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Отправлено : Зубастик, 25 Июля 19100 в 08:47:44
Lessons From Another Culture
William Amos
According to eBookNet writing columnist William Amos, writers dedicated to improving their craft can learn a lot from a seemingly unlikely source: Korean soap operas. These engrossing dramas feature well-developed characters, plots with gripping emotional power, a realistic treatment of relationships and sex, and epic scope. "How can I aim for anything less in my own work?" Amos asks.
Night has fallen outside my room at the Holiday Inn in Kent, Ohio. I've spent the last few days at Kent State University attending a terminology management workshop for translators and localization managers. In my absence, I know exactly what my wife, who is Korean, is doing with her spare time: she runs out to the local Korean market, rents a large bag full of video tapes from her native land, and watches them marathon-style. It's got me thinking: What can we enovelists learn from the storytelling of other cultures?
Korean dramatic television is well-produced, well-acted, and engrossing. I've mentioned some of the better serialized works in a previous column: Son and Daughter, Hourglass, Daybreak, Queen, and Kuk Hee. To be sure, a lot of what you see on Korean television is as crappy as what you see in the United States: interminable soap operas, fashion parades disguised as drama, empty-headed star vehicles, and so on. When my wife rents those, I find other things to do. But when the good stuff comes on, you can find me in front of the TV taking notes. Even though my ability to speak and understand Korean has never been very good, I can still follow along, and what I find there is pure gold for my own writing. Here are a few lessons I've learned from Korean television:
Character Development Is Everything
Every character in your story should have a dream, a goal. If he or she doesn't, you will lose your audience. With this essential ingredient, even the most commonplace character will shine. The best Korean dramas have this down pat. Queen is the story of three young women who are office workers in a huge company in Seoul. Nothing special here. But look at their goals and obstacles: One flies small airplanes as a hobby and dreams of becoming an airline pilot; she studies hard and then challenges the airline establishment which doesn't think a woman can cut it. She wins. Another is older and set in her ways, and she dreams of working somewhere where her considerable intellect is challenged and appreciated; through a bittersweet romance, she finds that she loves growing grapes, and when she takes that business over, it thrives. The last woman is pretty and pampered; she dreams of marrying a doctor. She gets her wish: but he's got a social conscience, and his dream is to go on a medical mission to the Third World. Her story is the most satisfying of all, for after many setbacks and second thoughts, she overcomes her fear of the unknown and boldly launches a new life.
None of these three women would stand out in a crowd; the author didn't go out of his way to make them memorable as "types". But as the story unfolded, I cared about each one and allowed myself to be carried straight through to the very end. How can I aim for anything less in my own work?
Pull Out All the Emotional Stops
Generally speaking, literature and drama should be a little more interesting than real life lest it becomes boring. Korean drama is nothing if not an emotional rollercoaster. Just look at their recent history: a major war fifty years ago, tension with the still-dangerous North Korea, the separation of families across the 38th Parallel, political upheavals, economic strife. How can Ozzie and Harriet compete with that?
In a country in transition, it's no surprise that the most fertile source for stories comes from the conflict between youth and age, between tradition and new ways. You also see a lot of separated loved ones, untimely deaths, malevolent enemies, and joyful reunions. The extremes of storytelling may seem outlandish or contrived in America, but in Korea people can relate to them. In fact, there's a Korean word, han, that means a state of overwhelming bitter regret. Every story from that colorful land has a good dose of han in it.
Kissin' is Not Necessarily the Same as Lovin'
Sex is a normal function of life -- but not of Korean television. I don't know whether it's because of censorship or prudishness. (I can tell you, though, that the Koreans I know have a wonderfully earthy sense of humor.) If you're looking for tongue-munching kisses or squirming under the sheets, you'll not find it here. In fact, you'll rarely find even the most chaste peck on the cheek. And to be honest, I don't miss it. Not that I don't enjoy such things in other venues. But when you see it going on all hot and heavy in American television and film, doesn't it seem a little -- well, perfunctory?
Korean drama doesn't rely on hot love scenes to prove the devotion characters have for each other -- a well-played glance or caress can be even more powerful when you're wrapped up in the story. And the story itself makes the sex scenes unnecessary. A couple will in the course of the story experience separations, reunions, setbacks, and every other plot device you can imagine to show that they really belong together, so that in the end, when the pair overcome their obstacles, you just get the feeling that they deserve a little time to themselves. Is that too much to ask?
So your mother was right -- sex and love are two different things. Don't sacrifice the latter for the former.
Paint on a Broad Canvas
My favorite books are ones that span years and involve lots of characters: big things happen, and the situation at the end of the story is vastly different from the way it was in the beginning. Tolstoy's epic War and Peace is the best known example of this: Napoleon's invasion of Russia turns a bunch of effete aristocrats into real people who endure the loss of their old way of life and emerge triumphant. Korea's phenomenally popular serialized drama Hourglass is another good example. Two high school classmates, one rich and one poor, become best friends. As they grow, they take different paths, but their paths cross constantly. After their mandatory military service, one becomes a lawyer and the other a hood for the Korean Mob. They vie for the affection of the same woman. The lawyer fights on the side of the government as a military Reserve officer in the brutally-suppressed Kwangju Uprising; the hood displays considerable heroism for the rebels. Years later, the lawyer prosecutes the hood for a murder and, in the end, the hood is executed.
Through it all, they maintain their respect for each other, and the woman in the middle loves them both. Again, there's nothing special about the characters. But the tapestry into which their lives are woven make them seem larger than life. It also shows how well-formed ordinary characters, mixed into a nearly fantastic series of events, can draw the audience into a relationship with the story. I was heartbroken when it ended.
What cultures do you look to for inspiration? How do the unique storytelling forms of other cultures affect your work? Drop me a line at wpamos@rmci.net and let me know.