Me, Then

Mia Kim

Description

Su-young is an illegitimate child in 1960s South Korea. War-torn, unforgiving, and devastatingly poor, the country is nothing like the modern, affluent Korea of today. Su-young is moved from home to home as her mother looks for work. Her birth is a stigma of shame for mother and child. Soon after Su-young finds a seemingly stable home with her aunt she receives heartbreaking news: her mother has fallen for a young American soldier. They marry and head for America, leaving Su-young behind. When her aunt falls deeper and deeper into poverty, the family turns on her with cruelty and humiliations. Su-young spirals down. How will she find the courage and resources to fight for her humanity and survival? Her defiant struggle will hold the reader in suspense until the final page.

Informations

• Publié par: Methuen
• Date de parution: 04 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780413778499
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Me, Then
Mia Kim’s debut novel about a young Korean girl’s struggle to reunite with her mother
Su-young is an illegitimate child in 1960s South Korea. War-torn, unforgiving, and devastatingly poor, the country is nothing like the modern, affluent Korea of today. Su-young is moved from home to home as her mother looks for work. Her birth is a stigma of shame for mother and child.
Soon after Su-young finds a seemingly stable home with her aunt, she receives heartbreaking news: her mother has fallen for a young American soldier. They marry and head for America, leaving Su-young behind. When her aunt falls deeper and deeper into poverty, the family turns on her with cruelty and humiliations. Su-young spirals down.
How will she find the courage and resources to fight for her humanity and survival?
Her defiant struggle will hold the reader in suspense until the final page.
Mia Kim grew up in Seoul, Korea. She has a Masters degree from Eastman School of Music.
As an accomplished artist, Kim has had several sold out exhibitions of her paintings in New York. Me, Then is her début novel. Kim lives in Connecticut, USA.
Praise for ME, THEN by Mia Kim
‘ME, THEN is a gem of a novel. A modest stone, but engagingly faceted, and beautifully set. It does what all great literature hopes to do, and transports the reader to an unfamiliar world, effortlessly enticing them to live in it awhile, to the gentle benefit of their own humanity. Its prose is Hemingway lean, yet carries a McCullers’ charge. It speaks with clarity the words unspoken by its young protagonist, and page by page reveals an aspirant heart and a determined mind that one will never care to forget. It is a divinely empathetic read; a sipping cup of shared experience. I highly recommend it.’
TERRY JOHNSON, Olivier Award winning dramatist
‘ME, THEN is an amazing accomplishment. Although set in Korea in the 1960s, the story is at once universal and timeless. It is like something from Charles Dickens in the best possible sense – an epic chronicle of a child’s suffering and passage through a crazy but thoroughly human mess of a family. My hat is off to Mia Kim for creating a saga that is wholly authentic and real and that conveys emotions and story power with eloquent simplicity. It’s a gift of empathy and courage to anyone who reads it.’
STEVEN PRESSFIELD, New York Times bestselling author of The Legend of Bagger Vance and Gates of Fire
‘As a crime author, normally I would have little interest in a story about a vulnerable, young Korean girl growing up in Seoul. But from the first page of Mia Kim’s ME, THEN I was hooked. This novel evoked all my emotions, a rollercoaster ride only possible when an author brings believability and authenticity to a narrative set in an unfamiliar world. An incredible story that haunts you until its final scene.’
LOWELL CAUFFIEL, New York Times bestselling author of House of Secrets
‘Deftly paced and beautifully written, ME, THEN is an emotionally gripping cultural immersion. Su-Young, the brave and compelling young Korean protagonist, seems reminiscent of characters from Dickens or the Brontës, facing the same relentless childhood adversity: poverty, abandonment, isolation. A captivating story that lingers far beyond the final pages.’
BRUNONIA BARRY, New York Times bestselling author of The Lace Reader
‘Written in powerful, gripping, lyrical prose, ME, THEN is an immersive, heart-wrenching dive into a young girl’s quest for a better life. An utterly unforgettable read, Su-young’s story resonates long after the final page.’
ALYSON NOEL, New York Times bestselling author of The Immortals
Me, Then
Mia Kim
Methuen
ME, THEN First published by Methuen in 2021
1
Methuen Orchard House, Railway Street, Slingsby, York YO62 4AN
Copyright © 2021 by Mia Kim Cover illustration © Private Collection
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (hardback): 978 0 413 77841 3 ISBN (paperback): 978 0 413 77845 1 ISBN (ebook): 978 0 413 77849 9
Methuen & Co. Ltd. Reg. No. 05278590
Typeset by SX Composing DTP, Rayleigh, Essex Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Produced in the UK by ePub KNOWHOW
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.methuen.co.uk
To Robert, my oasis
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Acknowledgements
T hank you, Robert McKee, for walking with me through the world of Su-young.
I am grateful to Peter Tummons, my publisher at Methuen, for his insight and guidance. You have the lightest of touch.
The wise readers of Sherman Library Book Club: Ashleigh Blake, Catherine D’Andrea, Suzanne Ashley, Pat Corrigan, Stephanie Spinner, Corinne Kervokian. Thank you for the early-draft notes.
My appreciation to Dennis Swanson for your generosity and trust; Marcia Friedman for your encouragement and expertise; Elizabeth Indianos for your passion for good stories; Christa Echtle for standing by me; Jorge Fernandez for your good cheer.
My gratitude to Brunonia Barry, Alison Noël, and Susan Orlean for your encouragements.
My heart felt thank you to Joanne Soja, Tom Mani, Doo-san Shim, Mr. and Mrs. Shim, Candace Bowes, David Kurtz, Euan Borland, Paul McKee, Carol Tambor, Steve Gottlieb, Owen Fitzpatrick.
Josie, Andrea and Patrika, my dearest sisters, you are loved.
Your mother is the riverbank of your childhood
— Poet, Kim Hyesoon
Cruelty has a Human Heart And Jealousy a Human Face Terror, the Human Form Divine And Secrecy, the Human Dress
—William Blake
Chapter One
1964. Seoul, Korea
R ed drops plopped on my white shirt, little dots unfolding, expanding like the petals of a late summer’s touch-me-not. I felt the wetness drip from my nose to my lips. A metallic taste. I swiped at it and gasped, less from pain than the shock of seeing blood. I’d never seen my blood before, or any blood. Just then, Mrs. Han swooped down, pulled me up by my hair, and smacked the side of my head. The force threw me against a tree—just my luck to hit the lone tree in the front yard—I bounced off it and fell forward on my face, scraping along the gravel, my chin and palm burned. I started to push myself up, only to stare at Mrs. Han’s feet in front. She grabbed me once more, I crouched against her next blow, but it didn’t come. From out of nowhere, Mom lunged in and blocked her fist, taking the hit herself. Mrs. Han looked stunned, me too. Mom wasn’t to come for another three days. Mrs. Han stammered, blurting out that I was clumsy and fell, all by myself, but before she could say more, Mom put me on her back and ran out of the house.
She fast-stepped through the narrow alleyways, my chin banging against her shoulder like a woodpecker. If I weren’t piggybacked, she would’ve sprinted. The sharp morning sun stung the back of my neck and arms. I covered Mom’s bare arms with my hands, shielding them from the sun. She asked if I could walk; I was getting too heavy and too hot. I shook my head, clinging tighter to her sweat-soaked back. With my head resting on her damp neck, smelling her hair, I’d already forgotten the beating. I was happy on her back, as if I were in her womb again—floating and safe, moving without moving.
The narrow streets on the edge of Seoul were empty except for a scrawny dog that snarled and barked, spit bubbling from his jagged teeth. Dogs were never pets, but ferocious guard dogs or feral strays. Mom marched right past him. I, normally terrified of them, stuck out my tongue, secure on her back.
Mom slowed when we turned onto a wide tree-lined boulevard. The shops were waking up: merchants cranking up their iron-rollup doors, an old man hanging up his wares on the doorframe hooks, a woman splattering her storefront with a bucket of water to settle the dust. People passed us without wasting a smile. Mom stopped in the shadow of a tall tree, catching her breath. I wanted to ask where we were going, why she came three days early, but didn’t. My few clothes were still in the corner of Mrs. Han’s living room; I kept quiet about that too.
Through the gnarled tree branches, Mom gazed up at the sky, her habit whenever she was thinking. I squinted up too. The sun played peekaboo, flickering between the leaves. Mom patted my bottom, rocking me side to side, reassuring me that all was well, but soon, she let out a long sigh and sank down. She sobbed. It frightened me; I’d never seen her cry. I wriggled myself down from her back and toddled around her. I was really sorry I made her sad; I wished she’d spank me if it would make her feel better. All this—her crying, our running sweaty with no place to go—was my fault, all because the night before I’d committed a crime and got caught.
Four days ago, Mom bro