내게 말해

다국어 초록 (Multilingual Abstract)

Why did I start writing fiction? While there may be various reasons, ultimately, they all boil down to a single cause: dissatisfaction with reality. Then, what kind of novel did I want to write? It was not a serious one that sharply tackles the problems of the ‘here and now’. I believed that one must write with sincerity, yet I hoped the outcome would not be serious in the same way. How long can one endure seriousness? Whenever I contemplate this question, I still arrive at the same skeptical conclusion. For this reason, I found myself drawn not to novels in which a distinct purpose takes precedence, but to novels that proceed as if spoken. There are novels that allow readers to immerse themselves in the characters, events, and settings, evoking a sense of lightness while reading, yet leave behind sensations akin to side effects once the story ends. Like the acidic burp, the stinging sensation in the restroom, or the unnoticed accumulation of fat that follow a sweet, salty, spicy, and greasy feast. Novels where the burden to be borne emerges only after the reading is finished. That is the kind of fiction I wanted to write. Bearing this weight, however, is not akin to remaining in a soiled tub. Such an act is sublime. Thus, it is heroic, irrespective of how it may look. In my fiction, I wished for characters to suddenly find themselves entangled, despairing, defeated, or burdened, unwittingly and without any intent to endure such weight. Much like realizing that the river one has just crossed was tainted with pig's blood only after looking down at one's legs, stained crimson up to the knees. However, none of my works have successfully executed this task. Often, the narrative causality was loose, or the story lost its direction before achieving sufficient density. While this was partly due to technical immaturity, it was also linked to an exclusionary force that I become conscious of when reading or writing fiction. Ethical characters who empathize with or care for the Other. Through such figures, I could certainly feel a resonance. However, at the same time, I could also perceive a force that renders the surrounding characters as something wrong or deficient. Regardless of intent, this force appeared to displace certain individuals. To offer a rough definition of those excluded in this manner, they are beings who cannot be articulated through normative language. They, too, must be dissatisfied with reality. How, then, would they express this discontent? My gaze kept shifting towards them. At this point, the assertion that no one should be excluded sounds indistinguishable from the admission that not a single person is properly included. Such a failure to genuinely include anyone amounts to cowardice, incompetence, and inaction. To declare that I will exclude no one is irresponsible and hypocritical. My writing has not been an exercise in exclusion or inclusion. Rather, it has been a process of leaving characters entangled within events. I hoped that the characters in my stories would not be understood or explained through seamless language, nor fully settled within normative language. I hoped that their silence and inability to speak would be felt beyond the novel as an urge to speak, a compulsion to speak. There are works of fiction that accomplish this task, and I, too, am in pursuit of the meaning of such writing. This collection features three short stories: Tell Me, Zizi and Mimi, and When We Get Off the Train. I intend to examine these works through the respective keywords of ‘that which comes to be spoken’, ‘that which cannot be spoken’, and ‘that which remains unspoken’.

목차 (Table of Contents)

• Ⅰ. 나의 소설론 1
• 1. 머리말 1
• 2. 말하게 되는 것 3
• 3. 말할 수 없는 것 6
• 4. 말해지지 않는 것 9
• 5. 맺음말 12
• 참고문헌 14
• Ⅱ. 수록작품 15
• 내게 말해 15
• 지지와 미미 26
• 우리가 열차에서 내리면 37