A few weeks ago, the Wordle word was “manga,” which is a Japanese graphic novel. My wife had never heard of it, but I got it because I’ve several times seen that South Korean dramas (usually referred to as K-dramas) were based on some manga. Carolyn admitted that she would never have gotten that word and would have broken her winning streak. Who says watching hundreds of hours of foreign soap-opera TV doesn’t pay off?
Another benefit of my addiction is I’ve learned a foreign language. After only a thousand hours, I can say “I’m sorry” (mianhae) and can say “thank you” two different ways (gamsahamnida and gomawo). That’s it for actual words so far, but I can also gesture “I like you” (thumb and index finger crossed to form a “V”).
By the way, be careful if a Korean asks you, “Are we dating?” That doesn’t have as casual a meaning as it does in America. It roughly translates as “Are we in a pre-engaged status of commitment and exclusivity that probably will end in marriage?” And if a Korean says, “I like you” that translates as “I’m in love with you but realize it’s a little too soon to tell you that.” A Korean’s “I love you” means “Let’s get married, right now.”
My writing has also benefitted from my K-viewing since I’ve learned a great variety of story plots. For some examples, “My Roommate Is a Gumiho” involves an innocent young woman who falls in love with an immortal 9-tailed fox shape-shifter who nearly always looks like a handsome man; “My Demon” focuses on a young woman who falls in love with a demon who always looks like a handsome man; “Doom at Your Service” relates the story of a young woman falling for Doom itself in the form of a handsome man; “My Man Is Cupid” presents a young woman who falls in love with the good-looking god of love, who appears as a handsome man; and the second season of “Alchemy of Souls” concerns a young woman falling for the most supernaturally powerful man in the world (who also happens to be—mmm—not-bad-looking).
I’ve also picked up a useful writing tip on structuring a sequence of scenes. In K-dramas, almost every scene is set in a restaurant or around a just-above-floor-level dining table at someone’s home. There’s plenty of drama, but it all unfolds while the characters slurp ramen noodles or serve spicy hot soup from a hot pot simmering in the middle of the table. All the writer has to decide is at which meal to set the action and will the meal be in a public eatery or in a home.
Avant-garde Korean dramatists sometimes break this protocol and instead of having the characters deliver dialogue while eating, they have the drama unfold while the characters are drinking. Drinking to the point of getting blotto drunk is a big thing in K-TV. Their drink of choice is soju, a rice wine, and there’s usually ceremony to the drinking. If you respect your drinking buddy, you’ll pour the soju for him into his thimble-sized cup. The cups are so tiny that refills are required about every 5 seconds. But that doesn’t keep anyone from getting drunk. The drunkenness serves the plot by speeding up declarations of like. These scenes almost always end with a man carrying his plastered love interest home on his back. Piggyback riding is a kind of national sport that bonds romantic couples faster than any other activity possibly could. If a man carries a woman on his back and doesn’t get at least an “I like you” out of the deal, the relationship is doomed.
If you’ve wearied of 90-minute, formulaic Hallmark romances that always end so abruptly in a kiss that the credits begin rolling before the lips have touched, you might give 16-episode Korean dramas, available on both Netflix and Amazon Prime, a look.
Gamsahamnida for listening.
(My thanks to Wildacres Retreat, where this essay was written.)
As usual, I learn so much from you, Bill.
Before reading this, I didn’t know that I was proposed to.
Looking back on it now, she did seem impatient too.
Sounds like you were courting trouble.