Pachinko

by Min Jin Lee

Hoonie, the eldest and the weakest one, survived. Hoonie was born with a cleft palate and a twisted foot; he was, however, endowed with hefty shoulders, a squat build, and a golden complexion.

Hoonie was not a nimble talker, and some made the mistake of thinking that because he could not speak quickly there was something wrong with his mind, but that was not true.

Hoonie needed to stay home to help his parents. They could not bear to disappoint him; yet they loved him enough not to dote on him. The peasants knew that a spoiled son did more harm to a family than a dead one, and they kept themselves from indulging him too much.

as happens in countries being pillaged by rivals or nature, the weak—the elderly, widows and orphans—were as desperate as ever

Hoonie would have known enough not to want something he could not have—this forbearance was something that any normal peasant would have accepted about his life and what he was allowed to desire.

For a woman, the man you marry will determine the quality of your life completely. A good man is a decent life, and a bad man is a cursed life—but no matter what, always expect suffering, and just keep working hard. No one will take care of a poor woman—just ourselves.”

“People are rotten everywhere you go. They’re no good. You want to see a very bad man? Make an ordinary man successful beyond his imagination. Let’s see how good he is when he can do whatever he wants.”

Her father had taught her not to judge people on such shallow points: What a man wore or owned had nothing to do with his heart and character.

Living every day in the presence of those who refuse to acknowledge your humanity takes great courage.”

he was the clean wrapper for a filthy deed.

“Learn everything. Fill your mind with knowledge—it’s the only kind of power no one can take away from you.” Hansu never told him to study, but rather to learn, and it occurred to Noa that there was a marked difference. Learning was like playing, not labor.

He felt lucky to be at a university and not in most other settings, where the person in charge was always right. Nevertheless, until he really listened to Akiko disagree with the professor, he had not thought for himself fully, and it had never occurred to him to disagree in public.

He loved all the moving pieces of his large, noisy business. His Presbyterian minister father had believed in a divine design, and Mozasu believed that life was like this game where the player could adjust the dials yet also expect the uncertainty of factors he couldn’t control.

Hansu did not believe in nationalism, religion, or even love, but he trusted in education. Above all, he believed that a man must learn constantly.

a man must learn to forgive—to know what is important, that to live without forgiveness was a kind of death with breathing and movement.

She had loved Hansu, and then she had loved Isak. However, what she felt for her boys, Noa and Mozasu, was more than the love she’d felt for the men; this love for her children felt like life and death. After Noa had gone, she felt half-dead. She could not imagine any mother feeling differently.

Etsuko had failed in this important way—she had not taught her children to hope, to believe in the perhaps-absurd possibility that they might win. Pachinko was a foolish game, but life was not.

“But I was born today, and isn’t it funny how no one gets to remember that moment and who was there? It’s all what’s told to you. You’re here now. You are a mother to me.”

They were both ethnically Korean and had grown up outside Korea, but they weren’t the same.

Japan is not fucked because it lost the war or did bad things. Japan is fucked because there is no more war, and in peacetime everyone actually wants to be mediocre and is terrified of being different.

Phoebe loved being with Solomon’s family. It was much smaller than her own, but everyone seemed closer, as if each member were organically attached to one seamless body, whereas her enormous extended family felt like cheerfully mismatched Lego bricks in a large bucket.

“But you didn’t eat any Korean food?” Kyunghee couldn’t comprehend this. “On the weekends we ate it. At a restaurant.” The women understood that the mother was busy and hardworking, but it seemed inconceivable to them that a Korean mother didn’t cook for her family. What would Solomon eat if he married this girl? What would their children eat? “She didn’t have time. That makes sense, but does your mother know how to cook?” Kyunghee asked tentatively. “She never learned. And none of her sisters cook Korean food, either.” Phoebe laughed, because the fact that none of them cooked Korean food was a point of pride. Her mother and her sisters tended to look down at women who cooked a lot and constantly tried to make you eat.

Her older sister used to say that men hated pity; rather, they wanted sympathy and admiration—not an easy combination.

It had been eleven years since he’d died; the pain didn’t go away, but its sharp edge had dulled and softened like sea glass.