The Red Flash: North Korean scientists discover a thing in Antarctica

 "The Red Flash" (붉은 섬광) is a science fiction story by Ri Kŭm Chŏl that appeared in Chosŏn Munhak in September 2002.

I was originally drawn to this story after skimming over it quickly and catching phrases like "Antarctica," "Graham Land Research Station," "unexplained phenomenon," "Ph.D. in molecular chemistry," plus a lot of talk about penguins and molecules. Having just recently rewatched John Carpenter's The Thing, I briefly fantasized about discovering a North Korean rendition of the cult classic, which sent me down a spiral of hopeful speculation. What sort of unique test would North Koreans come up with for detecting who is the Thing? How would the Thing manage to infiltrate a group of North Koreans, who are famously always practicing mutual surveillance? How might the Thing be transformed for the better after absorbing Juche thought from their brains?

But sadly, it was not to be. In fact the bulk of the story takes place not in Antarctica but in a South Pacific port and aboard a docked cruise ship. It is less sci-fi horror and more procedural detective story with sci-fi elements. 

The two main characters are a pair of investigators named Helen and Jasmine who are clearly romantically entangled, which got me excited again for a few paragraphs as I wondered if I had stumbled upon the first openly lesbian protagonists in North Korean fiction – until I realized that, against all odds, the character named Jasmine [쟈스민] is an extremely heteronormative man. More on their relationship in the notes below. But first:

The Plot

Late one night on the small South Pacific island nation of Asir, a sudden explosion rips through the commercial port, setting off a fire that spreads rapidly. As the flames approach a huge stockpile of fuel oil barrels with “USA” stenciled on their sides, witnesses observe a US military helicopter appear to drop several black spherical objects. But rather than being extinguished, the flames burn even higher. Just as the fire is about to hit the fuel barrels, a strange reddish light flashes in the sky over the dock. Then, mysteriously, the raging inferno dies down to nothing in seconds.

The next morning, two investigators are on the scene: "Female Prosecutor Helen" of the Asir Prosecutor's Office and "Inspector Jasmine" from the Metropolitan Police Department. 

Their attention quickly turns to the Penguin, a fancy passenger cruise ship docked in the port on its return from an Antarctic excursion. They already have one clue – the quick-acting port authorities have dragged the port area and recovered a metal tube from the seabed near the Penguin [they did this overnight, I guess?]. They speculate that it may be the remnant of a projectile weapon. 

A cruise ship in Antarctica
(src: AdventureSmith Explorations) 

Checking the Penguin's manifest, the investigators become suspicious of three passengers the ship picked up in Antarctica. These are no bourgeois luxury cruise patrons, but North Korean scientists catching a ride home after a stint at Graham Land Research Base in Antarctica. They are all experts in molecular chemistry, and their research involves finding ways to repair the hole in the ozone layer. 

Reviewing surveillance camera footage of the panicked passengers milling on the deck during the incident, they spot one of the North Koreans acting suspiciously calm as he speaks into a mobile phone just moments before the red flash.  Helen goes aboard and meets with the captain, who produces the man, Dr. Kim Hak Sŏng, for her to interview.

Dr. Kim is an extremely handsome 30-something man with Ph.D. in molecular chemical engineering who readily answers Helen's questions. He suggests to her that those black spheres from the US military helicopter, which everyone else thinks helped to extinguish the fire, were actually intended to push it toward the oil barrels. 

This actually puts even more suspicion on him, because the science-loving Helen knows that "if the fire was guided, it would mean Substance M was present to increase oxygen molecules in the air," and his team's research project is known to involve "Substance M." But, Dr. Kim points out, "Substance M is also produced at US research bases."  He also points out that the US military helicopter could not have arrived on-scene so quickly if it had not somehow anticipated the fire.

He urges her to think carefully before jumping to conclusions, and cryptically claims that the US military stands most to gain from the port fire, even though its own oil barrels were endangered. His reasoning:  "Because the US military placed its strategic materials in a civilian port, if they were to explode, your authorities would be held responsible. Then, not only would you have to pay enormous damage compensation, but you would no longer be able to make such strong demands for the US forces to withdraw... So, the US military will continue to sit on this island of Asir like it owns the place, while receiving full payment for value of the exploded fuel."

From the Penguin's captain, Helen learns that somebody had reported "thieves breaking into the luggage hold" during the conflagration. She gathers all the passengers who have large trunks in the hold, weighs each trunk, and compares the results against the weights recorded at boarding. She finds only one disparity - the North Koreans'  trunk is 4.8 kg lighter than when it came aboard at Graham Land.

Graham Land Research Station, Antarctica
Src: istockphoto

Meanwhile, Jasmine has processed the video footage of Dr. Kim's phone call using a lip-reading algorithm and managed to isolate a few phrases: "… Port fire... oil container explosion... using the research product… flames…" All the other detectives think this is pretty incriminating, but Helen points out that he could also be saying, "extinguish the flames by using the research product." The other investigators laughingly suggest that this "young female prosecutor" must have fallen in love with the Korean scientist, who they have all noticed is extremely handsome.

They obtain a few more clues from the surveillance video: Just after the red flash, they can hear a brief sputtering from the ship's engine (which had been hastily started in an attempt to back away from the flames); and at the same time, some of the passengers standing on the deck appear to briefly gasp for breath. Meanwhile, Jasmine has confirmed that the black spheres from the helicopter did in fact contain Substance M.

It's enough to raise suspicions, but for proof they will need access to the US military port. Here Jasmine heroically steps up, calling in a favor from a US military counterintelligence officer with a gambling addiction who owes him $8,000 - the exact price of a base entry pass. This substantially raises his profile in Helen's eyes.

Just as the Penguin is readying to depart, Helen meets Dr. Kim on deck and informs him that they've solved the case. To his surprise, she shows him her classified report. They have found irrefutable proof that the US military was responsible for the port fire: "In the wake of growing anti-American sentiment on a global scale and increasingly calls for American troops to withdraw from Asir, the US military carried out a planned conspiracy. ... The plot was to rationalize the US military's presence in Asir by bringing oil containers into Asir port and exploding them, passing the blame to the local authorities."

Further, her clever sleuthing has concluded that the red flash was caused by the North Koreans deploying their research product to extinguish the fire. Their research involved developing a projectile-delivered flash that [several paragraphs of molecular chemistry talk here] essentially reshapes the oxygen molecules so that they are less flammable. The crucial clues were the 4.8 kg missing from their trunk (the weight of the device), as well as the ship's engine sputtering and the people on deck briefly gasping for air, which are side effects of the phenomenon.

She only has one question: why did they try to hide their altruistic deed, which saved untold lives? Dr. Kim answers humbly: “I did not want to make the research public. You see, it hasn't been shown in my home country yet. However, after getting my emergency report about the fire in Asir Port, our country unhesitatingly instructed us to deploy it. Their concern was for the lives and property of Asir’s people.”

Helen is awed by his patriotism and sense of mission. Before his eyes, she sets fire to her notebook, destroying the record of her findings. “Please forgive me," she says. "When your research product is reproduced and released to the world, I will write this report again. Until then, know that the Asir people will never forget your benevolence.”

Asir

The main port of Fiji in the South Pacific

The fictional setting of Asir [아씨르] is described as a small island nation in the South Pacific on which the US military maintains an unwelcome presence. This could be intended as a stand-in for one of several real-life US security dependencies such as Palau, the Marshall Islands, the FSM, etc. It is not, however, an incorporated US territory like Guam or American Samoa.

This makes for some confusion about  Helen's and Jasmine's identities and loyalties. As civilian port officials seemingly independent of (and at odds with) the US military, they are presumably locals. And yet their names, and Helen's long blonde hair, do not fit with any Pacific islanders I know of. Jasmine used to be a man's name in France, so I guess it's possible they are French descendants somewhere in French Polynesia; but then I don't see how the US military could have a port there.

Helen and Jasmine

Helen's femininity is firmly established early and reemphasized often. She is referred to throughout as "처녀", which can mean either "virgin" or "young, unmarried woman" (as in most East Asian languages, these two things are linguistically indistinguishable in Korean). When her job title is mentioned, she is always "young woman prosecutor" (처녀검사) and never just "prosecutor." She is beautiful and passionate, but strives to maintain appropriate professional distance around both male colleagues and male suspects, however handsome they may be.

Jasmine, on the other hand, is identified as an "inspector" [경부] with the Asir Metropolitan Police. Since Korean pronouns are not necessarily gendered, I held on for some time to the hope that Jasmine might be female, even after he was described several times as "manly" [사나이다운], but eventually I accepted that he must be a man. He flagrantly flirts with Helen, despite her pleas to keep things professional. Her rebukes just make him all the more determined to "shake this beauty's heart with his wisdom and ability as a police officer, as well as his manly temperament and perseverance" [사나이다운 기질과 인내력]. He sees the port fire investigation as his chance to impress her.

When Jasmine suggests that they work together on the investigation, Helen readily agrees but says that they should split up to approach the case from different angles: "When it comes to hunting wild animals, it’s more effective to stab them in two places at once rather than twice in the same place.” She also cites "Eastern scripture" [동방의 성구] which teaches that one must “Look at the beginning and the end at the same time."

Jasmine seizes upon this opportunity for some cringeworthy dialogue: 

   “Helen, if our two lines of investigation intersect at one point, do you suppose that intersection will become our romance (love)?” [그것이 우리들의 로맨스 (사랑) 로 되지 않을가요?]
   “Please don’t look at me that way, it isn't proper.” 

   A coy smile twitched across Jasmine’s lips.
   “I have a feeling that intersection point will be the intersection of our two fates, which have run parallel until now. How about it?"
   "Well. Will our investigations intersect? But I also look forward to that.” 

   In an instant, Jasmine's broad, flat face brightened like a floodlight.

After he heroically steps in to help solve the case at significant financial cost to himself, Helen "looked at Jasmine with fresh eyes" and seems more amenable to his romantic hopes, although we do not see this come to fruition. The story closes with Jasmine comforting a misty-eyed Helen on the dock, after she has finished waving farewell to handsome Dr. Kim as he and his ship recede into the horizon. It's clear who she would rather be with, if she had her 'druthers.

Shipping Delays

Our heroes are under tremendous pressure to solve the case quickly; in particular, they are told they must not detain the Penguin past its scheduled 2pm departure.

The reason is financial; the longer they detain the ship, the more expenses will be incurred by shipping delays  - expenses that must be borne by the port of Asir. Capitalism is indeed a ruthless taskmaster.

For a vacation cruise ship returning from an unpopulated continent, the Penguin carries a surprising amount of time-sensitive commercial cargo and high-pressure corporate shark types. As Helen is interviewing the captain on the deck, several passengers come up and remind the captain how much money a delay would cost them. One says he has a contract with something called "Voltaire" [maybe a magazine?] to do an interview about Antarctic tourism, and asks if the captain will take responsibility [i.e., compensate him] if the contract gets cancelled. Another says, “My shareholders [주권들] are racing against time. We can’t delay here.” The captain gloomily turns to Helen: “You see, miss, to me, time is money. We will lose $800,000 every day our return is delayed.”

These appeals are, of course, intended to illustrate the heartlessness of global capitalism in the face of human tragedy. Standing up to this pressure, Helen asks the captain to consider the cost in lives and property lost in the fire. Even though she is a non-Korean, Helen here takes on the voice of the righteous socialist warrior that is normally exclusive to North Korean characters.

Tech Overkill

The author takes advantage of the story's "sci-fi" categorization to insert some needlessly high-tech gadgetry. Although nothing in the essential plot requires it to be set very far into the future, it seems that it must be so, because the detectives use some tools that make no sense otherwise. 

Remember tricorders?

For instance, Jasmine brings up the port fire surveillance video on a "small portable computer" [자그마한 휴대용콤퓨터], which at the time of publication in 2002 would have seemed quite futuristic. When Helen weighs the luggage in the hold, she does so using a "portable mass sensor" [휴대용질량측정기] which she simply places on top of each trunk. If I recall my high school physics correctly, the difference between mass and weight only becomes relevant as distance from the planet's center varies – and since the luggage is at sea level the entire time, it is unclear why she would need to measure the trunks' mass and not just weigh them on a plain old scale. If such a gadget were readily available, it would save time, I guess.

Bonus Link

Congratulations on reaching the bottom of this post. Since I lured you in by false pretenses (like the American jackal that I am), please enjoy this clip from a classic cinematic masterpiece as compensation:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebMgBIy6mTo

Kulture Korner: Origins of "OK"

 (This post is dedicated to my dad, who will insist until his deathbed that the phrase OK originated with Martin Van Buren's "Old Kinderhook" campaign)

It's not always just hydroelectric dams and missile launches on the pages of North Korea's premier monthly literary journal. They also have a long tradition of printing short "world culture" and "world literature" corners. I came across this one in the January 2000 edition of Chosŏn Munhak:

The text explains that the popular phrase "OK" first originated with a US postal worker named Obed Korey who, when charged with validating large stacks of mail, took to scribbling his initials "OK" on each piece. It was then adopted by the US telegraph bureau as a shorthand for verifying all telegrams, and the usage expanded from there.

I'm guessing on the spelling of the name, because I could find absolutely nothing online verifying this story. It could be that they just made it up, though if so I'm not sure why they would settle on this story, which does not go out of its way to bash the US or otherwise support their ideology. (Readers,  if you can find any other reference to this story, please hmu on Twitter).

Chosŏn Munhak gets a pass on this one, though, because even out here in the information-rich free world there are a bunch of nincompoops with mistaken ideas about the origins of the term.

The best rundown of all the alternate theories, along with the correct history, can be found at the Economist (alternate here). Hint: It didn't start with Martin Van Buren's campaign slogan. It's much, much stupider than that.

Why is this interesting? Well, it suggests that the phrase OK is so ubiquitous that even North Koreans were apparently well familiar with it in 2000 and at least mildly interested in its origins.

Using the magic of Quanteda, I found just ten instances of "OK" in my entire database of novels and short stories. From what I can tell, the phrase occurs exclusively in 1) speech by Americans (or slavishly pro-American South Korean characters) or 2) thoughts/descriptions associated with Americans. Below are a couple of examples:

"Road Guide" [길안내자], a short story about pro-North smugglers in southern Korea in the late 1940s, by author Pak Sŏng Jin, published in the Sept 2016 issue of Choson Munhak:

 "The villagers had heard a rumor that a US military training ground was to be built on their land, but when they asked about it they were beaten like beans on a threshing floor by the thuggish 'Northwest Youth League' gang... When [an 18-year-old local woman] went to an American officer to protest, the guy looked at her with a lustful spark in his pale eyes and said, “Okay, sweetheart!" [오케이, 색시!]

The Cuckoo Never Sleeps, a historical novel set in newly democratic South Korea in the early 1990s, by author Hyŏn Myŏng Su, published in 2016:

"Long ago, Cho Dae-pung had learned through painful experience that he needed the support of the United States to hold power in this country. Even if he lacked all political experience and had no popularity with the people, as long as he had the United States in his corner everything was okay [만사는 오케이였다]."  [context: Cho is a fictional former KCIA director turned conservative National Assembly member] 

Kwangmyongsong-30: North Koreans Fight Americans in Outer Space

"The Signal that Flew from Kwangmyongsong-30" (《광명성-30》호에서 날아온 전파) is a science fiction story by Shin Sŭng Gu (신승구) that appeared in Chosŏn Munhak in August 2016.

I stumbled across this story as I was searching for references to radiation [방사능,방사선,방사성] in North Korean literature for a forthcoming paper; more on that soon maybe.

This story has everything you typically ask for in a space drama: explosions, flying debris, solar flares, high-stakes meticulous telemetry calculations, a race against the clock, unscrupulous asteroid miners, dizzying space walks, an improbably young and beautiful astrophysicist, a brilliant mission control team scrambling ad-hoc solutions to life-or-death problems... and, of course, antimatter.

But I get ahead of myself. First, let us examine:

The Plot

Satellite Research Institute Director Jang Hyŏk is busily managing the final stages of his institute's biggest project to date - a massive solar array in outer Earth orbit that will collect energy from the sun's rays and beam it back to the surface via laser. This achievement is made possible by the satellite Kwangmyŏngsŏng-30, the culmination of decades of satellites launched by the North Korean space program.

They switch on the big screen, where an astronaut is floating in space, putting the final touches on the array. It’s Director Jang Hyŏk’s son, Yŏng Jun, freshly graduated from Astrophysics University and up on his first space mission.

As his son floats dizzyingly above the earth, he reports on the final repairs, and the two speculate that the enemy will "go apoplectic" [까무라치고말것입니다] when they hear of the array's completion tomorrow. Grinning, they terminate the connection.

Director JH is counting on Yŏng Jun for more than just the space array; he hopes his unmarried son will soon find a nice young daughter-in-law to come live with them [JH's anticipation of this is full-on creepy].

Just as he is thinking these thoughts, a gorgeous vision of womanhood enters his office. She seems familiar, and he immediately guesses she must be a reporter, or perhaps an actress; she shakes her head.

“I’ve come for a job.”

“A job? This is a space satellite research center.”

“I’m aware.”

“That is, one must have manly qualities to work here. Bold, gutsy…”

“That’s why I’ve come.”

She dug into her bag and presented her assignment papers; his eyes widened. “Graduated with top marks from the doctoral program of Astrophysics University? That’s fantastic, for one so young!”

After she leaves, an unnamed senior technician [기사장] speaks up: He was Comrade Ran Hee's graduate advisor, and knew her to be a passionate researcher, always in the library. Twice she’d won gold medals in international exibitions. JH sees how her expertise could complement their work; but still he worries that this "delicate greenhouse flower of a girl" [온실의 꽃과 같이 연약한 처녀] may not be tough enough for this stressful job. 

Director JH continues coordinating power grid issues late into the night. Just after 4 am, they receive a disturbing report from their space observation lab: A chunk of unknown material has flown off Asteroid 233, a 500-m diameter object between Mars and Jupiter. Measuring 50 m diameter, the chunk appears to be headed for Earth. 

North Korean satellite launch control 
center (Src: BBC)

JH is initially unconcerned; at that size it should burn up in the atmosphere – unless it is made up of solid nickel or iron, but those are rare. But the spacelab manager is suspicious; the trajectory is odd, as if the asteroid was aimed straight at their solar array. JH bangs away at his computer a bit and brings up the space view on the big screen. There: that bright red speck is the chunk from Asteroid 233. 

The sub-asteroid is unmistakably headed straight at Kwangmyongsong-30. Spacelab Manager recalls that yesterday’s imagery from the high-powered telescope on the space station had shown what looked like an explosion on A233, where the enemy had planted its flag. Our people on the space station had inquired and been told that they were extracting minerals. Now it seems likely that they had blown off a chunk to fire at Kwangmyongsong-30.

"What sneaky bastards. To calculate precisely all the variables – the asteroid’s position, the earth’s revolution and rotation, the speed of the projectile – they must have used a supercomputer [고성능초대형콤퓨터] to aim so precisely at Kwangmyongsong-30 and get the timing just right. If we do nothing, in hours it will blast our solar power station to smithereens."

Spacelab Manager spots another cause for concern; if it is composed of nickel and doesn’t burn up in the atmosphere, the asteroid is on course to strike North Korean territory. The estimated impact would be apocalyptic for the country. “The bastards are trying to kill two birds with one stone [일거량득],” Director JH observes.

Spacelab Manager suddenly brightens, remembering that they positioned defensive attack rockets around the array for just such a scenario. But JH says no; even if they blow it up, the fragments will continue on the same path. Even a small fragment could shatter the array they’ve worked so hard to build.

“But sir, what about Comrade Yŏng Jun?” Spacelab Manager seems about to cry.

People gather around, filled with determination to save the director’s son; but Jang stubbornly ignores their suggestions. Via satellite link, Yong Jun too rejects the team's offers to send a shuttle  [우주왕복선] to save him: “Thanks for your concern. But my fate lies with Kwangmyongsong-30. Do not fear.” 

Some time later, the unnamed tech who was Ran Hee's graduate advisor shows up, looking sweaty and out of breath. JH scolds him for being truant in their darkest hour, but Unnamed Tech just grins and says he was finishing up a project at the university with Ran Hee. He says they've found a way to save Comrade YJ and the space station.

At an emergency strategy meeting, they announce their audacious plan to "turn this asteroid into a tool to strike back against the enemy.”

Ran Hee elaborates: “I propose we use solar sails [태양돛] to change the meteorite’s path and avoid a collision. [...] A solar sail is a thin, filmy sail about 50 m wide and 0.075 mm thick; it can guide an object in the desired direction by using the power of sunlight. If such a sail could be attached to the asteroid, we could then use the angle of the sail to change its path.”

Src: nasa.gov

The room erupts in animated chatter; Unnamed Tech raps for attention. “It’s a simple problem. The force from sunlight is subtle, but in the weightlessness of space there is no resistance. The sail could move as fast as 200 km/s, and so catch up with this asteroid that is doing about 30 km/s.”

JH looks at the pair wonderingly. Is this what they’d been up to at the university this morning? Have they already built some sort of sail assembly? Suddenly he remembers where he’s seen her before: she was his son’s teammate at the international inventor’s competition, where they won gold! The photo is in his album at home. And his son had spoken fondly of "a doctoral student at the university." Could they be more than just colleagues?

   The First Team Leader spoke up: “Researcher Ran Hee’s idea is a good one. But… how do we get the sail to the asteroid’s position? Solid rockets [고체로케트] won’t work…”

   “That’s why we’re going to use the antimatter thruster [반물질추진기],” Ran Hee quietly replied. 

   The room erupted in agitated murmuring; as rocket scientists, they all knew that antimatter reacted violently when put in contact with regular matter, producing energy 1000 times greater than nuclear fusion. But where to find it? It existed when the universe was formed 13.7 billion years ago, but now there was no trace of it anywhere. 

The antimatter canister
from Angels & Demons

   You could hear a pindrop, as everyone hung on her next words: "That's right. The vehicle to transport the solar sail should be an antimatter craft, not a solid fuel rocket. It is a known fact that antimatter forms in clouds during thunderstorms. The problem is that the substance disappears almost immediately. But working with Comrade Yong Jun, I’ve developed a device to recover that antimatter. In fact, we have built an antimatter powered craft. I will fly this craft into space.”

   More disbelieving murmurs. “That delicate girl, flying up into space?” “But there are no female astronauts…” “But you’re supposed to have three months’ training before you can go up.”

    Jang Hyok’s voice cut through the noise. “No way. Absolutely not!”

   “Why – because I’m a woman? But if this is going to work, I have to be at Yong Jun’s side.”

   “Why is that?”

Unable to answer, she blushes and looks down. Coming to her rescue, Unnamed Tech explains that YJ and RH have always worked best together; "like a pair of meshed gears... they need to engage together to work." Reluctantly, Director JH approves the plan.

At sunrise, the antimatter craft launches with RH aboard. Moving at tremendous speed, it breaches the atmosphere in the blink of an eye and then begins a complicated rotation maneuver meant to unfurl the sail. Watching from mission control, JH tenses, knowing that solar sail deployment requires a meticulous calculation of the subtle correlation between the sail area and the vehicle’s rotational speed. 

After several rotations, it becomes clear that the sail is not unfurling properly. RH struggles at the controls, growing more frantic. Then a masculine voice cuts through her panic: “Ran Hee, listen to me. You have to adjust your rotation period to 3 seconds. Remember that this sail has a much larger area!” It's YJ, transmitting from Kwangmyongsong-30.

 

Everyone holds their breath. 3 seconds is a terribly fast rotation speed; can this mere slip of a girl withstand the centrifugal forces?

She does. The ship spins like a top, the sail unfurls magnificently, and she shoots off toward K30. There, YJ comes aboard and joins her at the controls, and they take off again, headed straight for the sub-asteroid. Closer and closer it comes, but they don't slow down. Finally, at the last possible moment, the craft executes a neat 180 degree turn and bites into the asteroid’s rear.

Clad in spacesuits, YJ and RH step out onto the asteroid. Despite the ferocious speed at which the rock is traveling, they can stand on it without any difficulty, because there is no atmosphere in the vacuum of space. 

Now they just need to install the solar sail. But instead, the pair seem preoccupied with setting up some instruments on the rocky surface. What the hell are they playing around with? 

   Jang Hyŏk screamed in frustration. “Get that sail set up. The asteroid’s nearing the power station.” 

   “Shouldn’t we check its composition though?”

   What? Check the asteroid's composition? When we're almost out of time... looking for evidence of the enemy’s scheme... The balls on these kids! [아, 얼마나 담이 큰 젊은이들인가?]

  Soon after, Yong Jun stood up. “This asteroid is a chunk of iron and nickel broken off from A233. It appears that the enemy laid explosive charges to blast it off. They wanted to obliterate Kwangmyongsong-30 and our space power station. And then, our country…”

   Jang Hyok shook with fury. “You old cowards, are you scared of our strong socialist nation? Surely not.”

   On the wall, the clock ticked mercilessly on toward disaster. Only 5 minutes from impact! And still the seconds ticked by. Finally the pair stood up from their labor.

   “Now to adjust the sail’s angle. What should it be?”

   “Do you have to ask? You know what our people want.”

   “Understood. We’ll send this rock back to A233, to crush it into oblivion. How’s that?”

   Jang Hyok and the technician shouted in unison. “That’s it! Even against this enemy who blocks us at every move, we’ve got to be smart about how we settle the score. Got it?”

   “Roger that!”

With the angle set, YJ and RH return to their ship and head back to K30. The asteroid slowly turns, narrowly avoiding hitting the solar panel, and heads back toward A233. In short order, that hive of enemy scheming will be shattered.

Soon after, YJ and RH come on the speaker together to report that the space power station is now fully operational. Their signal comes from Kwangmyongsong-30! 

Ah, how many trials and sacrifices led to this moment? How hard was the road? Hello world, can you hear it? The glorious shout of the victors who stand at the very pinnacle as a scientific and technological great power [과학기술강국]!

JH gives the triumphant order to switch on the power station. Instantly, the giant power transmission towers buzz and the grid comes alive, sending power out to every corner of the country.

Cosmos

There's a fair amount of geeky space science in this story; Neil DeGrasse Tyson groupies should take note.  Kwangmyongsong-30's mission is described in detail:

30% of solar energy gets blocked by the atmosphere and clouds, never reaching the earth’s surface… That is the advantage of going to space. Now many countries are trying to develop space power stations, but none has achieved the transmission system [송전체계] our country has. The transmission system that we developed is not a microwave-converted electromagnetic wave, but a laser light transmission cable [레이자빛수송관], and there is no need for noisy construction on the ground for a reception site.

In this way, the story deftly takes the country's expensive Kwangmyongsong missile program and makes it seem as if at some point in the future this will lead to a bottomless source of renewable energy that will benefit the whole country. The orbiting solar power plant described in the story resembles one that China has recently announced plans to build.

The story also alludes to North Korean astronauts working alongside non-Koreans at a "Space Station" [우주정류소] housing the high-powered telescope [대형우주망원경] that initially detects the explosion on A233; it is unclear if this is referring to the International Space Station or some fictional future endeavor.

 

Elsewhere, the topic of solar flares and radiation comes up:

Setting up a huge solar array in space was tremendously difficult. The greatest danger was the flares; these had become highly active recently on the solar surface, and they caused unpredictable magnetic phenomena. No matter how well protected, the astronauts were always absorbing radiation. Still, someone had to go; but who to send? After much deliberation, [Director Jang Hyuk] decided to send his own son, who had just graduated from Astrophysics University. 

Later, when First Team Leader discovers that the asteroid is on course to hit North Korea, he explains the  magnitude of the threat by using a classic astronomy geek reference:

“Consider past history. In the early 20th century an asteroid 50 m in diameter struck in an eastern European forest. The fires and windstorms from the impact destroyed hundreds of sq km of forest, and all plant and animal life within 60 km was wiped out. The strong blast from impact was felt 700 km away, and airwaves were even detected by atmospheric pressure gauges thousands of km away in England. The smoke and fumes flew high in the sky, spreading dust pollution across all of Europe making the sky dark as night. The impact force from that 50 m object was equivalent to 10 megatons of TNT [뜨로찔].”

Despite the reference to "Eastern Europe," this passage is clearly referring to the Tunguska event which struck central Siberia in 1908. 

The science behind asteroid composition, solar sails, and antimatter is all described with a level of detail that could have been lifted from Scientific American or Cosmos. The gravity issues of landing and standing on a 50m asteroid are glossed over, but I prefer to think of that as an homage to the tradition of 20th century space operas. If this author is not a Trekkie, I'll eat my hat.

In Space, Everyone Is Equal

Most of the time, reading North Korean fictional depictions of technological advances can be pretty sad, especially the CNC stuff. It's clear that those stories come from the fantasies of people who are accustomed to struggling with ancient Soviet hand-me-down tech and pirated software patches that never work as they should. Everything is a little too shiny and perfect.

But here, the narrative has moved so far into the future that it has escaped the stratosphere of prosaic technological expectations. Let's face it, most space sci-fi doesn't stand up under any real scientific scrutiny. We're always thinking That would never work as planned and That would've definitely broken down by now and Gravity doesn't work that way. Most of us learn to turn off our brains so we can enjoy the story. 

On balance, this story does a pretty good job of working within the realm of the scientifically plausible. Obviously the antimatter part is pretty pseudoscience-y; but if we're going to bust them for that, we'd have to throw out half of Star Trek. The descriptions of the solar power station and the physics of unfurling the solar sail struck me as fairly believable and cleverly woven into the story.

The political rhetoric is subtle, almost invisible. The idea of the sun's power coming to their aid would definitely appeal to the lyrical sensibilities of well-read North Koreans, tying into the imagery of Kim Il Sung as "the eternal Sun" watching over his people from the cosmos. The author seems to hint at this at one point but never quite comes out and says it directly. I blinked for a moment when I read that the astronauts needed to "check the asteroid's composition" [성분을 확인해보아야 할] since "songbun checks" are so often encountered in a very different context in research about North Korea.

"The Enemy"

The title of this post implies that America is the bad guy in this story. But reading back over it, I belatedly realized that the author has done something very clever - not once does he actually mention America by name. The characters only refer to "the enemies" [적들] or "the bastards" [놈들]. The context [and the entire history of NK literature] leads the reader to assume that this refers to America, but the author has taken pains not to say so explicitly. And the ending, with the astronauts striking back at the asteroid mining operation on A233 rather than an Earthbound location, seems designed to leave "the enemy"'s homeland ambiguous. 

My reaction when I realized this

We can only speculate on why this might be. Other NK fiction has certainly never shied away from naming America as the enemy, and in the context of space conflict as we currently imagine it, who else could it be? 

But this story takes place in the fairly distant future; considering that it took NK about 20 years to get to Kwangmyongsong-4, we can project that  Kwangmyongsong-30 might roll onto the launchpad sometime around 2150. At that point, if we stretch our imaginations enough, "the enemy" could be almost anyone - China, Russia, Japan, South Korea, Botswana... even aliens! I've decided it's almost definitely aliens.

I truly enjoyed reading this story. I even slow-clapped when the antimatter thing came up. And when I realized that they were going to get control of the asteroid, I was on the edge of my seat waiting to see where they would send it. Four stars.

How to become a writer in North Korea

Reading so many works of North Korean literature, one gets curious about the origin stories of these writers. Here is what I have been able to find out:

Literary Correspondents

An important feature of North Korea's state literary production system is the role of 문학통신원, or "literary correspondents." These are part-time writers working in various industries while producing stories, essays, or poems that depict their working life. Indeed, most of the biggest names in North Korean literature have histories of working in more humble industries like mining, farming, and manufacturing, and their stories reflect their backgrounds. Paek Nam Nyong (Friend, Field Train, Revival) was an accomplished lathe operator. Paek Bo Hŭm (“Green Land,” Eternal Life, Age of Prosperity) was some kind of botanist. Poet Kim Man Yŏng was a Chollima Steel Factory laborer. 

Winners of the 2014 "Our Schoolroom" Literary Prize

Registered literary correspondents get copies of the KWU literary circulars by subscription, and they attend annual training sessions where they get instruction on how to write ideologically "correct" and inspiring narratives. South Korean Professor Oh Tae-ho, in his 2019 essay "북한에도 작가가 존재한다," describes literary correspondents as entry-level writers who are scattered throughout the North Korean workforce to write stories about their industries. "Laborers, farmers, office workers, soldiers, students – anyone who shows aptitude for writing can become a literary correspondent. Because they produce stories while working directly in their industries, they play an important role in popularizing literature for the masses." 

Kim Ju-song was one such literary correspondent, and he describes the system in detail in his memoir [151-2]:

In North Korea, there are several stages that one must clear in order to become a writer. The first of these is becoming a “literary correspondent of the masses.” Any North Korean citizen, male or female, young or old, can do this. One simply visits the regional KWU office and registers with the officer in charge. After that, you work on writing stories and attend yearly “literary correspondent seminars.” 

These seminars usually last about one month, during which writers work on stories while staying at a designated inn near the regional KWU office. Finished stories are then reviewed by judges [審議員] in the masses’ production division [群衆創作課]; if they pass review, they may be published in a party literary journal. 

That journal is Chongnyon Munhak, one of the KWU’s central monthly circulars. If a LC gets three short stories and two essays published, he or she becomes certified as a “working writer” [現職作家] (the requirements are different for poets).

Working writers do their writing “part-time" while working at their respective jobs. In NK they are also known as "third-class writers.” To become "active duty" writers they must then publish a certain number of stories and essays in the central circular Choson Munhak. It takes great perseverence to get that far, and many fall just short of the goal.

Kim goes on to describe some of the perks that motivated him to become a KWU writer.  Even as a "working writer," one gets the much sought-after "business travel pass" [出張証明書] (granting permission to travel freely within the country for research), three months' paid vacation per year, and an invitation to participate in the annual KWU writers' seminar [全国作家講習] in the capital.

This article has some more good information about literary correspondent system. It says the KWU claims there are presently 1000+ LCs, most in their 20s-40s, working in Pyongyang and various regional factories, offices and collective farms. LCs are organized into literary units (문학 소조) at each workplace, tasked with writing stories based on things they witness and experience. 

Chongnyon Munhak and Part-Time Writers

Unlike Chosŏn Munhak ["Korean Literature"], which only publishes works by full KWU members,  Chongnyon Munhak ("Youth Literature") publishes a mix of full-time and part-time writers, as well as national fiction prizewinners who may be employed at various industries. Thus it is a better venue to find stories by younger, less established writers who likely aspire to achieve full-time status through their craft.

 Some Chongnyon Munhak stories will include short biographical details of the writers in their bylines, particularly if they are national prizewinners. Some authors of short stories published 2010-2012: 

• Kim Hye Sŭng / Farm worker, Hwapyong Cooperative Farm, Wiwon County, Chagang 
• Kim Myŏng Ho / Faculty member, Chŏngp’yŏng Agricultural College
• Yim Jŏng Song / Laborer, Shinuiju Synthetic Fiber Factory, North Pyongan
• Kim Myŏng Ch’ŏn / Laborer, Pyongyang Electronic Medical Devices Factory
• Cho Hyang Mi / Student, Writers’ Development Program, Kim Hyong Jik University of Education

This last is the very program that author and defector Kim Ju-song tried so hard for so many years to enter, as described previously on this blog.

Literary Prizes

Another way for LCs to win recognition and advancement to full writer status is by winning one of the handful of annual literary awards that the KWU gives out. Winners get their stories published and may also earn educational scholarships or more permanent status within the KWU hierarchy. There are four main literary awards: The June 4th Prize [6월4일문학상], The 'Our Schoolroom' Prize [우리교실 문학상], the April 15th Mangyongdae Prize [4.15만경대창작상], and the Educational Thesis Prize [교육테제상].

Of these, the most prestigious is the June 4th Prize, named after the date that Kim Il Sung's guerrilla unit attacked the Japanese army outpost at Pochonbo; this prize is available only to KWU-registered literary correspondents. The "Our Schoolroom" Prize, named after a famous poem that Kim Jong Il allegedly wrote in gradeschool, is awarded to elementary and middle school students. The April 15th Mangyongdae Prizes are for youths who have completed middle school, and the Educational Thesis Prize is for teachers. Prizewinners are selected by the Amateurs Guidance Department [신인지도부] of the KWU.  

Serial prize-winner Ri So Yŏn

North Korea takes great pride in its system for fostering writing talent among "ordinary people," and newspapers frequently print articles about prizewinners highlighting their ordinariness. This 2016 article introduces one Ri So Yŏn, a student at the Namsan School in Pyongyang who at an astoundingly young age has already won the Our Schoolroom Prize and the April 15 Mangyongdae Prize. The article describes Ri as being "born to an ordinary family" [평범한 가정], but Namsan is known as the ultra-elite school where many scions of high-level officials are educated.

Last year the North Korean newsmagazine Tongil Shibo ran a feature story about one literary correspondent, Kim Hye Gyŏng, a factory control operator [조종공] whose poem won first prize at the National Masses' Literature Prize Contest [전국군중문학작품현상모집]. Kim is described as "an ordinary 20-something laborer" who "loved to read books from an early age" and "writes poetry in rare scraps of spare time after work, even when commuting, late at night, or early morning." The article notes, "Every time she writes a new poem, Foreman Kim Chang-il and the other factory employees are delighted as if it were their own, becoming her first readers and informally 'evaluating' the works," and concludes "What would have happened if this ordinary working youth [평범한 근로청년] was born in a society like south Korea, where money governs everything? Perhaps they may hold onto a dream of writing poetry, but they can't even think of letting their literary talents blossom fully."

"An Ordinary Day": Unfrozen Caveman Economist Tours Future Pyongyang

"An Ordinary Day" (평범한 날에) is a science fiction short story (과학환상소설) by Ŏm Ho Sam that was published in Chosŏn Munhak in Oct 2009.

"Commissions for Utopia," North Korean
architectural drawings displayed at the Venice
Architecture Biennale in 2014 (Src: Wired)

OMG you guys, this story... If you've ever seen the movie Idiocracy, it's like that, except that instead of an average guy unfrozen in the distant future to find himself the smartest person in a land of idiots, it's the story of a genius economist unfrozen in the not-so-distant future to find himself the dumbest person in a land of geniuses.

The story says a lot about North Koreans' ideal conception of technological society and the author's own understanding of technological innovations, whether they be common (e-mail, password security), cutting-edge (stem cell medicine, quantum computing, smartcars, robotics, dietary optimization), or theoretical (cryogenics). 

The Plot

Renowned North Korean economist Dr. Nam Man Woo is attending an economics conference in Switzerland when he suffers a near-fatal accident in the Swiss Alps. He is flown back to Pyongyang on life support and saved by North Korea's finest doctors, but his liver was destroyed, so they decide to cryogenically freeze* him until they can regrow it [*Note: the text uses the term "동면시키다", most literal translation is "put into hybernation" but perhaps this is a N Korean euphemism for a medically-induced coma].

Six years later, his liver has been regrown using stem cells [만능세포기술], and his other injuries are all healed. The only problem is, he will awaken to a dramatically changed world - ironically the result of an economic structure that he himself theorized about. In the past six years, North Korea has implemented the Koryo System, in which currency is abolished and instead super-computers regulate the distribution of all goods and services according to "how much each individual's intelligence contributes to society" (화페가 아니라 매 인간의 지능이 사회에 기여하는 정도). This incentive structure motivates citizens to maximize both the social contribution of their labor, and their own intelligence level. All citizens attend biannual intensive education sessions to keep up with the constant technological innovations, so anyone who missed six years would be hopelessly far behind.

His recovery is overseen by Director Moon Sŭng Joo, the head of the International Center for Life Preservation, and Dr. Moon Jŏng Soon, an engineer/historian who is also Director Moon's daughter. They decide that the best treatment plan to minimize the psychological stress of his re-adjustment will be to give him an automated tour of the new improved Pyongyang, the instant he wakes up, without any explanation.

So when Nam wakes up in a hospital bed, his sole companion is a robot who helps him get up and dress. Although the robot speaks Korean, Nam assumes he's still in Switzerland, until he steps out on the balcony and recognizes the green flowering hills of Moranbong Park. A driverless car shows up and whisks him off down a ramp and into the city. The car cruises past various futuristic Pyongyang sights before dropping him off at the "Four Seasons Restaurant."

He immediately turns to leave, thinking he has no money to pay for a meal; but then a receptionist-robot stops him, saying “Dr. Nam, please proceed down the corridor to your left. Your physician, Director Moon Sŭng Joo, has ordered a special service for you.” He proceeds down the hall, eager to meet this Director Moon, but the private dining room is empty. 

A screen on the table lights up, showing a menu and inviting him to order whatever he wants. But as soon as he makes his selection, the menu disappears and a recommended diet advisory appears: “Based on your health condition, we recommend you try the pine nut porridge and carp stew.” In fact, a health sensor (신체검사기) had scanned his physical condition in the hallway; but Nam, not knowing this, assumes that such instructions were passed on by his physician. 

He hopes someone will show up soon so he can express his gratitude; but instead of human servers, an automated cart wheels itself in and begins placing dishes on the table. Geez, it’s hard to find a human being around here, he thinks.

After his meal, the Moons finally show up and introduce themselves, explaining to Nam about his coma and everything that has happened in the past six years. He feels awed and ashamed of his sudden intellectual deficit, but they vow together to catch him up in record time using sleep hypnosis therapy. The story concludes with Nam reuniting with his wife and setting off on a superconductor bullet train [초전도자기부상식렬차] for an all-expenses-paid vacation at Majŏn Beach.

Src: "North Korea using robots to teach children
English and 'enhance intelligence'," Sky News,
3 Nov 2021

Future Shock

Ŏm's utopian vision of the future is a world in which human interaction is minimal. All services are provided by robots; specifically, 1950s robots with lots of lights flashing meaninglessly on their consoles and hidden probes that scan you without your knowledge or consent. Nam is driven from the hospital to the restaurant, greeted, seated, and served without ever encountering a human being. He is confused and hurt by this, thinking people must be avoiding him, but eventually it is explained that "In the new intelligence era, humans only contribute mental labor, and all secondary services are done by robots."

In this future, North Korean engineers have developed a kind of super-advanced "light-based quantum computer" (빛량자콤퓨터), and these are used for all manner of tasks, from scanning a coma patient's dreams (not cool!) to sending e-mails (adorably rendered in North Korean as 전자우편). These computers are protected by DNA-coded security software which apparently can detect gender but not a lot else, as hinted by the following excerpt, in which Director Moon walks in on his daughter using his office computer:

  “Hmm, doesn’t look like the sort of thing historians usually look at. Impressive that you cracked the password."

  Pleased by this uncommon praise from her father, Jŏng-soon quickly corrected his misapprehension. “There’s nothing impressive about it. The security program’s genetic scan [유전자조사] recognized that my gender was different, so it didn’t let me access any data. But then I told it I was your daughter, and it kindly gave me a password.”

  Director Moon chuckled. “'The ax you trust stabs you in the foot' (믿는 도끼에 발등을 찍힌다), indeed. I'm getting forgetful, so I arranged a backup where the computer can give me a new password, and it ends up letting you in? This is a serious problem.”

   “You’re the serious problem, Dad. Living in this age of information sharing, and you still use antiquated things like password management programs.”

   “I’m older than you, that’s true; but there are certain materials and personal data that should not be shared. For instance, I know of a certain special relationship between you and a certain Kim Ho Yŏng of the Department of Education faculty, though I haven’t let on.”

In my institution, we have to take an online seminar on the do's and don'ts of cyber-security every year, and this exchange reminded me of one of the "don't" videos. 

Perhaps most intriguing is the daughter's accusation that her father is behind-the-times for continuing to use something as "antiquated" as password protection in the "age of information sharing" [정보공유의 시대에 살면서도 아직도 구태의연하게 암호관리프로그람을 사용하고]. Bear in mind that this conversation is taking place at the nation's premier biological research center, concerning a computer that apparently contains not only groundbreaking cryogenic research but also the director's complete genome. Yet the interaction is entirely light-hearted, like a scene out of Father Knows Best, and there are no real consequences or follow-ups.

A Real Cashless Society

The underlying premise behind Pyongyang's rapid technological leap is that North Korea has successfully implemented the “Koryo System,” a new economic model originally theorized by Dr. Nam, in which money is abolished and goods and services are dispensed according to each individual’s “intellectual contribution to society.” This system is explained in the story by way of Dr. Nam’s coma dreams, which Dr. Moon eavesdrops on via her father’s quantum computer (for the purpose of, er, research):

   Exiting the conference hall, Nam was pelted with questions from reporters: “Is it really possible to establish a new concept of currency and a new global economic structure?” “You predicted a new intelligent society, but can you give more concrete details?”

   Nam Man-woo smiled as he sat down to take questions in the briefing hall.

   “Asking for your forbearance, I will briefly explain. 

   “First, let me tell you my views on currency and the establishment of a new global economic system. As you all know, the man-made currency system in use today has caused the fate of humans to be controlled by extreme individualists. However, in the information era, procurement, research, production, and sales are realized through the Internet, accelerating the establishment of a new global economic system.

   “Finally, I will talk about the representation of an intelligent society. In the information age, the share of intelligent labor is increasing. But on the other hand, excessive information has led to a problem of unnecessary research and production. The intelligent society of the future will be one in which a highly refined and planned society overcomes these challenges, a society in which - as I just explained - material rewards and production are carried out according to the degree of contribution of each human being to society. Thank you, that is all.”

   (Loud applause from the reporters.)

This Koryo system seems to be a proprietary invention of this particular author; he refers to it in at least one other story, as the means by which future North Korea finally conquers the wicked forces of global capitalism and re-emerges atop a money-free new world order. As dream-Nam explains, the expansion of the “internet” has in theory enabled the global economy to be reordered according to individual intellectual contributions – and not only real contributions, but potential future contributions, calculated by super-advanced but apparently incorruptible computers. 

In this system, freed from the need to accumulate monetary savings, people are motivated instead to educate themselves, build their intellects, and maximize their social contribution through inventions and other “intellectual labor.” The result is a hyper-intelligent society with no room for laggards; thus the Drs. Moon spend much of their time worrying about how even a former genius like Dr. Nam can catch up after six years asleep.

You may laugh, but this is virtually identical to an explanation Captain Jean-Luc Picard gives to a 21st century human about the 24th century world economy in the film First Contact. I look forward to the intellectual property rights lawsuit between these two creators who don't believe in monetary compensation for mental labor.

First Contact, Paramount Pictures, 1996 Src: Imgur

In the story, it is vaguely hinted that evil global capitalists engineered Dr. Nam’s “accident” because they felt threatened by his theory. This conflict is never concretely fleshed out or resolved in this story, however. It is more fully explored in another story of Ŏm’s, 존엄, which I hope to post here in the future.

Links: SciFi in North Korea

For a deeper dive into the early days of North Korean science fiction, check out Dafna Zur's article "Let's Go to the Moon: Science Fiction in the North Korean Children's Magazine Adong Munhak, 1956–1965"

For Korean readers, there is a 2018 book by Seo Dong-soo of Sangji University, 북한 과학환상문학과 유토피아 , which analyzes over 100 North Korean works of science fiction published from the 1950s to the present.

North Korean robot soccer exhibit, Oct 2019
src: arirangmeari.com

In searching for images of North Korean robots, I came across this fascinating old RFA article by defector Kim Ju-won about North Korea's big robotics push in the 1980s. According to Kim, in the 1980s North Korea pushed for an expanded robotics program, inspired by East Germany. Jang Song Taek was put in charge, and engineers were promised party membership if they could produce a working robot - but they had to supply all the funding themselves. This culminated in a robotics exhibition with all the major university and industrial engineering programs in Pyongyang in January 1990. Afterward, a special private exhibition was planned for the leaders, and the author was selected to demo his team's robot. To his disappointment, however, the event was cancelled at the last minute out of "safety concerns" - allegedly, Kim Jong Il got cold feet when he realized that "nobody could predict what intelligent robots might suddenly do, so it was too dangerous to have the Great Leader around them." Sounds like somebody watched Robocop one too many times.

The images of futuristic Pyongyang above were taken from a Wired article on a 2014 Italian art exhibition that showcased futuristic designs by a North Korean architect. The entire article is worth a read.

"Emergency Measure": The Scholarly Soldier-Bookworms of the Korean People's Army

"Emergency Measure" (비상작전) is a story by Kim Ryong Yŏn that appeared in Chosŏn Munhak in February 2006 and was reprinted in Chŏngnyŏn Munhak in August 2012. The story chronicles the Leader's generosity in ensuring that his soldiers are well supplied with high-quality reading material, at a time when his advisors are absorbed by the dire external threat of war.

This story gives good insights into the Party's views on literary fiction (both foreign and domestic), the ideal of the literate citizen soldier, and the function of the small libraries (covered in the previous entry) attached to various offices throughout the country. It also glancingly mentions joint military exercises, material shortages and book printing. There is a nice parallel between the US-ROK OPLAN for military readiness and KJI’s own “emergency plan” to send good books to the soldiers.

The Plot

KJI travels to a front-line military outpost with two trusted advisors, a Central Committee member in charge of propaganda named Pak Yŏng Hun and Politburo Deputy Director (총정치국 부국장) Ryu Sŏng Min. They are curious why he has brought them along, but assume that it has something to do with the grave security threat the country is facing.

    It's a time of extraordinary military tension. The US is pulling out all the stops to realize its expanded "Plan 5027-04" for war. It's different from previous plans in adapting new technology and speedier deployment for a quick decisive war. It focuses on capturing Pyongyang. They're redeploying the F-117 stealth fighters from Iraq and moving missile-equipped Aegis destroyers and nuclear-powered aircraft carriers into Korean waters. War is imminent. 

To their surprise, KJI seems more interested in a minor kerfuffle over a book. Pak is confused, so KJI fills him in on the story: 

At the army outpost they are about to visit, a platoon leader named Choi Yu Jin had been fostering an “our outpost-our school” program (우리 초소―우리 학교) with the local middle school. One day when he had taken his platoon to construct a fitness training course at the school, he saw that the literature teacher Kim Suk had a copy of the old Soviet classic Zoya and Shura. A voracious reader, Choi immediately wanted the book so badly that he boldly approached the young female teacher.

   “I’ve heard of this book, but I never actually saw a copy before. I heard that Zoya is a hero like our Cho Ok Hee [a partisan fighter in the Korean War], and Shura of course is a brave soldier who sacrifices for his fatherland… Might I borrow it? Not only for myself, but to share with my soldiers and broaden their horizons.”

Teacher Kim was conflicted, explaining she’d like to help but she was barely able to borrow it from the county library herself; “There’s just this one copy and it’s really old.” But Choi seemed so dejected that she took pity on him and said he could have it if he promised to return it in 3 days.  

Having so promised, Choi took the book home to read; but the next day, it mysteriously disappeared from his desk drawer. He searched everywhere; he couldn’t sleep or eat; the brigade political division got involved; his sterling record was in peril.

Fortunately, the book thief finally came forward. Another platoon commander had filched the book, fully intending to return it, but then misplaced it. He, too, had been searching for days to no avail and felt terrible.

KJI assigns to Pak the "homework" of deciding how best to handle this case.

North Korean-style newspaper display rack (신문걸개)

Arriving at the base, they tour the library. KJI flips through the rack displaying the latest KPA newspaper; he asks which articles the soldiers read, and learns that they most eagerly follow the serialized novels. They recently enjoyed the novel Green Mountains (푸른 산악).

Then KJI quizzes the base librarian on his stock. The librarian looks distraught as he explains that several of the books KJI asks for are missing or not stocked. KJI interrupts, saying he understands the difficulty, and then makes a speech about his father's love of books and their revolutionary value. 

On the ride back to Pyongyang, KJI asks Pak if he’s solved his “homework.” Pak replies, 

“It’s because we didn’t do our job properly that there are so few books. Following you on this trip, my eyes have been opened. We must strive to print more books to send out, especially the novels that the soldiers are so longing for. After all, the officer wouldn’t have caused such a problem if there had been plenty of books in the brigade library to begin with.”

KJI says that this is the correct answer to his “homework.”

Pak remarks that he had expected this trip would be about concocting some “emergency measure” to deal with the current security crisis, not some minor trouble with books. But KJI says producing more books is precisely the “emergency measure” he had in mind. He orders Pak to make up a list of good books and work to print them ASAP. Ryu’s job is to select the best foreign novels, in terms of ideology and artistry (사상예술적으로 우수한 작품), for printing.

Some days later, KJI reviews the plans that Ryu and Pak have drawn up; he concludes that they are far too miserly and lack ambition. "I too value practicality," he says, "But there’s a difference between being practical and penny-pinching." Again, he declares that printing books for the soldiers is just the "emergency plan" they need to combat the enemy's moves.

Working together, they put forth a new plan to print all the books the soldiers want – both domestic and foreign. Pak is astounded when KJI insists on using the best quality vellum paper and binding: “We must spare no expense for our soldiers.” KJI himself selects the cover art for Zoya and Shura, and the new edition swiftly goes to print.

Reviewing the freshly printed editions, KJI takes Pak aside and asks if he can have 3-4 extra copies of each book. Pak and Ryu are puzzled until he explains that the copies are a gift to Choi Yu Jin and Kim Suk; one for each, plus a library copy.

The next day cheers rang through the countryside as books were delivered to various outposts. The joyful shouts rolled over the DMZ, dispersing the clouds of war and drowning out the enemy’s guns. KJI concludes:
“These aren’t just books; they are artillery, and tanks, and planes, and warships. They are the General’s own special warheads that can crush the strongest enemy in a single blow.”

Book Shortages

This story is relatively forthright in exposing the shortages associated with recent economic problems, particularly in publishing materials. In the car with Pak and Ryu, KJI recounts:

    “Once I visited the home of General Staff Chief Choi (Choi Kwang?). His father, a veteran of the anti-Japanese struggle, had just passed away, so I found time to pay my respects… I noticed the bookshelf had been completely cleared out. His youngest son, a political officer deployed at the front, had come a couple days earlier and taken them all, heh heh. Saying his brigade wanted books. After all, since the Arduous March began we haven’t been able to print as many.” 

   He paused, too pained to go on... It was true the Arduous March had caused a shortage in both Korean and foreign novels. Though foreign literature was being translated and published in new collections, the lack of paper made it hard to keep up with the people’s voracious demand. This current trouble reflected the reality that the publishing divisions were far too busy working on new translations to care about reissuing old books like the Soviet classic Zoya and Shura. 

KIS reportedly favored delivering propaganda via
poetry and novels; KJI carried on this work but put
more emphasis on film.

The story also mentions that KIS had always said that novels were far more precious than gold, and KJI was constantly inquiring about library usage at every factory, office and army unit he visited.

When the brigade librarian begins apologizing profusely for not having certain books, KJI interrupts:

   “Comrade, thank you. Don’t worry about the missing books. This is just as I expected. I’m not ignorant of the problems with our book stocks. We want this library to have enough copies to lend any book to any soldier at any time. Both our Korean books and foreign books. 

   There should be many, many books.

   I’ve said it before, revolutionary novels have an extremely valuable effect in forming people’s world view.

   The Great Leader said novels, plays and films play a very important role in revolution, and that the biggest influence in His revolutionary struggle were the novels He read in middle school. The Great Leader told me many times of how He learned of the perils of capitalism, class inequality and other social vices through such books as Gorky’s Mother, Serafimovich’s The Iron Flood, Jiang Gwangci’s On the Amnok River, and Lu Xun’s short stories; those books were what elevated His class consciousness and led Him on the path to revolution. 

   People never forget the characters they meet through revolutionary novels.”

A good read (in Korean) on KIS' abiding interest in libraries: http://hub.zum.com/ohmynews/52910

Zoya and Shura

 Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya
Src: Wikipedia

These historical figures, Zoya in particular, seem to be well-known to older Russians, though my sources were less aware of the novel than the general historical incident.

Apparently Zoya was a young Russian pyromaniac recruited by the Red Army to burn facilities used by the invading Nazis and generally raise hell along their supply lines. She was captured and hanged by the Germans, but not before giving a rousing speech to the onlooking countryfolk and inspiring them to defend the Motherland. Her brother Shura became a soldier and died somewhat later in similarly heroic fashion; then their mother wrote a book about them.

The Korean Workers Party seems to have taken an abiding interest in the novelization of this story; this is not the first time I have seen it referenced favorably in a KWP publication. The official KJI biography "Benevolent Sun of Love" (은혜로운 사랑의 태양) repeats the story that KJI ordered a reprint of the book after noting its absence during a 2005 visit to a certain brigade library, claiming it had been particularly beloved by his father.

Given the KWP's well-documented aversion to most foreign literature, even that of friendly socialist countries, the ostentatious praise for this novel is even more remarkable and suggests that one of the Leaders may indeed have taken a direct role in approving it.

In an interesting coincidence, Shura was the nickname of KJI's younger brother who drowned in front of him at age 4. Both boys were born in Russia and initially given Russian names.


Government Spending 

This story is a good example of a common motif on issues of government spending. The officials are all stingy with funds until KJI gets involved; then they are awed and shamed by his generosity. 

When Pak and Ryu present their initial, overly conservative plan for printing, KJI chides them for being too cautious and calculating in their work (타산을 앞세우며 소극적으로 일하는). Pak responds: 

[Pak] “General! I was just thinking that we shouldn’t overdo it [with books] while people are still struggling just to live. And I thought we should focus on our Korean novels first before foreign ones, so for now – just five –”
[KJI] “We need to get these books out right now. It’s a fact that lately some people have been ignoring foreign things, saying they’re practicing Juche. That’s wrong. Of course, loving our own things is all well and good, but it’s also vital to understand Korea’s place in the wider world (자기것을 귀중히 여기고 사랑하는것은 좋지만 세계속에 조선이
있다는것을 알아야 합니다). Only by knowing the world can we truly take pride in our own things.”
[Pak] “General! You are wise.”

There is no self-awareness in such stories of what would seem obvious to us – that Kim spends money because he can. There is no hint of discomfort or resentment that KJI can afford to be generous, while officials have to be responsible and count every penny. Kim is like the fun grandpa who blows into town twice a year and buys the kids all the candy and junk food they can eat and takes them to the movies, while teasing the parents for being so strict.


Though the officials are reluctant to spend money on books, it’s unclear if this is because they lack funds or are diverting them to less-worthy causes. In this way, an imaginative reader could perhaps interpret the story as much more subversive than it was likely intended.