In a miserable world where anyone who speaks gets sent to prison,
how can people console one another?
Jung Yong-jun’s debut novel Babel opens with an ominous tale of Ira, the land of ice, where all spoken words freeze into everlasting ice crystals. This tale inspires a scientist named Noah to conduct an experiment to crystalize words. His experiment falls through and results in stinky pellets produced by spoken words. Set in a world where people have stopped speaking to avoid the rotting odor, Babel makes us realize the pain of disconnect and the importance of solidarity in a depressing, desperate time.
Delivered in Jung Yong-jun’s elegant prose, the imaginative power of this novel is three-pronged. The subject gives a form to the issue of language and communication in the end time that has remained more or less abstract. The plot confronts earnestly the aporia of decision-making, an inevitable destination of an eschatological narrative. Lastly, the theme manages to land a hopeful form of life rather than opting for the obviously easy route to doomsday cynicism. It’s truly impressive that this literary accomplishment is only the beginning of what Jung Yong-jun has shown us as the new trailblazer of Korean fiction in the years that followed.
Jung’s novels often feature predicaments related to language. Witnessing it is enough for the grim outlook for people who have lost their only desire to speak to invoke fear and revulsion. Quarantined in anguish, we let the fictional battle against the invisible enemy torment and wound us with its weightless attacks.