Since the new government promised land reform, the have-nots in your father’s village buckled over with joy, while the landed were bewildered
North Korean poetry, slavery and life insurance, and the photography of Japanese incarceration.
Nobody can stop things if they want to go back to their roots.
‘A man kisses a pigeon and another kisses a dog and / both times I look away to gather the spikes of trees into a / dripping faucet.’
The author of How I Became a North Korean speaks about the power of fiction to give clarity to the world.
‘I wanted to be the last of my people, / a girl without mother, father, sister, brother— / a girl belonging to no one, / my only belongings a cormorant skirt / and a cage of tiny birds.’
‘The signs were like a collective raft, keeping them afloat as they waited on responses to their calls of distress.’