The Ongoing Journey of a Beautiful Mind
Paul Yoon
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Dear Paul, sincere thanks for accepting our invitation on behalf of HocTok. It’s my pleasure. Thank you. Your book Snow Hunters is a fantastic read. It is magical escapism saturated in heavy doses of harsh realities injected with moments of hope and love inspired by your grandfather’s life journey. What range of feelings have you experienced reading the well deserved praise of your work? |
Photo: Peter Yoon |
More than anything, I feel grateful. There are a lot of works of fiction out there, all of them deserving attention. Knowing that readers of all kinds took the time to engage with Snow Hunters, whether that be in a positive light or not, is something I don’t take lightly. It’s a tremendous honor to know your work is being read and considered and discussed, both publicly and privately. This is a great privilege and a gift, and I couldn’t be more grateful and happy about it.
On a personal level, do you consider Snow Hunters as your biggest triumph, so far, in making it possible for your grandfather’s story to receive attention especially as it embodies the stories of so many people who have suffered in the aftermath of war, relocation, reinventing life in new and unknown territories?
“Triumph” is a generous word! It’s rare for me to feel triumphant about anything. It’s as simple as this: I wanted to confront a lot of threads that had been in my mind for a long time, including aspects of my grandfather’s life and the world we are living in now — but more than that too, many other things, big and small. What always seems impossible to me is how do we assemble all these things into one piece of art? Should we? It sounds like a form of madness. But I attempted it, to weave all the threads, as we do for all our books, and I think I managed to achieve it in the best possible way during the years I was writing it.
Do you feel that instinctively or indirectly you have made a statement linked to the ongoing global debate on war refugees? Or do you prefer to stay out of the political aspect of issues and simply deal with stories that bring forth the humanity we all share?
I don’t think fiction makes statements. Or good fiction doesn’t. That’s my personal belief. We present a canvas for someone else to lean into and engage with on their own terms. We give them that power and freedom. So, no, I was certainly not intending or thinking about making a statement in that way. But yes, of course, war refugees, both then and now, were very, very present in my mind while I was writing Snow Hunters. It felt deeply, deeply important to think of the crisis going on now, all over the world. Even as I was embarking on an historical narrative, it felt necessary to build that bridge and be aware, to honor both history and the present together.
If we are not mistaken, you have visited Korea a few times in the ‘80s but your stories in Once the Shore and Snow Hunters, are deeply connected with the country and the people from where your family originates. Is it a natural attraction and your dedication to discover on your own a country for which you’ve mostly heard about in stories and experienced through pictures or is it something else?
I have a strange relationship with Korea, but I think I’m not alone in the strangeness. I feel at once greatly distant and removed from it, but also spiritually bound to it for obvious reasons—family, blood. For some reason, for the last two books, this juxtaposition of the unfamiliar and the familiar was a great source of creativity for me. I’m not really sure why I focused on it. I think the desire for “discovery” is for sure a good way to describe my attempts. Curiosity, too. Maybe on a personal level it was a way to get to know a good portion of my family that I don’t know. I should be clear and say that I never had a great interest in accurately portraying Korea; I never had a desire to feel like I was representing the country in any way. Rather, I was using the landscape and people and the history as a foundation to build something else. What I was building, of course, is a complete mystery to me.
On a personal level, do you consider Snow Hunters as your biggest triumph, so far, in making it possible for your grandfather’s story to receive attention especially as it embodies the stories of so many people who have suffered in the aftermath of war, relocation, reinventing life in new and unknown territories?
“Triumph” is a generous word! It’s rare for me to feel triumphant about anything. It’s as simple as this: I wanted to confront a lot of threads that had been in my mind for a long time, including aspects of my grandfather’s life and the world we are living in now — but more than that too, many other things, big and small. What always seems impossible to me is how do we assemble all these things into one piece of art? Should we? It sounds like a form of madness. But I attempted it, to weave all the threads, as we do for all our books, and I think I managed to achieve it in the best possible way during the years I was writing it.
Do you feel that instinctively or indirectly you have made a statement linked to the ongoing global debate on war refugees? Or do you prefer to stay out of the political aspect of issues and simply deal with stories that bring forth the humanity we all share?
I don’t think fiction makes statements. Or good fiction doesn’t. That’s my personal belief. We present a canvas for someone else to lean into and engage with on their own terms. We give them that power and freedom. So, no, I was certainly not intending or thinking about making a statement in that way. But yes, of course, war refugees, both then and now, were very, very present in my mind while I was writing Snow Hunters. It felt deeply, deeply important to think of the crisis going on now, all over the world. Even as I was embarking on an historical narrative, it felt necessary to build that bridge and be aware, to honor both history and the present together.
If we are not mistaken, you have visited Korea a few times in the ‘80s but your stories in Once the Shore and Snow Hunters, are deeply connected with the country and the people from where your family originates. Is it a natural attraction and your dedication to discover on your own a country for which you’ve mostly heard about in stories and experienced through pictures or is it something else?
I have a strange relationship with Korea, but I think I’m not alone in the strangeness. I feel at once greatly distant and removed from it, but also spiritually bound to it for obvious reasons—family, blood. For some reason, for the last two books, this juxtaposition of the unfamiliar and the familiar was a great source of creativity for me. I’m not really sure why I focused on it. I think the desire for “discovery” is for sure a good way to describe my attempts. Curiosity, too. Maybe on a personal level it was a way to get to know a good portion of my family that I don’t know. I should be clear and say that I never had a great interest in accurately portraying Korea; I never had a desire to feel like I was representing the country in any way. Rather, I was using the landscape and people and the history as a foundation to build something else. What I was building, of course, is a complete mystery to me.
What is the importance of being a writer in a world where wars, violence, as well as economic instability, inequality, and environmental issues, among other things, are impossible to ignore?
I think all kinds of art forms are necessary. All artists are necessary. We present an alternate language and canvas to engage with the world, when other modes of communication feel inadequate.
Do you work based on deadlines or based on what triggers your unavoidable need to write? What is the most effective way enabling your creativity to flourish?
No, I don’t work based on deadlines. I’m horrible about them. I’m also not the kind of writer who writes every day. I go through periods where I don’t write for months, and I am totally fine and happy with that. It doesn’t mean I’m not engaging with a project—it’s just a different kind of engagement, it’s more in my head. I also read a lot when I’m not writing, and that feels necessary. That’s my ongoing education. I want to be wowed by other writers. I want to see what kind of art they’re building and presenting to the world. This excites me the most. I’m a reader, first and foremost. Who knows how many books I have left in me to create. But I will always be a reader.
In addition to writing full time, you have been very active with teaching positions in some very prestigious writing programs across the country. What is the most beautiful experience you’ve enjoyed from this type of work? What do you consider the most valuable advice you want your students to take from your courses?
The beauty lies in the students. They are the future. They are the future in whatever field you work in. So to feel like I might be a part of that, a part of shaping the future of literature, is thrilling. It’s quite mind-blowing, actually. I’m not entirely sure I know what I’m doing, but I can try very hard and help. I want my students to leave their time with me with the notion that writing should be thought less as a career and more of a vocation. I want them to stop thinking about what they should put on their CVs and what degrees they should get and who they should meet and get to know. I want them to write and to read.
Besides writing, teaching, and being busy with speaking engagements, what other activities and projects do you dedicate time to that may or may not affect your main concentration as a full time writer?
I run. It’s my therapy. It’s how I think about a certain scene or a paragraph or sentence I’m stuck on. When I was living in Brooklyn, I ran the piers; now I’m in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and I’ve taken to following the Charles River into Boston and then back. I don’t know what I would do without this. It balances me. It helps me think, as I said. It’s also a great way to get out of my head for a little while and see my environment, and feel like I’m a part of it.
What is the most eye opening experience you have embarked on or that you are looking forward to in the near future? Has any of it pushed you to adopt a specific attitude towards life?
What I said above. Being more physical, being more engaged with the world in that way. The life of the mind is wonderful, it so much my soul and identity, but as I grow older, I am seeking, more and more, to feel a physical connection with the world. So far outdoor activities satisfies this for me. So I’m looking forward to doing more of it—whether that is keeping up with the running or doing other things.
What is the heaviest burden you have to carry as a 30 something year old very successful writer who has the power to express his feelings, channel his imaginative perceptions of the world and doing so in the most eloquent and touching way possible?
You’re very kind, but this isn’t the way I see myself at all. The only burden I feel is to my work and the ongoing struggle to make the best possible art. Everything else feels like a privilege to me. For the most part, I am able do this for a living. What a dream to be able to do this for a living.
If in Manhattan or Brooklyn, you can find Paul Yoon's books in several fine bookstores such as:
McNally Jackson Books
or
greenlightBookstore