat and mouse as they race to uncover what happened to her, without revealing their own closely guarded secrets.

When a final showdown at the dam results in a mass tragedy, one of the guards is convicted of murder and sent to prison.

For seven years, his son, Sowon, lives in the shadow of his father’s shocking and inexplicable crime. When Sowon receives a package that promises to reveal at last what really happened at Seryong Lake, he must confront a present danger he never knew existed.

Sowon was just eleven years old on the night that became known as the Seryong Lake Disaster. On that night Seryong Village was destroyed when Sowon’s father who was in charge of security at Seryong Dam opened its sluice gates, causing water to flood and drown the town. His father became known as a crazed murderer with Sowon’s mother among his victims and Sowon, abandoned by his family, is forced into a drifter’s existence with Mr. Ahn, the man who had worked for his father and been his roommate in the weeks leading up to that disastrous night.

We get a brief description of what that existence was like before jumping forwards to a day when Sowon receives a package containing an incomplete manuscript written by Mr. Ahn. In that manuscript Sowon reads an account of the events leading up to that night apparently drawing on interviews and learns more of the background to that crime, realizing that there were many things he did not know about those events. Most of the rest of the book is made up of that account with occasional reactions from Sowon as we learn how he interprets what he reads.

Last year I read and wrote about The Good Son, the first of You-Jeong Jeong’s novels to be translated into English. I ended my review by sharing my hope that its success would lead to further translations and singled out this title as the one I would be most interested to read. The reason that this one in particular jumped out at me was that it seemed to be a more conventional mystery, albeit more of a whydunnit than a whodunnit.

I think it is true to say that questions of motive lie at the heart of this book. While we do not witness the events of that night in the prologue, his father admits his guilt and so the question is what drove him to an action that seems inconsistent with Sowon’s memories of him prior to that night. The answers to that question lie in an exploration of the years leading up to that night and, more specifically, in the discovery of a young girl’s body in the reservoir shortly before the flooding.

Sowon does not begin the book by looking for the truth. If anything he has spent the best part of a decade running away from the events of that night, trying to separate himself from his father’s crimes. Instead it seems to hold a grim fascination for him, particularly as just a few hours later he receives a package addressed by someone else containing a copy of a Sunday Magazine article that would always find its way into the hands of his classmates at the various schools he attended and a single Nike shoe with his name written on the tongue – a shoe he had lost at Seryong Lake.

I commented in my review of The Good Son that the protagonist in that story was quite passive and I think the same can be said of Sowon in this book. For much of the book he is simply absorbing information, sometimes reacting to things that stand out or making connections between some events that Mr. Ahn was unaware of, but taking little action. I did find myself wondering why Mr. Ahn was not chosen to be the protagonist since he had clearly done most of the legwork in piecing the events together.

There are, of course, good reasons for this choice. Sowon is the most sympathetic character in the book with the exception of the dead girl, as he is clearly a victim of the events of that night. By telling the story from his perspective, we also are invited to wonder about the motivations of Mr. Ahn and then, towards the end, we follow Sowon as he has to decide how to respond to what he has learned. While that may make him an unimpressive investigator, he is the character who is most intimately concerned in the outcome of the investigation and the character we most want to see find some form of closure at the end.

The decision to tell the story out of sequence with the Ahn manuscript as a framework works well as it encourages the reader to consider those events knowing the outcome. We look, in particular, for those issues with his parents’ marriage along with the discovery of the body.

The strength of the work lies in its characters. While Sowon is quite innocent, most of the other characters are rendered as complex and there is often a disconnect between the intentions of an action and its impact. One of my favorites is Mr. Ahn, the man who ends up taking Sowon in when his family abandon him. The description of how that comes to happen is rather heartbreaking and I appreciated the bond they form.

The more Sowon and we learn, the more we understand exactly what happened on that night and why things happened that way. We even learn more about why Sowon’s life has unfolded since then in the way it has, making for a pleasingly rich narrative. While Seven Years of Darkness is not always a comfortable read, particularly in the passages describing the events leading up to the girl’s death, it is well written and it builds to a compelling conclusion. In thos final pages we finally learn much of the truth about exactly what happened at those sluice gates and Sowon is pushed to take action.

I cannot really call many of the revelations or developments shocking. Jeong lays out her characters and the situation too well for anything to feel like a twist – but our understanding of those events does evolve as we learn more about that night and the personalities of those involved. Instead it feels more like piecing together a jigsaw – we have chunks of the puzzle but it takes a while to place them correctly in relation to each other.

I found the process of piecing together the various things we knew to be interesting and I appreciated that the explanation as to what happens feels deeply rooted in the characters we have spent the book getting to know. It makes for an interesting and rewarding read and I am happy to see that it seems to also be well received. Here’s hoping that one of the author’s other novels may follow soon…

The Verdict: This whydunnit is a fascinating exploration of a historical crime and the way its notoriety affects the life of its young protagonist.

Confession of Murder (Film)

August 29, 2020

Film Details

Originally released in 2012 as 내가 살인범이다
Released as Confession of Murder in English translation in 2013

Written by Jeong Byeong-gil and Hong Won-Chan
Directed by Jeong Byeong-gil
Starring Jeong Jae-yeong, Park Shi-hoo, Jung Hae-Kyun, Kim Yeong-ae, Choi Won-young, Kim Jong-goo

The Blurb

He’s a killer. He didn’t get caught. And he’s about to be famous.

When the statute of limitations expires on a series of high-profile murders, a handsome and mysterious young man emerges with a tell-all book, taking credit for the crimes. As he seduces the media into following him to book signings and televised debates, the officer who hunted him falls deeper into obsession, and the victims’ families plot their own revenge.

The Verdict

A decent action thriller with an entertaining concept and a very good performance from Park Si-hoo.

My Thoughts

Those who have followed this blog know that I am always on the lookout for inverted crime stories so when I stumbled onto a copy of Confession of Murder, a Korean crime film made in 2012, I hoped I was onto a winner. I soon realized that this would actually be more of a cat and mouse style thriller with heavy action elements but I was interested enough with the scenario to stick with it and see how the situation would be resolved.

The film begins in 1990 and introduces us to Choi Hyeong-goo (Jung Jae-yeong), a detective who is trying to catch a serial killer who has already killed ten women and suspected of kidnapping and killing another. After tracking them down a chase ensues across rooftops and through back alleys, leading to an intense fight that leaves the killer with a bullet in their shoulder and Hyeong-goo with a deep scar across one side of his mouth.

We then jump forwards in time to the point at which the statute of limitations on these murders has expired. Hyeong-goo is still working for the police but he cannot move past his failure to solve this case, drinking heavily. He learns that a handsome young man, Lee Doo-seok (Park Si-hoo) has released a memoir I Am The Murderer in which he claims responsibility for the crimes, revealing details that were unknown to the public. He even reveals a scar and a bullet matching those fired from Hyeong-goo’s gun in his shoulder during his televised book launch. This creates a media sensation and he receives plenty of press coverage as he makes public visits to the homes of each of the victims’ families to kneel and beg for forgiveness.

Hyeong-goo refuses to believe Doo-seok’s account, questioning what happened to the abducted and presumably murdered final victim’s body. Doo-seok meanwhile claims that this was carried out by a copycat, only accepting responsibility for the first ten crimes. Did Doo-seok really commit the crimes? If he did not really do the murders, how did he learn those undisclosed details and why is he coming forward?

It was these questions about Doo-seok’s motivations in coming forward and the way he seems to get under the skin of Hyeong-goo in their early interactions that really drew me into the film. While I have seen versions of the serial killer manipulating the detective investigating them before in other films and television series, I was intrigued by the ambiguity as to whether he really believes Doo-seok is telling the truth about the murders – something that is sustained very effectively until the film’s conclusion.

It helps that Park Si-hoo (shown above, right) gives a superb performance that successfully plays on that ambiguity. An example of this comes in an early sequence where he visits the father of one of the victims to beg forgiveness. Both the direction and performance of that scene do a great job of conveying what the media covering the event can capture and what the only man facing him can see in his body language. Moments like this are done very well and help establish him as a compelling antagonist for the detective.

One interesting idea that is hinted at but perhaps underdeveloped is that the media’s discussion of a case and the public’s reaction to it may differ based on the personalities or the physical attributes of the people involved. We do get several glimpses at the media executives who are choosing how to develop and portray their coverage of the incident. There are several points where we see that Doo-seok is treated with surprising sympathy in the interviews he gives with the implication being that he is presented that way in response to his appearance while it is disturbing to see some crowds gathering where people are holding signs and banners expressing their admiration for him, clearly based on the way he looks.

One interesting difference from the usual structure of these sorts of cat and mouse thrillers is that where typically we tend to view these sorts of stories being about two people or groups in opposition to each other, this film introduces a third actor who influence and interfere with the case. Early in the film we are introduced to a group of family members of the victims who have banded together to plan and execute their own plan to kidnap Doo-seok and exact their vengeance on him.

The introduction of this third group adds interest to the setup, often creating complications for both Hyeong-goo and Doo-seok. One of the most memorable set pieces in the film involves all three groups as we see the families try to put their plan into effect only to find that Hyeong-goo accidentally becomes caught up in them when he crosses their path. Though I felt sure I knew how this piece would ultimately end, it did provide some additional excitement and unpredictability along the way.

The abduction sequence is, for me, the most successful of the film’s action set pieces. Firstly, because it presents the action and movements from the perspectives of each of the three groups clearly, making it clear not only what is happening but what each group thinks is happening. While I think some of the elements of their plan are a little wild (specifically involving the use of a group of animals), this does lead to some really striking shot composition while the high speed vehicle chase that follows features some really impressive camera and exciting stunt work, even though the movements shown often strain belief.

The film’s other action sequences offer varying levels of interest and technique. Typically these are well-shot in the sense that you can always follow what is happening in spite of the quick pacing and use of multiple elements but the attempts to add artistic flourishes to some sequences can fall a little flat. There is a repeated use of a camera that follows a crossbow bolt in slow motion towards its target that feels videogamey while some camera movements struck me as unnecessarily convoluted and sometimes unintentionally comical.

While I think that the tone of the piece is dark and moody, there are a few moments that I think represent deliberate attempts at comedy. Most of these are along the lines of seemingly bizarre and unexpected developments as part of a chase or action sequence along the lines of those found in Bond action sequences. There is one overtly comedic sequence though which I feel really doesn’t work where a character is attacked while urinating in a field, in part because of the gross out element but also because the action sequence that follows is one of those that feels particularly overdirected.

Though I think Confession of Murder does a good job of exploring its characters’ feelings around a theme, those characterizations are often quite shallow, particularly beyond the two central characters. This is most clear in the case of the victims’ families who are portrayed with humanity and feeling but are given little development beyond a signature quality or skill they have (animal handling, archery, driving an expensive car, knife skills and having lots of money). This is not unexpected for an action thriller but it is a little disappointing given that these characters should surely have deeper feelings about their experiences and loss. What little we do get is presented retrospectively, suggesting that the storytelling focus here is on the plot rather than character development.

In spite of those complaints, I did find quite a bit I enjoyed about the film. The performances are generally good and I did get caught up in trying to figure out exactly how the story could be resolved. The solution is obvious in retrospect but because of the film’s pace, it is easy to get swept up in the action and miss hints that point to some of the twists and reveals.

While Confession of Murder was perhaps not the film I was expecting, I did find it entertaining and I am curious enough that I may well go and seek out the Japanese (Memoirs of a Murderer) or South Indian (Angels) versions to see how they compare.

Diary of a Murderer and Other Stories by Young-Ha Kim, translated by Krys Lee

March 4, 2020

Originally published in 2013 as 살인자의 기억법
English translation first published in 2019

Diary of a Murderer captivates and provokes in equal measure, exploring what it means to be on the edge—between life and death, good and evil. In the titular novella, a former serial killer suffering from memory loss sets his sights on one final target: his daughter’s boyfriend, who he suspects is also a serial killer. In other stories we witness an affair between two childhood friends that questions the limits of loyalty and love; a family’s disintegration after a baby son is kidnapped and recovered years later; and a wild, erotic ride about pursuing creativity at the expense of everything else.

Some months ago I wrote a review of Young-Ha Kim’s Your Republic Is Calling You in which I praised the author’s creativity and ability to explore the nuances of human relationships. Those qualities are also present in this more recent collection of four short stories.

Like the novel, these stories touch on genre elements and themes but may be seen first and foremost as character and situation explorations. Each story places the characters into tense and challenging situations involving crime or the threat of violence and shows us how those flawed characters respond.

Young-Ha Kim creates some intriguing and striking situations, particularly in Diary of a Murderer which takes up almost half the page count for the collection. That story explores the idea of a serial killer experiencing Alzheimer’s Disease and how they respond when they fear another killer may be targeting their adopted daughter. It is a really clever story that plays with our perceptions and conveys the protagonist’s feelings of confusion.

The other story that really impressed me was Missing Child. As the title suggests, it centers on the way a child’s abduction affects the parents and the child themselves. I felt the characterizations were excellent and the plot unfolds in thoughtful and unexpected ways.

Those looking primarily for detective stories will probably want to pass over this collection but there are some really interesting ideas here that are worth exploring for those willing to venture outside the genre.

The Verdict: This collection of stories sits on the very edge of the genre as literary fiction but they show the writer’s skills at exploring and evoking feelings.

Thoughts on the individual stories follow on the next page.

Busted! (TV)

February 23, 2020

Show Details

범인은 바로 너 (Korean)
Originally Broadcast – 2018-Present
2 series so far
Starring: Yoo Jae-Suk, Ahn Jae-Wook, Kim Jong-Min, Lee Kwang-Soo, Park Min-Young, Oh Se-Hun, Kim Se-Jeong and Lee Seung-Gi
Available on Netflix