JY: Shoko’s Smile constantly draws attention to the alphabet it’s written in, as well as the limits of language. For example, “Hanji and Youngju,” a story about international monastery volunteers in France, has scenes of the characters talking about Youngju’s journal and includes their letters, written in faulty English. In other cases, Eunyoung discusses the visual image of certain hangeul characters (the Korean alphabet), which is included in the English manuscript. What was it like, to translate text that is already marked as “translated” in the original? Pure dreams were meant for talented filmmakers who could afford to enjoy their jobs. Glory was meant for them, too. Film art in general, only revealed its true face to hardworking mediocrities. I covered my face with my hands and sobbed. It was difficult to accept that fact. The moment untalented people clutch at the mirage of dreams, it slowly eats away their lives. This story is as sad as it's beautiful. It talks about flawed characters and those who matter in our lives.

Choi Eunyoung refrains from sensationalizing the horrors of these historical events, keeping the stories firmly grounded in the emotional realities of the characters through sparse and understated prose. Reminiscent of Alice Munroe and Elena Ferrante, it is the force of emotions bleeding through Choi’s language that disarms, breaks, and warms the reader’s heart. Ultimately, Shoko’s Smile gently arouses in us an empathy for the pain of others and ourselves. Generational and cultural differences apart, humans and their needs are not different at the core. This is the general theme you’ll notice throughout Shoko’s Smile (2021), the debut collection of the awarded South Korean writer Choi Eunyoung. Originally released in 2016, Shoko’s Smile hits the market in its English version on the 1st of June 2021, translated by Sung Ryu. The language used (at least in the English version) is simple and plain – no flowery and convoluted metaphors, no dreadfully pretentious bombastic vocabulary, nothing too abstract. Yet, it gets me right in the heart (gut). I’ve come to the conclusion that both of them are probably keen observers of life, because I have no idea how else they can write (and translate) some of these moments/thoughts that I feel (and struggle to put in words) in such simple, plain and effective language. I’m in awe, really.Such is the grace and delicacy with which the characters open up themselves that the reader can’t help but be taken by surprise whenever they’re hit with epiphanies or moments of straightforwardness, such as:

In Hanji and Youngju, a failed romance between volunteer workers at a European monastery retreat explores a new kind of international community based on shared values (and shared privilege) as well as the attraction of contemplative places for a young, searching generation. Despite the characters’ best intentions, the story is full of missed connections: “We had resorted to every means, except fighting, to tolerate each other. We didn’t even have the desire to vent our emotions or bad-mouth each other to see how the other would react. You would need at least a shred of affection for fights to happen.” Bottom line: Five stars for the first five, overall 3.5 stars for the tantrum brought on by the final two. The display of the stories is interesting as well: it’s almost as if the characters’ awareness, or honesty, about their own needs is gradually increasing across the book, from the tough Shoko to the sentimental grandmother in “The Secret” (first and last stories in the book, respectively). This trait is also noticed throughout each story itself. In crisp, unembellished prose, Choi Eunyoung paints intimate portraits of the lives of young women in South Korea, balancing the personal with the political. In the title story, a fraught friendship between an exchange student and her host sister follows them from adolescence to adulthood. In ‘A Song from Afar’, a young woman grapples with the death of her lover, travelling to Russia to search for information about the deceased. In ‘Secret’, the parents of a teacher killed in the Sewol ferry sinking hide the news of her death from her grandmother. JY: A deeply humanizing element in your collection was its depictions of friendships between the various social outcasts, like Shoko and the grandfather. These relationships are often complicated and painful, while simultaneously life-giving and crucial. Could you speak more about your focus on friendship?Brilliantly conceived, the stories in Shoko’s Smile are emotionally raw and true to life: a compilation of a writer who has not only devoted time to the development of the craft, but who has invested in the deep observation of character. The resulting emotional portraiture is both extraordinary and moving. Honorifics reflect and dictate the distance between two people—their hierarchy and intimacy—and this is true in Korean society, where honorifics often stand in for names.