Audiobook via the Hoopla app.
NOTE: The following quotes are transcriptions by the author of this blog from the above noted audiobook. Any mistakes [especially in the spellings of Korean names] in transcription are due to the blogger's error.
"At the beginning of 1984 the three of us arrived in Anju [on the West Coast]. I was four years old. My mother's heart sank when she saw the place. The region's main industry is coal mining, and the Chongchon River, which runs through the city's center to the LOC, was black with silk and coal slag. We were informed that it smelled badly in the summer, and was prone to flooding the city in the rainy season. As with other cities in North Korea, much of Anju was rebuilt after the Korean War. All share a similarly drab colorless look. Concrete blocks of flats line the main roads and center. There were a few Soviet-style state buildings, and a public park with the obligatory bronze statue of Kim Il-Sung. Squat tiled-roof houses made up the rest of the city. Hyesan [where they moved from], it has to be said, was not much different, but the mountain backdrop and our colorful family life there made it a magical place to us.
My mother made severe regrets about leaving Hyesan, knowing she would not be able to visit her family easily or often. But at the same time she knew we were leading a privileged life. Most North Korean families never got to go anywhere. They stayed in the same place all their lives, and needed a travel permit even to leave their local county. My father's job gave him access to goods most other people didn't have. We ate meat or fish with most meals. I did not know then that many North Koreans ate fish or meat so seldom that they could often remember the dates on which they did so, usually the birthdays of the Leaders when extra rations are distributed."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"The day we moved in, [the pangjang (?){the head of the neighborhood People's Union}] presented us with the two portraits for our home. These were identical to the portraits in our house in Hyesan, and we'd hung them the wall before we'd even eaten our first meal there. Our entire family life, eating, socializing, and sleeping, took place beneath the portraits. I was growing up under their gaze. Looking after them was the first rule of every family. In fact, they represented a second family, wiser and more benign even than our own parents. They depicted our Great Leader Kim Il-Sung, who founded our country, and his Beloved Son Kim Jung-Il, the Dear Leader who would one day succeed him. Their distant air-brushed faces took pride of place in our home, and in all homes. They hung like icons in every building I ever entered.
From an early age, I helped my mother clean them. We used a special cloth provided by the government, which could not be used to clean anything else. Even as a toddler, I knew that the portraits were not like other household items. Once, when I pointed a finger at them, my mother scolded me loudly, "Never do that." Pointing, I learned, was extremely rude. If we needed to gesture towards them, we did so with the palm of the hand facing upward, with respect. [...] They had to be the highest objects in the room, and perfectly aligned. No other pictures or clutter were permitted on the same wall. Public building and the homes of high-ranking codgers(?) of the Party were obliged to display a third portrait, of Kim Jong-Suk, a hero of the anti-Japanese resistance who died young. She was the first wife of Kim Il-Sung and the sainted mother of Kim Jung-Il. I thought she was very beautiful. This Holy Trinity we called the three Generals of Mount Paektu
About once a month, officials with white gloves wntered every house in the block to inspect at the portraits. If they reported a household failing to clean them -- we once saw them shining a flashlight at an angle to see if there was a single mode of dust on the glass -- the family would be punished. Every time we took them down for cleaning, we handled them with extreme caution, as if they were priceless treasures from Coyer(?) tombs or pieces of enriched uranium. Damage to them due to humidity, which could make spots of mold appear on the paper in the summer, was acceptable. Damage from any other cause could get a home-owner into serious trouble. [...]
This intrusion of the State into our home did not seem oppressive or unnatural to me. It was unthinkable that anyone would complain about the portraits. On the biggest dates in the calendar, the birthdays of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jung-Il, the three of us would line up in front of them and make a solemn bow. That small family ceremony was the only time politics entered our house. When my father came home from work, and the table was laid with rice, soup, kimchi pickles (which we ate with every meal), my mother waited for me to say "Thank you, Respected Father Leader Kim Il-Sung for our food," before we picked up our chopsticks.
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Each year stories of portrait-saving heroics would be featured in the media. My parents would hear a rayjay(?) report commending a grandfather who waded through treacherous flood water holding the portraits above his head. He had saved them, but sacrificed his own life in the attempt. Or see a photograph in the Rodong Sinmun, the "National Daily" [newspaper], of a couple sitting precariously on the tiled roof of their hut after a catastrophic mudslide, clutching the sacred portraits. The newspaper exhorted all citizens to emulate the examples of these real-life heroes."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Serious topics were never discussed. I learned to avoid them in the way children acquire a sense for the dangers of the road. This was for my own protection. But we no different from other families in that respect. Since there was no aspect of life, public or private, that fell outside the authority of the Party, almost every topic of conversation was potentially political, and potentially dangerous. My parents would not risk an incautious remark that might be repeated innocently by me, or misunderstood.
Growing up, I sensed this danger. I knew it was out there. But at the same time it was normal, like air pollution or the potential for fire to burn. I didn't worry about it, and neither did Minow(?) when he came along. We seldom even mentioned the Leaders whose eyes shown upon us from the wall. Saying Kim Il-Sung's name, for example, and forgetting to afix one of his titles -- "Great Leader," "Respected Father Leader," "Comrade," "President," or "Marshall" -- could result in serious punishments if anyone reported the offense."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"I played and quarreled with other children, just like children anywhere else in the world. My parents did the worrying for me. My mother in particular seemed to have a talent for warding off trouble. Part of this came from the self-confidence of being a woman of high songbon. But she also possessed a natural tact in dealing with people, which would save us from disaster several times. She was good at managing the panjang(?), and would go out of her way to befriend her at the weekly block meetings, and give her small gifts. Most of the panjang(?) women we knew were tough, reasonable types my mother could relate to. But she was always careful about what was on view in our house, so as not to draw the State's attention or cause envy. If my mother couldn't solve a problem with reason and good will, she'd try to solve it with money.
The week after we arrived in Anju, she was stopped in a city-center street by five volunteers wearing red arm-bands. These vigilantes would prowl the city looking for violators of North Korea's myriad social laws -- anyone in jeans, men whose hair was a touch too long, women wearing a necklace or foreign perfume, all of which were un-socialist and symbolic of moral degeneracy and capitalist decadence. The volunteers could be aggressive and arrogant in their zeal. Their nastiest trick was to catch people during the morning rush hour who had left home forgetting to wear their pin of the Great Leader's face, a small round badge worn by all adult North Koreans over their hearts. Those caught could find themselves with a delicate problem: No one could they had simply forgotten the Great Leader.
My mother's crime that morning was that he happened to be wearing trousers in public, not a skirt. This was prohibited since the Leadership had decreed that trousers were unbecoming of the Korean women. The volunteers surrounded her and demanded to know why she was wearing them. To avoid a scene, she paid the fine., then slipped them a bribe so that the offense would not be entered into her ID passbook. My mother bribed people confidently. There was nothing unusual in this, as long as you weren't caught. In North Korea, bribery is often the only way of making anything happen, or of circumventing a harsh law, or a piece of non-sense ideology."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Military life, I found, was not so different from civilian life. [...] My father joked that the whole country was a military base."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Like my father, my mother avoided being sociable. She knew how to keep her distance from people. This reserve served her well in a country where the more people you knew, the more likely you were to be criticized or denounced. If I brought a friend home to the house, she would be hospitable rather than welcoming. But this was not really the person she was.
One of the tragedies in North Korea is that everyone wears a mask, which they let slip at their peril. The mask my mother presented to people outside the family was of a hardened, no-nonsense woman of high songbon. In truth, it hid a sense of fun and a deep compassion for others. She would risk everything for those she loved. [...]"
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"My closest friend at this time was my tiny pet dog. It was one of the cute little breeds that people in other countries put frocks on. I wouldn't have been allowed to do that, because putting clothes on dogs was a well-known example of capitalist degeneracy. "The Yankee jackals care more about dogs than people," this is what my teachers in my kindergarten class told me. "They even dress them up in clothes. That's because they are like dogs themselves.""
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"I was six when I entered kindergarten in Anju, and although I was far too young to notice it, this marked a subtle change in my relationship with my parents. In a sense, I no longer belonged to them. I belonged to the State."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
My mother made severe regrets about leaving Hyesan, knowing she would not be able to visit her family easily or often. But at the same time she knew we were leading a privileged life. Most North Korean families never got to go anywhere. They stayed in the same place all their lives, and needed a travel permit even to leave their local county. My father's job gave him access to goods most other people didn't have. We ate meat or fish with most meals. I did not know then that many North Koreans ate fish or meat so seldom that they could often remember the dates on which they did so, usually the birthdays of the Leaders when extra rations are distributed."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"The day we moved in, [the pangjang (?){the head of the neighborhood People's Union}] presented us with the two portraits for our home. These were identical to the portraits in our house in Hyesan, and we'd hung them the wall before we'd even eaten our first meal there. Our entire family life, eating, socializing, and sleeping, took place beneath the portraits. I was growing up under their gaze. Looking after them was the first rule of every family. In fact, they represented a second family, wiser and more benign even than our own parents. They depicted our Great Leader Kim Il-Sung, who founded our country, and his Beloved Son Kim Jung-Il, the Dear Leader who would one day succeed him. Their distant air-brushed faces took pride of place in our home, and in all homes. They hung like icons in every building I ever entered.
From an early age, I helped my mother clean them. We used a special cloth provided by the government, which could not be used to clean anything else. Even as a toddler, I knew that the portraits were not like other household items. Once, when I pointed a finger at them, my mother scolded me loudly, "Never do that." Pointing, I learned, was extremely rude. If we needed to gesture towards them, we did so with the palm of the hand facing upward, with respect. [...] They had to be the highest objects in the room, and perfectly aligned. No other pictures or clutter were permitted on the same wall. Public building and the homes of high-ranking codgers(?) of the Party were obliged to display a third portrait, of Kim Jong-Suk, a hero of the anti-Japanese resistance who died young. She was the first wife of Kim Il-Sung and the sainted mother of Kim Jung-Il. I thought she was very beautiful. This Holy Trinity we called the three Generals of Mount Paektu
About once a month, officials with white gloves wntered every house in the block to inspect at the portraits. If they reported a household failing to clean them -- we once saw them shining a flashlight at an angle to see if there was a single mode of dust on the glass -- the family would be punished. Every time we took them down for cleaning, we handled them with extreme caution, as if they were priceless treasures from Coyer(?) tombs or pieces of enriched uranium. Damage to them due to humidity, which could make spots of mold appear on the paper in the summer, was acceptable. Damage from any other cause could get a home-owner into serious trouble. [...]
This intrusion of the State into our home did not seem oppressive or unnatural to me. It was unthinkable that anyone would complain about the portraits. On the biggest dates in the calendar, the birthdays of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jung-Il, the three of us would line up in front of them and make a solemn bow. That small family ceremony was the only time politics entered our house. When my father came home from work, and the table was laid with rice, soup, kimchi pickles (which we ate with every meal), my mother waited for me to say "Thank you, Respected Father Leader Kim Il-Sung for our food," before we picked up our chopsticks.
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Each year stories of portrait-saving heroics would be featured in the media. My parents would hear a rayjay(?) report commending a grandfather who waded through treacherous flood water holding the portraits above his head. He had saved them, but sacrificed his own life in the attempt. Or see a photograph in the Rodong Sinmun, the "National Daily" [newspaper], of a couple sitting precariously on the tiled roof of their hut after a catastrophic mudslide, clutching the sacred portraits. The newspaper exhorted all citizens to emulate the examples of these real-life heroes."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Serious topics were never discussed. I learned to avoid them in the way children acquire a sense for the dangers of the road. This was for my own protection. But we no different from other families in that respect. Since there was no aspect of life, public or private, that fell outside the authority of the Party, almost every topic of conversation was potentially political, and potentially dangerous. My parents would not risk an incautious remark that might be repeated innocently by me, or misunderstood.
Growing up, I sensed this danger. I knew it was out there. But at the same time it was normal, like air pollution or the potential for fire to burn. I didn't worry about it, and neither did Minow(?) when he came along. We seldom even mentioned the Leaders whose eyes shown upon us from the wall. Saying Kim Il-Sung's name, for example, and forgetting to afix one of his titles -- "Great Leader," "Respected Father Leader," "Comrade," "President," or "Marshall" -- could result in serious punishments if anyone reported the offense."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"I played and quarreled with other children, just like children anywhere else in the world. My parents did the worrying for me. My mother in particular seemed to have a talent for warding off trouble. Part of this came from the self-confidence of being a woman of high songbon. But she also possessed a natural tact in dealing with people, which would save us from disaster several times. She was good at managing the panjang(?), and would go out of her way to befriend her at the weekly block meetings, and give her small gifts. Most of the panjang(?) women we knew were tough, reasonable types my mother could relate to. But she was always careful about what was on view in our house, so as not to draw the State's attention or cause envy. If my mother couldn't solve a problem with reason and good will, she'd try to solve it with money.
The week after we arrived in Anju, she was stopped in a city-center street by five volunteers wearing red arm-bands. These vigilantes would prowl the city looking for violators of North Korea's myriad social laws -- anyone in jeans, men whose hair was a touch too long, women wearing a necklace or foreign perfume, all of which were un-socialist and symbolic of moral degeneracy and capitalist decadence. The volunteers could be aggressive and arrogant in their zeal. Their nastiest trick was to catch people during the morning rush hour who had left home forgetting to wear their pin of the Great Leader's face, a small round badge worn by all adult North Koreans over their hearts. Those caught could find themselves with a delicate problem: No one could they had simply forgotten the Great Leader.
My mother's crime that morning was that he happened to be wearing trousers in public, not a skirt. This was prohibited since the Leadership had decreed that trousers were unbecoming of the Korean women. The volunteers surrounded her and demanded to know why she was wearing them. To avoid a scene, she paid the fine., then slipped them a bribe so that the offense would not be entered into her ID passbook. My mother bribed people confidently. There was nothing unusual in this, as long as you weren't caught. In North Korea, bribery is often the only way of making anything happen, or of circumventing a harsh law, or a piece of non-sense ideology."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Military life, I found, was not so different from civilian life. [...] My father joked that the whole country was a military base."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"Like my father, my mother avoided being sociable. She knew how to keep her distance from people. This reserve served her well in a country where the more people you knew, the more likely you were to be criticized or denounced. If I brought a friend home to the house, she would be hospitable rather than welcoming. But this was not really the person she was.
One of the tragedies in North Korea is that everyone wears a mask, which they let slip at their peril. The mask my mother presented to people outside the family was of a hardened, no-nonsense woman of high songbon. In truth, it hid a sense of fun and a deep compassion for others. She would risk everything for those she loved. [...]"
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"My closest friend at this time was my tiny pet dog. It was one of the cute little breeds that people in other countries put frocks on. I wouldn't have been allowed to do that, because putting clothes on dogs was a well-known example of capitalist degeneracy. "The Yankee jackals care more about dogs than people," this is what my teachers in my kindergarten class told me. "They even dress them up in clothes. That's because they are like dogs themselves.""
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
"I was six when I entered kindergarten in Anju, and although I was far too young to notice it, this marked a subtle change in my relationship with my parents. In a sense, I no longer belonged to them. I belonged to the State."
Hyeon-seo Lee, The Girl With Seven Names, Part 1, Ch.3, 2015
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