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I read First Kyu because it deals with the game of go and the culture around it; I wouldn’t recommend the book to someone who doesn’t share a similar interest. The author makes a point of telling us that he created the English translation himself, but the end result is that the use of language is not very good. I’m sure it captures the author’s intent well enough, but it is not a novel that invites the reader in with beautiful language.
But the translation is only half of the problem. It’s difficult to discern the author’s intent for the story. On the one hand, it seems to be a coming of age novel. The protagonist, Wook, rejects many of his family traditions in order to pursue excellence in the game of go. That’s a good premise; it opens up the possibility for personal growth while he wrestles with whether following his own path is worth it. There are several hints that this kind of struggle might develop… but nothing really comes of it. Instead of self-reflection, Wook is drawn further and further into a life of uncritical hedonism, which, based on the chapter near the opening that gives a glimpse of his present life, is where he ends up.
That’s not the kind of story I generally like to read (I like growth and redemption!), but it could still be a compelling story if the book honestly examined the ramification of those choices. Tragedy can be just as illuminating as comedy. But it doesn’t, really. Instead the book is conflicted. Wook’s final choice is to allow his friend to win a game in his last chance to become a go professional (when he sees his wife praying for him, which seems significant, but there are only scant hints about what this might mean to Wook). This seems like it should be a significant moment, a sign that Wook has chosen friendship or… something… over his single-minded pursuit of excellence in the game, but the book unceremoniously announces that no one who Wook knows ever sees him again. He is unwilling to maintain the commitment to winning, but he is also unable to face his failure. And the opening chapter shows us that the end result isn’t a moment of personal growth, but a final acceptance of the hedonistic path he had been walking.
Perhaps that is the final message of the book: one cannot *almost* pursue an ideal, whether that is excellence at a game or any other path in life. Devotion to an idea demands a cost, and it is best to count the cost before you begin.
Otherwise you risk becoming a shell of a person with nothing to show for it.
But the translation is only half of the problem. It’s difficult to discern the author’s intent for the story. On the one hand, it seems to be a coming of age novel. The protagonist, Wook, rejects many of his family traditions in order to pursue excellence in the game of go. That’s a good premise; it opens up the possibility for personal growth while he wrestles with whether following his own path is worth it. There are several hints that this kind of struggle might develop… but nothing really comes of it. Instead of self-reflection, Wook is drawn further and further into a life of uncritical hedonism, which, based on the chapter near the opening that gives a glimpse of his present life, is where he ends up.
That’s not the kind of story I generally like to read (I like growth and redemption!), but it could still be a compelling story if the book honestly examined the ramification of those choices. Tragedy can be just as illuminating as comedy. But it doesn’t, really. Instead the book is conflicted. Wook’s final choice is to allow his friend to win a game in his last chance to become a go professional (when he sees his wife praying for him, which seems significant, but there are only scant hints about what this might mean to Wook). This seems like it should be a significant moment, a sign that Wook has chosen friendship or… something… over his single-minded pursuit of excellence in the game, but the book unceremoniously announces that no one who Wook knows ever sees him again. He is unwilling to maintain the commitment to winning, but he is also unable to face his failure. And the opening chapter shows us that the end result isn’t a moment of personal growth, but a final acceptance of the hedonistic path he had been walking.
Perhaps that is the final message of the book: one cannot *almost* pursue an ideal, whether that is excellence at a game or any other path in life. Devotion to an idea demands a cost, and it is best to count the cost before you begin.
Otherwise you risk becoming a shell of a person with nothing to show for it.