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Description
"Grass is a powerful anti-war graphic novel, offering up firsthand the life story of a Korean girl named Okseon Lee who was forced into sexual slavery for the Japanese Imperial Army during the second World War - a disputed chapter in 20th century Asian history. Beginning in Lee's childhood, Grass shows the leadup to World War II from a child's vulnerable perspective, detailing how one person experienced the Japanese occupation and the widespread suffering it entailed for ordinary Korean folk. Keum Suk Gendry-Kim emphasizes Lee's strength in overcoming the many forms of adversity she experienced. Grass is painted in a black ink that flows with lavish details of the beautiful fields and farmland of Korea and uses heavy brushwork on the somber interiors of Lee's memories."--… (more)
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The art is pretty impressive when focused on trees, landscapes, or vague swaths of black
In the second half of the book the author inserts herself more into the story, recounting the production of this book and a half-hearted, floundering visit to some of the sites mentioned by the woman. It seems odd that by the time she nears the end of the book, she hasn't talked to the old woman in years and notes that she happened to catch sight of her on TV shortly before wrapping up. Having been drawn into the story, the ending served to detach me from it as I felt the author was presenting it as less a mission to tell this story and more as another deadline to meet before the next thing in her scheduler. It didn't ruin the book, but it detracted.
Ok-Sun had longed to attend school as a little girl. However, it was a time of hunger, so she was required to stay home and help her mother. But
She did not. Nor did the placement work out, so she changed masters several times, until, at age 15 she was kidnapped by the Japanese army to become a comfort woman (sex worker) for Japanese troops in China. There, along with many other young women, she was starved, brutalized and made to service up to 30-40 soldiers a day.
On liberation, she found that comfort girls were regarded as ruined women and ostracized by Chinese, Koreans and Japanese alike. Due to her treatment, she would never be able to have children.
And yet this is not just a ‘misery memoir’. Ok-Sun made a place for herself in the world, and even with betrayals, made herself a family and became an activist for Japanese reparations – or at least an apology - for the multitudes of girls whose childhoods were stolen.
I think the art is stunning. From a blurb on the back of the book:
“Recurring images of nature, at once delicate and strong, help you to breathe while you choke up from the brutality. Repetition of sky, trees, birds, grass, youth, hunger, old age and friendship …”
While the story is harrowing in itself and the brushed artwork is incredible in selling the pain and desolation. I found the interview style of story telling distracting at times. I think a more cohesive narrative would have taken this one over the top.
Gendry-Kim's artistry is amazing. Using just one color, she conveys emotion,
Gendry-Kim includes herself interviewing Lee and researching from 2015-17--and allows her own character to question so much of what she is doing. Should she interview and publish and thus spread another's story? Will she bring back horrible memories that Lee may never want to relive? Seeing Lee on TV, speaking for herself, releases her from her worries.
There are a couple of notable weaknesses with this effort, however. The title, and the metaphor of "Grass" is jammed into the narrative right at the end and plays absolutely no role in the narrative otherwise. Gendry-Kim's beautiful penwork often emphasizes nature, particularly in the form of landscape and/or plant sketches that form chapter breaks or even act almost as pauses for a reader to catch their breath and reflect on the horror they are witnessing. But the idea of grass surviving the winter and touching us as we walk appears extremely trite and forced. I suspect this is an attempt to try and find some kind of redeeming element to a story that is relentlessly grim. The protagonist, Ok-Sun, claims to have never known a day's happiness in her life, and her continual abandonment and abuse is unsparingly portrayed. Even a reunion with her family doesn't offer much in the way of redemption. Interestingly, there did seem to be a repeated motif in some of the drawings that I was surprised Gendry-Kim didn't use. Several of the panels at various points show what looks like a weed, maybe a dandelion, peeking up through cracks in a curb, in pavement, getting squashed by a soldier's boot, etc.
But the forced nature of the tittle and what is supposed to be the organizing metaphor is linked with the second problem, which is that Gendry-Kim seems to feel an overwhelming need to inject herself into the story, in a way that contributes little to our understanding. Occasionally reminding us that this is a form of documentary, and that what we are witnessing was shaped by the questions posed by Gendry-Kim to Ok-Sun, and her analysis, is useful. But we don't need to know how sweaty Gendry-Kim got running around to try and get to the airport, or what kind of car she drove to the interview. Editing out most of Gendry-Kim's story would have kept the focus on Ok-Sun who is, frankly, way more interesting than anything that Gendry-Kim demonstrates concerning her own behavior.
That isn't to say that Gendry-Kim couldn't have been an interesting character in this piece. There are some interesting angles here that could have been foregrounded, particularly in terms of generational shifts and continuities: attitudes toward sex-trafficking (or the activism against it where younger people are playing an active role). More interestingly--given an afterword in which Gendry-Kim said she wanted to focus on issues like poverty and exploitation--the overlooked and marginalized that still exist in South Korea despite its economic success, and certainly in the North. But it is a testament to the horror of the story, the strength of the central subject, and Gendry-Kim's narrative and graphic talents, that even the clumsy insertion of herself into the story does not make it any less compelling and effective.
Like
This is not an easy novel to read. Fortunately the narrative is broken up between the present, where the author is interviewing Lee Ok-sun, and her past. I think if it had been written in a chronological fashion, it would have been overwhelmingly dark. At least this way, the reader could escape to the present occasionally. It's a technique that I have often seen in graphic novels such as [Maus] and [15015352::Second Generation].
The artwork alternates between frames with heavy brushstrokes, often nature scenes, and more traditional outlined characters. The soldiers are faceless, because Ok-sun says they were all the same. There is a heft to the book and to the drawings that suit the topic. The only color is on the cover. The author does some interesting things with overlays and fadeouts, but my favorite drawings were those of nature.
Although it was a difficult to read, I found the book compelling and the artwork interesting. I'm glad her books are being translated into English and reaching a wider audience.
An interview in GN form telling the story of her life.
Not graphic
Takes place during the 1930’s