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No One Writes Back
Communication—or the lack thereof—is the subject of this sly update of the picaresque novel. No One Writes Back is the story of a young man who leaves home with only his blind dog, an MP3 player, and a book, traveling aimlessly for three years, from motel to motel, meeting people on the road. Rather than learn the names of his fellow travelers—or even invent nicknames for them—he assigns them numbers. There's 239, who once dreamed of being a poet, but who now only reads her poems to a friend in a coma; there's 109, who rides trains endlessly because of a broken heart; and 32, who's already decided to commit suicide. The narrator writes letters to these men and women in the hope that he can console them in their various miseries, as well as keep a record of his own experiences: "A letter is like a journal entry for me, except that it gets sent to other people." No one writes back, of course, but that doesn't mean that there isn't some hope that one of them will, someday...
203 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2009
467 people are currently reading
17.4k people want to read
About the author
Jang Eun-Jin
2books34followersJang Eun-Jin (born 1976) is a female South Korean writer.
Jang attended Cheonam National University in Gwangju from which she graduated with a degree in Geography. She has published four novels and a collection of short stories and has won three literary prizes in total The Chonnam Ilbo New Short Story Award in 2002, the Joongang Ilbo New Writers Contest in 2004, and the 14th annual Munhakdongne Award in 2009.
Jang has had one book translated into English, No One Writes Back (Translated by Jung Yewon), which The Guardian reviewed as, “An extraordinarily rich and moving novel about a young man's journey through South Korea with his dog� Her subject is communication, or its absence, and the book is written as a picaresque. It is the story of a young man, MP3 player and blind dog, and their three-year goal-less journey, and who they meet on that journey. The fellow travelers are anonymous, earning numbers in replacement for names, but the narrator nonetheless writes them letters, in the hope that someday a letter will come back.
Jang attended Cheonam National University in Gwangju from which she graduated with a degree in Geography. She has published four novels and a collection of short stories and has won three literary prizes in total The Chonnam Ilbo New Short Story Award in 2002, the Joongang Ilbo New Writers Contest in 2004, and the 14th annual Munhakdongne Award in 2009.
Jang has had one book translated into English, No One Writes Back (Translated by Jung Yewon), which The Guardian reviewed as, “An extraordinarily rich and moving novel about a young man's journey through South Korea with his dog� Her subject is communication, or its absence, and the book is written as a picaresque. It is the story of a young man, MP3 player and blind dog, and their three-year goal-less journey, and who they meet on that journey. The fellow travelers are anonymous, earning numbers in replacement for names, but the narrator nonetheless writes them letters, in the hope that someday a letter will come back.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,148 reviews
July 13, 2024
�I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo.�
Occasionally you come across a book that makes you want to get it into the hands of everyone you know, like you’ve witnessed a miracle you want to share with the world. No One Writes Back, by South Korean author Jang Eun-Jin and translated by is such a book, one I was given in fact by my wonderful friend after he finished it (read his wonderful review). This is a story where not much occurs on the surface but so much is churning beneath, as it follows a young man and his blind seeing-eye dog who have been traveling from hotel to hotel for 3 years simply meeting people. He hears their stories, assigns them each a number, and writes a letter to one of them every day, but, as you’ve probably guessed, nobody has written back. This deceptively quiet novel explores a vast cosmos of emotions focusing on interpersonal relationships, hope, and the will to live in a story that is so achingly beautiful and heartbreaking it will forever leave it’s mark within you.
�Everyone is alone, but not everyone thinks so.�
I’ve always been fond of drifter stories. A few years ago I drove deliveries and spent my weeks on the road, often in hotels and the loneliness but emotional freedom at the same time expressed by the narrator felt true and fulfilling to me. Like the narrator, I spent that time in love with words and sending my own form of letters out into the world. Except mine were lines of poems written over small paintings I do and left on trees. Like the narrator’s letters, it was an expression of life, a way of reaching out to hopefully help someone but also a personalized “I was here�.
There is a deep longing and unresolved tension blanketing an otherwise picturesque seeming novel, adding a weight that manages to feel both heavy and weightless at once through Jang Eun-Jin’s prose. There is a quiet and calm to reading the book that feels akin to the best parts of and while there are no magic elements the novel feels nonetheless magical. It appears as simple, yet continuously reveals itself with far more depth and complexity than ever imagined. The novel unveils so many life stories, all of which the narrator finds meaningful. Have you ever read a short story collection and long after kept thinking about characters, feeling a vague emotional attachment? This is as if you could write to each of them, all while exploring your own unrelated caverns of trauma trying to make sense out of life. It’s strikingly beautiful and effective.
'Life is bearable when you have someone to write, and someone who writes you back. Even if it's just one person.'
The book slowly pieces itself together, coming into focus in patches as you learn more and more once the narrator is caught in a mutual survival with an intrusive author. She is also travelling, selling her novel on subways and train stations and after exposing him in an elaborate lie, she takes a strange interest in understanding him. Through his confessions we slowly come to understand him, why he is on this journey, and what it means to him.
What is performed so magnificently is the way every time you think you understand why he is on his journey, new information will reshape your entire perspective. She is fantastic at writing engaging and nuanced unexpected shifts or reversals, such as Wajo, a blind seeing-eye dog that is also possibly the best part of the novel. �I’m the guide now, and he’s the blind one,� the narrator writes, and dynamics like this really bring the novel to life. I don’t know if it is apocryphal but is said to have had a note on his writing desk that read “no gimmicks�. Twists can be fun but often land a gimmick, though the final 10 pages of this story completely drops the floor from underneath you that deftly pulls the entire spectrum of emotions through a corkscrew with you and the result is absolutely brilliant. It also reminds the reader that our personalities and choices don’t tend to have a singular impetus, but an amalgamation of our entire lives combusting together. It’s worthy of a standing ovation.
�The discord arises from the fact that we require different amounts of time to accept each other.�
There is so much charm in watching these two characters try and fail and try again to travel together, fascinated and annoyed by one another the entire time. This is a novel where it’s best not to say too much what happens, it is certainly one to just experience on your own. Each element comes together with breathtaking beauty and the novel hums with the limitless possibilities of life. Each person has a story, hopes, regrets, pains and joys, and this book is a gorgeous reminder.
5/5
�It feels as though the beginning and the end are intertwined, thus leading to a never-ending cycle. Surely this will not be the end. Just as it can't be considered the beginning. Just as it can't be determined where the beginning or the end is.�
Also check out Emily's amazing review.
Occasionally you come across a book that makes you want to get it into the hands of everyone you know, like you’ve witnessed a miracle you want to share with the world. No One Writes Back, by South Korean author Jang Eun-Jin and translated by is such a book, one I was given in fact by my wonderful friend after he finished it (read his wonderful review). This is a story where not much occurs on the surface but so much is churning beneath, as it follows a young man and his blind seeing-eye dog who have been traveling from hotel to hotel for 3 years simply meeting people. He hears their stories, assigns them each a number, and writes a letter to one of them every day, but, as you’ve probably guessed, nobody has written back. This deceptively quiet novel explores a vast cosmos of emotions focusing on interpersonal relationships, hope, and the will to live in a story that is so achingly beautiful and heartbreaking it will forever leave it’s mark within you.
�Everyone is alone, but not everyone thinks so.�
I’ve always been fond of drifter stories. A few years ago I drove deliveries and spent my weeks on the road, often in hotels and the loneliness but emotional freedom at the same time expressed by the narrator felt true and fulfilling to me. Like the narrator, I spent that time in love with words and sending my own form of letters out into the world. Except mine were lines of poems written over small paintings I do and left on trees. Like the narrator’s letters, it was an expression of life, a way of reaching out to hopefully help someone but also a personalized “I was here�.
There is a deep longing and unresolved tension blanketing an otherwise picturesque seeming novel, adding a weight that manages to feel both heavy and weightless at once through Jang Eun-Jin’s prose. There is a quiet and calm to reading the book that feels akin to the best parts of and while there are no magic elements the novel feels nonetheless magical. It appears as simple, yet continuously reveals itself with far more depth and complexity than ever imagined. The novel unveils so many life stories, all of which the narrator finds meaningful. Have you ever read a short story collection and long after kept thinking about characters, feeling a vague emotional attachment? This is as if you could write to each of them, all while exploring your own unrelated caverns of trauma trying to make sense out of life. It’s strikingly beautiful and effective.
'Life is bearable when you have someone to write, and someone who writes you back. Even if it's just one person.'
The book slowly pieces itself together, coming into focus in patches as you learn more and more once the narrator is caught in a mutual survival with an intrusive author. She is also travelling, selling her novel on subways and train stations and after exposing him in an elaborate lie, she takes a strange interest in understanding him. Through his confessions we slowly come to understand him, why he is on this journey, and what it means to him.
�So this journey is a means by which I can survive without dying, a measure by which I can grow stronger through words, and an experiment through which I can confront the world.�
What is performed so magnificently is the way every time you think you understand why he is on his journey, new information will reshape your entire perspective. She is fantastic at writing engaging and nuanced unexpected shifts or reversals, such as Wajo, a blind seeing-eye dog that is also possibly the best part of the novel. �I’m the guide now, and he’s the blind one,� the narrator writes, and dynamics like this really bring the novel to life. I don’t know if it is apocryphal but is said to have had a note on his writing desk that read “no gimmicks�. Twists can be fun but often land a gimmick, though the final 10 pages of this story completely drops the floor from underneath you that deftly pulls the entire spectrum of emotions through a corkscrew with you and the result is absolutely brilliant. It also reminds the reader that our personalities and choices don’t tend to have a singular impetus, but an amalgamation of our entire lives combusting together. It’s worthy of a standing ovation.
�The discord arises from the fact that we require different amounts of time to accept each other.�
There is so much charm in watching these two characters try and fail and try again to travel together, fascinated and annoyed by one another the entire time. This is a novel where it’s best not to say too much what happens, it is certainly one to just experience on your own. Each element comes together with breathtaking beauty and the novel hums with the limitless possibilities of life. Each person has a story, hopes, regrets, pains and joys, and this book is a gorgeous reminder.
5/5
�It feels as though the beginning and the end are intertwined, thus leading to a never-ending cycle. Surely this will not be the end. Just as it can't be considered the beginning. Just as it can't be determined where the beginning or the end is.�
Also check out Emily's amazing review.
January 27, 2018
I love this book and will be shouting about it from the rooftops - it's a modernization of the picaresque form, as our lead, number zero, and his dog, travels randomly for three years sending letters to a series of numbers that no one replies to. It's a poignant, funny, weird, thoroughly original read, and it sticks the landing too. I don't want to summarize the plot, because every bit surprised me. This is a novel of rules, and it introduces them, follows them and breaks them in ways that maximize pleasure.
"That's why I, when the day is over, settle down in a motel or an inn and write a letter before I do anything else. Washing up, eating, and resting come later. If I wash up or eat, I feel as though the day's worth of feelings goes down the drain and the esophagus altogether. The drain and the esophagus are places unknown to me. All I know is that they are dark, smelly, black, and long. I don't want to send my travels down to such places.
Letters, however, are all right. At least I know better than anyone the route through which letters travel. Better yet, if the address is correct, the route is neither dark nor smelly. So because I must write a letter as soon as I arrive, the motels or inns where I stay are always places of letters for me. And for me, letters are daily necessities."
"That's why I, when the day is over, settle down in a motel or an inn and write a letter before I do anything else. Washing up, eating, and resting come later. If I wash up or eat, I feel as though the day's worth of feelings goes down the drain and the esophagus altogether. The drain and the esophagus are places unknown to me. All I know is that they are dark, smelly, black, and long. I don't want to send my travels down to such places.
Letters, however, are all right. At least I know better than anyone the route through which letters travel. Better yet, if the address is correct, the route is neither dark nor smelly. So because I must write a letter as soon as I arrive, the motels or inns where I stay are always places of letters for me. And for me, letters are daily necessities."
April 3, 2025
My name would be excluded from the address section in the yearbook, a professor would remember everyone's face except mine, and so on. And the countless mistakes in recordkeeping that often occurred on paper. Whenever such things happened, I would cry out in my mind: Why me? Why do these things keep happening to me? Why me, of all the people in the world? I get left out. My life gets left out. When you're left out over and over again, you come to feel that you're left behind.
~~
Words cannot describe how much I love this book. Rarely have I been so invested while reading a novel. The last 10 ~~ 15 pages took me on an emotional journey I had not expected.
The premise of is a simple one with the narrator explaining to the reader, I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo.
This is the story of a young man who has been traveling aimlessly for the past three years, with only his dog, Wajo, for company. Every day, he leaves the motel he’s slept at, randomly chooses a direction and sees what the day will bring. If it brings a conversation with a stranger ~~ and if the stranger agrees to share their address ~~ then they are added to the traveler’s mental database, each being given a number rather than a name.
However, is not the story of a road trip. It is more of an end of the road story. Our hero, Jihun ~~ or 0 as he is also known ~~ has been on this journey for three years. When we join Jihun on his journey, we are with him for his last few stops of his long trip.
I was surprised that this tale was told mostly as a series of recollections. We learn much more of who Jihun was, rather than who he is and how this journey has shaped him.
Each night, before going to bed, Jihun writes a letter about his day, either to his family or one of his collection of encounters; sadly, every time he calls a friend back home to find out if he’s had any replies, the answer is always the same, ~~ No. Jihun's ritual routine is interrupted one day though when a woman the traveler sees on an underground train decides to follow him ~~ the woman becomes 751; she is also the first person to join him in his travels ~~ whether he likes it or not.
Jihun see himself a nomad and a collector of stories, writing down anecdotes about the people he meets every day, a task which has become an integral part of his journey. Each of the random, fleeting encounters is stored away in his impressive memory, waiting to be recalled when needed.
We slowly learn more about Jihun and his situation. For some unknown reason, he cannot live at home ~~ constant seizures at home forced him to move out and take on an endless trip throughout Jihun is waiting for a sign to end his travels ~~ a letter, a reply to one of the many he has sent during his journey. However, as we have already figured out, no one writes back.
In Jihun's world, numbers are extremely important. He is able to categorize people thanks to his amazing memory, allocating everyone a number and then writing to them when the appropriate time comes. This focus on numbers comes partly from the young man’s mother ~~ a high school math teacher.
Oh so subtly, moves the reader away from the rational, logical world of numbers and into the realm of feelings and words and humanity, and as we are guide here by Jang we begin to a very different side to Jihun ~~ he is no longer an oddball, but is instead a man we begin to feel compassion for.
Ultimately, is defined by the letters Jihun writes. In a digital world, Jihun is a throwback to an early time ~~ preferring to commit his experiences to paper, and using pay phones rather than a cell phone.
Jihun clings to the hope that just one of his letters will garner a reply, and when his hopes are dashed time and time again, I felt just as hurt as Jihun did. There is a far greater significance to the letters then we are initially led to believe. The payoff is huge. I cried when I learned why.
is a wonderful story and expertly developed and paced; Jang slowly provides new information at exactly the right moment throughout this book. Her writing reminds me of Murakami, especially . Jang brilliantly develops the relationship with the woman, 751. Even Wajo, the dog, has his own story ~~ and it is a doozy of a story.
is a magical work which I'm certain will cast it's spell over you. One of Բ’s most amazing skills is to carefully lead you down on road and then pull the world out from your under your feet in one paragraph. If you aren’t moved by the final pages of this novel there's something definitely wrong with you.
Hmmm ... what else? Get your hands on and read it. Now, if you'll pardon me, I need to read the last 10 pages of this fantastic book again.
~~
Words cannot describe how much I love this book. Rarely have I been so invested while reading a novel. The last 10 ~~ 15 pages took me on an emotional journey I had not expected.
The premise of is a simple one with the narrator explaining to the reader, I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo.
This is the story of a young man who has been traveling aimlessly for the past three years, with only his dog, Wajo, for company. Every day, he leaves the motel he’s slept at, randomly chooses a direction and sees what the day will bring. If it brings a conversation with a stranger ~~ and if the stranger agrees to share their address ~~ then they are added to the traveler’s mental database, each being given a number rather than a name.
However, is not the story of a road trip. It is more of an end of the road story. Our hero, Jihun ~~ or 0 as he is also known ~~ has been on this journey for three years. When we join Jihun on his journey, we are with him for his last few stops of his long trip.
I was surprised that this tale was told mostly as a series of recollections. We learn much more of who Jihun was, rather than who he is and how this journey has shaped him.
Each night, before going to bed, Jihun writes a letter about his day, either to his family or one of his collection of encounters; sadly, every time he calls a friend back home to find out if he’s had any replies, the answer is always the same, ~~ No. Jihun's ritual routine is interrupted one day though when a woman the traveler sees on an underground train decides to follow him ~~ the woman becomes 751; she is also the first person to join him in his travels ~~ whether he likes it or not.
Jihun see himself a nomad and a collector of stories, writing down anecdotes about the people he meets every day, a task which has become an integral part of his journey. Each of the random, fleeting encounters is stored away in his impressive memory, waiting to be recalled when needed.
We slowly learn more about Jihun and his situation. For some unknown reason, he cannot live at home ~~ constant seizures at home forced him to move out and take on an endless trip throughout Jihun is waiting for a sign to end his travels ~~ a letter, a reply to one of the many he has sent during his journey. However, as we have already figured out, no one writes back.
In Jihun's world, numbers are extremely important. He is able to categorize people thanks to his amazing memory, allocating everyone a number and then writing to them when the appropriate time comes. This focus on numbers comes partly from the young man’s mother ~~ a high school math teacher.
Oh so subtly, moves the reader away from the rational, logical world of numbers and into the realm of feelings and words and humanity, and as we are guide here by Jang we begin to a very different side to Jihun ~~ he is no longer an oddball, but is instead a man we begin to feel compassion for.
Ultimately, is defined by the letters Jihun writes. In a digital world, Jihun is a throwback to an early time ~~ preferring to commit his experiences to paper, and using pay phones rather than a cell phone.
Jihun clings to the hope that just one of his letters will garner a reply, and when his hopes are dashed time and time again, I felt just as hurt as Jihun did. There is a far greater significance to the letters then we are initially led to believe. The payoff is huge. I cried when I learned why.
is a wonderful story and expertly developed and paced; Jang slowly provides new information at exactly the right moment throughout this book. Her writing reminds me of Murakami, especially . Jang brilliantly develops the relationship with the woman, 751. Even Wajo, the dog, has his own story ~~ and it is a doozy of a story.
is a magical work which I'm certain will cast it's spell over you. One of Բ’s most amazing skills is to carefully lead you down on road and then pull the world out from your under your feet in one paragraph. If you aren’t moved by the final pages of this novel there's something definitely wrong with you.
Hmmm ... what else? Get your hands on and read it. Now, if you'll pardon me, I need to read the last 10 pages of this fantastic book again.
January 27, 2018
Over the years, as I read more and more, I noticed that my emotional connection to the books I read became weaker and weaker. I used to get teary-eyed a lot when I read, but as the years passed something inside me hardened, maybe I built an emotional tolerance for literature, maybe I just became apathetic as a person, maybe I just grew up, or maybe I just read less emotional books. However, these days, I rarely encounter a book I feel emotionally attached to. Last year out of forty books I probably had just one or two books that made me feel something. Not enough to make me cry, but enough to make me know I care.
This was different. I wept reading this. To be honest, it made me tear up quite a few times. Writing this, I can still feel a warm sensation in my chest. It's a combination of things really - the simplicity of the writing, the earnestness of the voice, and the emphasis on writing as a coping mechanism to loneliness - all of it spoke to my heart.
Eunjin Jang writes the story of a young man who went on a journey with his blind dog, Wajo, because he felt suffocated living in his own home. Living from motel to motel, he meets different people and writes them letters. All he wants is for one of them, any of them, to write back.
Reading this book offered me one thing I needed - comfort. I didn't cry just because I felt pain, I shed tears because I read words that I felt like I was longing to hear.
"Life is bearable when you have someone to write, and someone who writes you back. Even if it's just one person."
I hope you read this and find comfort in it as well.
This was different. I wept reading this. To be honest, it made me tear up quite a few times. Writing this, I can still feel a warm sensation in my chest. It's a combination of things really - the simplicity of the writing, the earnestness of the voice, and the emphasis on writing as a coping mechanism to loneliness - all of it spoke to my heart.
Eunjin Jang writes the story of a young man who went on a journey with his blind dog, Wajo, because he felt suffocated living in his own home. Living from motel to motel, he meets different people and writes them letters. All he wants is for one of them, any of them, to write back.
Reading this book offered me one thing I needed - comfort. I didn't cry just because I felt pain, I shed tears because I read words that I felt like I was longing to hear.
"Life is bearable when you have someone to write, and someone who writes you back. Even if it's just one person."
I hope you read this and find comfort in it as well.
January 3, 2023
Piękna, melancholijna powieść drogi o mężczyźnie wyruszającym w podróż ze swoim niewidomym psem-przewodnikiem, w trakcie której pisze listy do napotkanych przez siebie ludzi. Bardzo wartościowa i pięknie napisana, mnóstwo jest tu smutku, ale znajduje się też miejsce na odrobinę ciepła i nadziei. Najmocniejszym punktem były dla mnie historie innych osób, bo w pewnym momencie zacząłem się domyślać, w jakim kierunku zmierza wątek głównego bohatera, ale jako całość czytało się wyśmienicie.
December 14, 2022
Nie spodziewałam się, że wywoła ona we mnie aż tyle emocji, a zakończenie sprawi, że nie będę mogła przestać płakać. To jedna z tych książek, które są piękne w swojej prostocie, a jednocześnie przepełnia je smutek i tęsknota.
August 11, 2014
This stunning novel is my second venture into Dalkey’s Korean Library, following the equally terrific At Least We Can Apologize. An unnamed protagonist travels from motel to motel meeting people and assigning them numbers, writing them letters after their encounters and patiently awaiting at least one response so he can end his travels. En route he meets the authoress of Toothpaste and Soap who is struggling to sell copies of her novel to subway passengers, and the two travel alongside the protagonist’s dog Wajo into the final instalment of his trip, recounting past meetings all the while, and composing letters to his estranged family. This is a perfectly paced and plotted novel with some cunning tricks up its sneaky sleeves—a smoothly translated tale of loneliness, loss, and grief that leaves one champing at the bit for more.
January 14, 2023
Skończyłam i dla mnie masakra. Bardzo, bardzo boomerska, technofobiczna, wychwalająca konkretny tryb życia jako jedyny słuszny i wartościowy, absurdalnie patetyczna. Zauważyłam też kilka głupich błędów logicznych i redakcyjnych typu niewidomy pjesek wpatrujący się w coś przenikliwie albo to, że bohater stwierdza, że jego pisane ołówkiem listy przetrwają wieczność, nie to, co te głupie maile. Dodatkowa gwiazdka za pjeska i piękną relację z nim.
November 13, 2020
'No Man is an Island'
1. The story:
0, a stammering 32 y.o, no longer willing or able to live in the family home, prey to exhausting seizures, undertakes a three-year journey looking for penpals, with his blind dog Wajo. As the story begins, he has just met his 450th acquaintance on the road. He is still waiting for a letter.
Themes developped:
- The unquenchable need for approval,
- unrequited love, rejection, ghosting
- responsibility in interpersonal matters
2. My opinion on the story:
This is definitely a book that takes some time (and patience) before it gains momentum: in the first third or so, the narrator seems to dumb down many stories and observations for the reader, some dialogues feel a bit wooden, perhaps to better convey the feeling of uneasiness creeping in the characters. Still, it felt slightly redundant to me. However, while it is not without flaws, the questions raised by 0 as his journey progresses are more and more significant and the story has a powerful finale to offer :) So much so that it is a 3.5-4/5 for me, as far as numbers mean something when it comes to evaluating contrasted works like this one!
7th buddy read with Tara, 10/11/2020. Thank you again for the new occasion to celebrate our 'penpalship'! Also, I found it was a telling illustration of what ŷ allows us members to share with one another as a community of readers :)
Recommendations:
... is a free indie game about communication and the lack thereof... involving letters. Sounds familiar?
SOUNDTRACK :
1. The story:
0, a stammering 32 y.o, no longer willing or able to live in the family home, prey to exhausting seizures, undertakes a three-year journey looking for penpals, with his blind dog Wajo. As the story begins, he has just met his 450th acquaintance on the road. He is still waiting for a letter.
Themes developped:
- The unquenchable need for approval,
- unrequited love, rejection, ghosting
- responsibility in interpersonal matters
2. My opinion on the story:
This is definitely a book that takes some time (and patience) before it gains momentum: in the first third or so, the narrator seems to dumb down many stories and observations for the reader, some dialogues feel a bit wooden, perhaps to better convey the feeling of uneasiness creeping in the characters. Still, it felt slightly redundant to me. However, while it is not without flaws, the questions raised by 0 as his journey progresses are more and more significant and the story has a powerful finale to offer :) So much so that it is a 3.5-4/5 for me, as far as numbers mean something when it comes to evaluating contrasted works like this one!
7th buddy read with Tara, 10/11/2020. Thank you again for the new occasion to celebrate our 'penpalship'! Also, I found it was a telling illustration of what ŷ allows us members to share with one another as a community of readers :)
Recommendations:
... is a free indie game about communication and the lack thereof... involving letters. Sounds familiar?
SOUNDTRACK :
May 20, 2022
[9/10]
Toothpaste and Soap walk side by side. Then they find a suitable spot and come to a stop. “Toothpaste� plays the harmonica, “And� stands in the middle with his tongue hanging out in the heat, and “Soap� holds up a book towards the people. People begin to gather one by one to see Toothpaste and Soap.
It could very well be this book that is offered for your consideration. Even if you are not the kind of person who eats toothpaste or soap on a regular basis, I recommend keeping an open mind. You might develop a taste for oddball characters and for oddball storytelling. Let’s go on a journey together with a lonely young man who likes to write letters but doesn’t get any letter back in return post, with a blind guide dog and with a lady writer who eats unusual things and sells her own books on the subway.
As you’ve probably guessed, I’m a traveller who goes from motel to motel.
I had to give up or set aside many things to come on this journey: home, family, friends, a job, and love.
Jihun is the narrator of the story, the letter writer. I found him a bit annoying at the start of the journey together, mainly because he is allegedly a thirty year old loner that speaks and writes like a fifth grader: sort of smart but really dumbed down, like he doesn’t trust his audience with a more elaborate, more mature delivery. But then something else clicked in my mind, and everything made sense. My patience was rewarded.
You sound like a kindergarten kid who’s out to practice speaking.
In other words, Life is like abox of chocolates journey, you never know what you’re gonna get.�
Jihun is the Korean version of Forest Gump, the story of an innocent soul who tries to hold on to his sense of wonder and to his faith in the basic decency and goodwill of his fellow humans, but he is sorely tested by personal tragedy and betrayals. Just like Mr. Gump, overwhelmed by loneliness and bad luck, decides one day to leave it all behind and start running into the sunset, Jihun sets out on a personal journey, accompanied by the dog Wajo, a book by W. Somerset Maugham in his backpack and an mp3 player.
I wasn’t able to speak without effort, but I could remember things without effort. But when I tried to put the things I remembered effortlessly into effortlessly spoken words, my mind became muddled before I knew it, and I couldn’t say anything at all.
Once the analogy was clear in my head, the rest of the journey became a delight instead of a slog. I could appreciate better the slow uncovering of the past for the main character, the descriptions of the people he meets and the literary references. The first of these is to an American painter that is one of my personal idols.
I’m standing in the middle of the “Edward Hopper Room� recommended by the woman.
The alienation, the sadness that permeates almost every canvas from the artist is a mirror of the inner despair of Jihun, set adrift in a world of strangers, trying to make contact with another soul through the letters he writes consciously at the end of every day. His letters are a cry for help, a cry that remains unanswered, just as every morning the first thing he does is phone back home to see if any of the persons he wrote to has answered. Jihun plans to return home when he gets an answer to his letters, but so far he has travelled for three years in vain.
Letters, in other words, are like journal entries to me. The only difference is that the day does not stay with me, but is sent to someone else. Journals are monopolized, but letters are shared.
A reply that doesn’t come. If this, too, could be considered an omission, I was the one who was always left out by people. The pain of being left out, which I knew better than anyone, and felt more more keenly than anyone.
We live in a world of instant messaging, acronyms, memes and newsflashes of 144 characters or less. The art of letter writing by hand, of communicating with each other, is almost forgotten, leaving us practically quarantined inside our own bubbles, even before this global pandemic we’ve been experiencing. Among the people Jihun meets on his journey, people identified by numbers in his mathematically organized memory, is one writer who can only create when he is enclosed in his own room, completely isolated from outside influences..
He could write things that were only as big as the room in which he stayed.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is another writer, a woman who can only write in public places, absorbing everything around her, keeping her curiosity active and taking chances with strangers she meets on the road. She and Jihun soon start travelling together and discover a common interest in the novel “The Moon and Sixpence� [which I now plan to read a lot sooner than I expected]
“Somerset Maugham said that there’s no greater exercise of power than to have someone you don’t know and haven’t met read your works and be moved, and to touch someone’s soul and stir up feelings of compassion or fear.�
By this metric, I guess I can say ‘mission accomplished� for Eun Jin-Jang, whose control of tone and emotion is really amazing in a debut novel that sort of grew on me with each page I turned. I’m really curious how she will continue as a writer from this point forward.
Life is bearable when you have someone to write to, and someone who writes you back. Even if it’s just one person.
Toothpaste and Soap walk side by side. Then they find a suitable spot and come to a stop. “Toothpaste� plays the harmonica, “And� stands in the middle with his tongue hanging out in the heat, and “Soap� holds up a book towards the people. People begin to gather one by one to see Toothpaste and Soap.
It could very well be this book that is offered for your consideration. Even if you are not the kind of person who eats toothpaste or soap on a regular basis, I recommend keeping an open mind. You might develop a taste for oddball characters and for oddball storytelling. Let’s go on a journey together with a lonely young man who likes to write letters but doesn’t get any letter back in return post, with a blind guide dog and with a lady writer who eats unusual things and sells her own books on the subway.
As you’ve probably guessed, I’m a traveller who goes from motel to motel.
I had to give up or set aside many things to come on this journey: home, family, friends, a job, and love.
Jihun is the narrator of the story, the letter writer. I found him a bit annoying at the start of the journey together, mainly because he is allegedly a thirty year old loner that speaks and writes like a fifth grader: sort of smart but really dumbed down, like he doesn’t trust his audience with a more elaborate, more mature delivery. But then something else clicked in my mind, and everything made sense. My patience was rewarded.
You sound like a kindergarten kid who’s out to practice speaking.
In other words, Life is like a
Jihun is the Korean version of Forest Gump, the story of an innocent soul who tries to hold on to his sense of wonder and to his faith in the basic decency and goodwill of his fellow humans, but he is sorely tested by personal tragedy and betrayals. Just like Mr. Gump, overwhelmed by loneliness and bad luck, decides one day to leave it all behind and start running into the sunset, Jihun sets out on a personal journey, accompanied by the dog Wajo, a book by W. Somerset Maugham in his backpack and an mp3 player.
I wasn’t able to speak without effort, but I could remember things without effort. But when I tried to put the things I remembered effortlessly into effortlessly spoken words, my mind became muddled before I knew it, and I couldn’t say anything at all.
Once the analogy was clear in my head, the rest of the journey became a delight instead of a slog. I could appreciate better the slow uncovering of the past for the main character, the descriptions of the people he meets and the literary references. The first of these is to an American painter that is one of my personal idols.
I’m standing in the middle of the “Edward Hopper Room� recommended by the woman.
The alienation, the sadness that permeates almost every canvas from the artist is a mirror of the inner despair of Jihun, set adrift in a world of strangers, trying to make contact with another soul through the letters he writes consciously at the end of every day. His letters are a cry for help, a cry that remains unanswered, just as every morning the first thing he does is phone back home to see if any of the persons he wrote to has answered. Jihun plans to return home when he gets an answer to his letters, but so far he has travelled for three years in vain.
Letters, in other words, are like journal entries to me. The only difference is that the day does not stay with me, but is sent to someone else. Journals are monopolized, but letters are shared.
A reply that doesn’t come. If this, too, could be considered an omission, I was the one who was always left out by people. The pain of being left out, which I knew better than anyone, and felt more more keenly than anyone.
We live in a world of instant messaging, acronyms, memes and newsflashes of 144 characters or less. The art of letter writing by hand, of communicating with each other, is almost forgotten, leaving us practically quarantined inside our own bubbles, even before this global pandemic we’ve been experiencing. Among the people Jihun meets on his journey, people identified by numbers in his mathematically organized memory, is one writer who can only create when he is enclosed in his own room, completely isolated from outside influences..
He could write things that were only as big as the room in which he stayed.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is another writer, a woman who can only write in public places, absorbing everything around her, keeping her curiosity active and taking chances with strangers she meets on the road. She and Jihun soon start travelling together and discover a common interest in the novel “The Moon and Sixpence� [which I now plan to read a lot sooner than I expected]
“Somerset Maugham said that there’s no greater exercise of power than to have someone you don’t know and haven’t met read your works and be moved, and to touch someone’s soul and stir up feelings of compassion or fear.�
By this metric, I guess I can say ‘mission accomplished� for Eun Jin-Jang, whose control of tone and emotion is really amazing in a debut novel that sort of grew on me with each page I turned. I’m really curious how she will continue as a writer from this point forward.
Life is bearable when you have someone to write to, and someone who writes you back. Even if it’s just one person.
May 17, 2021
I say this from time to time, if you want to know something about someone else's desires, you should have them pack a suitcase. Or take a peek into their suitcase. Someone who packs his bag with all kinds of stuff ends up suffering from just that much fatigue and stress, even while traveling. The weight of the bag alone will guarantee that. The trip, intended as a way to unburden yourself, suddenly becomes a burden in itself. People who care about what other people think of them . . . can never go on a trip.
This was an engaging novel, well-told. Like countless other novels in the genre loosely termed "literary fiction" the protagonist of this one is a wanderer. He packs lightly. I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo. Wajo is his blind dog. The novel is , so make the appropriate allusive connection.
While wandering, the protagonist gives numbers to people he encounters who agree to give him their addresses (residential, not email). Then he writes them letters. There is the conceit.
He also meets "the woman" and their counterpoise drove the story for me.
There is a happy ending in a made-for-tv happy ending kind of way, and just before that there is a resolution to the question why is this dude wandering. And while I liked the tidying up and feel-good, I admit to a residual disappointment, sourpuss that I am.
This was my second read in the Dalkey Archive Library of Korean Literature series, and I will surely be reading more.
_________
*I read this on a cross-country flight, with an hour to spare. I packed my own suitcase and I didn't forget anything. So you can't go by one suitcase-packing.
This was an engaging novel, well-told. Like countless other novels in the genre loosely termed "literary fiction" the protagonist of this one is a wanderer. He packs lightly. I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo. Wajo is his blind dog. The novel is , so make the appropriate allusive connection.
While wandering, the protagonist gives numbers to people he encounters who agree to give him their addresses (residential, not email). Then he writes them letters. There is the conceit.
He also meets "the woman" and their counterpoise drove the story for me.
There is a happy ending in a made-for-tv happy ending kind of way, and just before that there is a resolution to the question why is this dude wandering. And while I liked the tidying up and feel-good, I admit to a residual disappointment, sourpuss that I am.
This was my second read in the Dalkey Archive Library of Korean Literature series, and I will surely be reading more.
_________
*I read this on a cross-country flight, with an hour to spare. I packed my own suitcase and I didn't forget anything. So you can't go by one suitcase-packing.
November 30, 2022
Potrzebuje odszkodowania za emotional damage
May 30, 2023
“Toothpaste and Soap walk side by side. Then they find a suitable spot and come to a stop. “Toothpaste� plays the harmonica, “And� stands in the middle with his tongue hanging out in the heat, and “Soap� holds up a book toward the people. People begin to gather one by one to see Toothpaste and Soap.�
Heart’s beaten to a pulp. I would probably be bawling my eyes out (and helplessly having to stuff them back into my sockets like a slippery mess) if I had read this in the peak of ovulation week. The novel felt like at the beginning, and then a grown-up version of Wes Anderson’s ‘Moonrise Kingdom�, and then a whole lot more. Also, every time the protagonist stutters, my heart flutters (before it turns to pulp in the last quarter of the book).
“Three bowls of samgyetang ordered with the money saved on the room, are delivered to the room. Wajo, who’s been sleeping, gets to his feet and follows the smell to the bowls. The woman and I bone some chicken for Wajo, and take a drumstick each and begin to scarf it down like savages.�
The writing reminds me slightly of Murakami � esp. the way Jang manipulates the mood of the novel with dreamy backdrops � from to chapters to chapters as we follow the protagonist on his trip. Like strange vignettes � a collection of South Korean landscapes with motel scenes and subway trains/bus rides woven alternatively. My favourite is surely the one by the sea. I don’t know if Jang based it on Busan, but I wish because I kept thinking about ‘gukbap� and ‘milmyeon�.
“Then suddenly, I remember the letter I left in the room. The letter for Jiyun, which I placed at my bedside before going to sleep. I hesitate. Should I go back for it, or not? Should I give it up, since I can write another letter anytime? No. Even if I do write another letter, I can’t write it with the same feelings I had yesterday. The letter is unique, pertaining to yesterday. Thinking that, I feel as if I left Jiyun in the flames.�
A few years ago, someone asked me what’s the first thing I’d take with me if a fire broke out. Without a moment of hesitation, I said that that would be my passport. And he was like � ‘Oh, fuck, okay. I was going to say that mine would be your letters,� which reminded me of the fact that I’m a child of diaspora; and perhaps because of that it was harder for me to impulsively romanticise a house on fire? Maybe? Ah, but I miss handwritten letter/handwriting letters; I used to do it more often before CoVID. Will probably name my next dog, ‘Shinkai� after my favourite fountain pen ink from Pilot’s Iroshizuku line.
“The girl was probably so humiliated that she wanted to jump out the window. The boy was probably disappointed to find out that the girl he liked was someone so dumb that she couldn’t even solve such an easy problem, and since the other kids all knew about the two of them, he probably wanted to jump out the window, too.�
The translation’s fantastic; I have zero complaints. I can easily arrange my favourite translation literature/creative writing in two boxes. One being the kind of writing that is completely transformed into a wildly creative piece of its own; the other being the kind of writing that still holds onto plenty of the original text without losing too much of ‘tone� and ‘mood�. This one falls to the latter category. I personally think that it’s harder to achieve great results with the latter category because it can sometimes turn into something too ‘simple�, ‘flat�, and lacking of so much; or it can even feel like someone trying to explain a complicated matter to a child � and it just makes the whole thing uncomfortably patronising. I like that the translator for this book, Jung Yewon kept some of the Korean words, and also some of the Korean sentence structure/style (so it felt a lot like watching a foreign film with subtitles, instead of watching a dubbed one).
“I need thirty million won to be like Kim Taehee. I’ve spent only five million won. I want people to pounce on me, trying to destroy me. I read in a book that people try to destroy other people’s looks, talents, or abilities because they’re not things that can be taken away�
“It seemed that there was no one in the world who could change her twisted way of thinking. Jiyun became more and more beautiful, but more and more, she turned into someone I didn’t know.�
Chuck Palahniuk book explores this quite well in ; and by this I meant plastic surgery and aesthetic bodily/facial procedures. I’m reading Tao Lin’s on the side; and somewhere in the book, the protagonist’s mother tells him about getting her face done, which reminds him that she only makes these kinds of choices when her life feels unstable. And then it struck him that it shouldn’t be that that gives her a false sense of stability/security, so he tries to be a better support/person for her. I appreciate Jang incorporating that topic/issue in her novel because it’s something not enough writers explore, while too many journalists satirise. And personally, I think the over exposure of cosmetic satire to adolescents and teenagers is as harmful as the advertisements. But of course, some may argue that we should let the kids think for themselves. I’m not against cosmetic surgery, but I just feel like it’s not a necessity most of the time. And I do think that most of the time � it’s really more of a mental health issue. AND it really blows my fucking mind that mental health/ mental healthcare is more of a taboo than cosmetic surgery.
“My mother always said that you had to squeeze out the water completely after washing dishcloths or rags. That if you didn’t, something will happen to make you cry. Since I squeezed the water out completely, I don’t think anything will happen to make me cry in the days ahead.�
Maybe I should read next. You kind of have to read the entire book (but esp. the ending) to know what spurred my sudden craving for it. Now I understand why the reviews were so vague about it. I wish the reviewers had rated the emotional impact so I could have prepared better. I’ll rate the emotional impact like an earthquake � a 7.5 (magnitude) for me; not strong enough to bring about a tsunami or topple skyscrapers, but strong enough to scrape some knees and break a few hundred walls.
“You resented me a lot, didn’t you?� she asks.
“No, I was grateful to you.�
“For what?�
“You wouldn’t understand, but I could go on living because of you.�
October 31, 2022
بی نهایت شیرین و دوست داشتنی بود :')
کلی باهاش خندیدم و احساساتی شدم و حتی الان نمی دونم به عنوان ریویو چطور توضیح بدم که چقدر دوسش داشتم که حق مطلب رو ادا کنه..
فکر می کنم کاملا واضح باشه و لازم نباشه عنوان کنم که صد در صد پیشنهاد میشه 💌
پ.ن: "خمیردندان" "و" "صابون"،
0 ، 1 و 751 دوست داشتنی رو فراموش نمیکنم :')
کلی باهاش خندیدم و احساساتی شدم و حتی الان نمی دونم به عنوان ریویو چطور توضیح بدم که چقدر دوسش داشتم که حق مطلب رو ادا کنه..
فکر می کنم کاملا واضح باشه و لازم نباشه عنوان کنم که صد در صد پیشنهاد میشه 💌
پ.ن: "خمیردندان" "و" "صابون"،
0 ، 1 و 751 دوست داشتنی رو فراموش نمیکنم :')
December 7, 2024
I sobbed actually
December 25, 2017
The main character owns a home but has decided to embark on a long journey to nowhere. There is no time limit to this travel and he himself does not know when it will end. Along the way he moves from motel to motel, trying to meet as many people as possible and taking down their address (physical, not email) after getting to know them. He assigns each new person a number, instead of a name and writes letters to them at each stop. He then waits for their written replies by calling home to his friend daily, who has been assigned the task of checking his mailbox. He has been doing this for the last three years but thus far, has not received a single letter in reply, hence the title of the book.
He also writes to his family members and through these letters and the narration of his travels we slowly learn about his history, the people he has met and what made him leave home in the first place. Along the way, he meets a struggling, peripatetic female novelist who decides to follow him, to his initial consternation.
I found this novel surprisingly enjoyable. Due to the exceedingly simple, straightforward prose, at first I found it a bit 'lacking' but it gradually grew on me. Perhaps it is the writing style that gave it a sense of immediacy and intimacy that eventually made me become completely immersed in the story. It felt like I was sitting cross-legged in a dark room with the protagonist, who was telling me his story in an impromptu manner, without any chance for embellishment or pretence. There is also a special relationship with his dog which was quite touching. This book might not be for readers who are looking for 'literary' fiction in the generally defined sense but it made an impact on me. I have not finished a book of similar length in such a short time for a while now.
Final rating: 4.5*
He also writes to his family members and through these letters and the narration of his travels we slowly learn about his history, the people he has met and what made him leave home in the first place. Along the way, he meets a struggling, peripatetic female novelist who decides to follow him, to his initial consternation.
I found this novel surprisingly enjoyable. Due to the exceedingly simple, straightforward prose, at first I found it a bit 'lacking' but it gradually grew on me. Perhaps it is the writing style that gave it a sense of immediacy and intimacy that eventually made me become completely immersed in the story. It felt like I was sitting cross-legged in a dark room with the protagonist, who was telling me his story in an impromptu manner, without any chance for embellishment or pretence. There is also a special relationship with his dog which was quite touching. This book might not be for readers who are looking for 'literary' fiction in the generally defined sense but it made an impact on me. I have not finished a book of similar length in such a short time for a while now.
Final rating: 4.5*
August 23, 2023
پر از حس آرامش،دیالوگ های قشنگ،داستان پر کشش
نمیدونم چیبگ� ،فقط از اون کتاب هایی بود که قلبمو لمس میکرد و حالمو خوب میکرد
نمیدونم چیبگ� ،فقط از اون کتاب هایی بود که قلبمو لمس میکرد و حالمو خوب میکرد
April 2, 2025
"Soy un viajero, y viajar es una acción que se lleva a cabo para permitir que los extraños se te acerquen con más facilidad y solo se convierte en algo con significado cuando te acercas a ellos con comodidad. En realidad viajar no es solo admirar el paisaje o la arquitectura. El paisaje y la arquitectura son importantes también, pero siempre he pensado que van detrás de las personas."
A veces me parece casi un milagro como algunos libros se relacionan sin parecerse en nada y sin tenerlo planeado además, se buscan y se encuentran, o me encuentran a mí . Vengo de leer "A Contraluz" de Rachel Cusk, y por un impulso no planeado comencé a leer seguidamente esta novela de una autora coreana, y mientras la iba leyendo me iba acordando del concepto del que partía la Cusk, o por lo menos era el concepto que a mí me interesó extraer de la novela de Rachel Cusk: el pararse a escuchar, trabar contacto y dar lugar a algo más. Me ha sorprendido lo mucho que esta novela de la coreana Jang Eun-jin se parece a la de la canadiense, no solo en lo que significa pararse, sino a la hora de abordar el tema de la identidad, porque aquí no sabremos el nombre del narrador tampoco. Al igual que la narradora de "A Contraluz", usa esa ausencia de un nombre, o la renuncia a que te nombren por él, como una forma de conservar las distancias o quizás huir de establecer una conexión demasiado personal. Yo diría que ambas novelas comparten esa obsesión de sus narradores por no querer exponerse ante otras personas, y esta ausencia de sí mismos está escondiendo quizás, contradictoriamente, y muy en el fondo, la necesidad de que alguien se pare y ahonde en ello para obligarles a dar ese nombre. En el caso del narrador de "Ya nadie escribe cartas", tampoco se refiere a la gente que se encuentra por sus nombres porque no quiere saberlo, prefiere asignarles un número. Cuando la novela comienza, les ha asignado en 3 años de viaje 750 números a diferentes personas de las que no sabe sus nombres, cada uno de ellos es una persona que ha pasado por su vida, y que le ha parecido lo suficientemente interesante como para pedirles su dirección postal para poder escribirles, no un correo electrónico, sino una carta, una epístola, en papel...
"-¿Escribes cartas todos los días?
-Claro porque el mío es un viaje epistolar."
Al narrador desde pequeño se le dan bien los números, ha crecido con una madre profesora de matemáticas que les asignaba problemas para ir resolviendo y de alguna forma a él le resulta fácil recordarlos. Esta designación numérica no significa que los haga más anónimos porque el mismo número lleva enlazado una identidad pero si es cierto que los hace más impersonales. Cuando la novela comienza, la autora no da muchos detalles, apenas sabremos mucho independientemente de que el narrador es un mochilero que viaja con su perro ciego, Wajo, y ha convertido tres años de su vida en un viaje epistolar: cada noche escribirá una carta. Sin embargo, su desolación estará en que después de tres años de viaje, no ha recibido respuesta a ninguna de estas cartas. Nadie le escribe de vuelta: “Una respuesta que no llega. Si esto también se puede considerar una exclusión, entonces yo era al que la gente siempre excluía. Conozco mejor que nadie el dolor y la exclusión de que te dejen fuera.� El narrador es una persona libre de ataduras aparte del perro, que se convierte en un personaje casi tan importante como el narrador. El viajero/narrador se considera un coleccionista de historias y son estas cartas que escribe cada noche, manuales, a lápiz, lo que me demuestra que en el fondo quiere seguir conectado a estas personas que ha conocido aunque a simple vista les haya asignado un número. "Creo que cuando uno intercambia cartas debe compartir al menos un secreto. Si los diarios son un crimen individual, las cartas son cómplices." Durante su viaje conoce a una mujer que vende sus libros en la calle a partir de aquí comparten viaje. A ella le asignará el número 751 y es a través de las conversaciones con ella cómo iremos conociendo un poco más a este viajero. El lector no estará del todo seguro de dónde viene y qué es lo qué estará buscando porque es obvio, que este viaje incansable, es en el fondo la excusa para una huida de algo, aunque también de una búsqueda. La mujer novelista escribe sus libros en el portátil y usa internet, él solo usa el papel, la escritura manual, los sellos y los buzones de correo.
"Siempre es difícil despedirse de un hábito. Sobre todo si ha contribuido a tu paz interior en la vida diaria. Está claro que el poder de los hábitos no es ninguna broma."
"Los hábitos son más aterradores y sorprendentes que el afecto. El afecto es algo consciente, pero lo hábitos son subconscientes. En ese momento pensé que quizás lo real estuviera controlado por el subconsciente."
El viajero aunque siempre esté en movimiento, viajando, alojándose en moteles, realmente se apoya en las rutinas, hábitos que comparte con su perro, su único lazo emocional. Una parte de sus hábitos consiste en llamar a un amigo suyo al que ha dejado a cargo de su buzón y preguntarle si ha recibido respuesta a alguna de sus cartas, pero después de tres años se siente desolado porque nadie ha respondido todavía a sus cartas, lo que quizás contribuya al hecho de que se sienta desconectado de la realidad. Nunca leeremos las cartas que escribe, exceptuando algunas cartas a miembros de su familia. Aquí puede estar la esencia de esta historia porque a través de las cartas que le dirige a su familia podremos entrever lo que mueve a este hombre anónimo. Esta novela está dividida en 152 secciones numeradas, algunas largas, y otras muy cortas, la más corta será: "Nadie me ha escrito".
"Incluso cuando ella enviaba una carta él no respondía. Le estaba diciendo que rompía con ella al no contestar a sus cartas. Ella también dejó de escribir, probablemente cansada de esperar una respuesta. De esa forma, rompieron sin mediar palabras."
Ya nadie escribe cartas no es una novela de viajes sino más bien el viaje de una persona que intenta encontrarse a sí mismo a través de los demás. Quizás incluso sea la novela del fin de un viaje, del fin de una búsqueda. Se puede decir que en esta peregrinación en la que convierte la comunicación a través de cartas en una justificación a su vida, el narrador está dejando atrás todo lo material tal como lo conocía, pero al mismo tiempo se está alejando de lazos humanos. Se intuye que lleva un sufrimiento a cuestas aunque el estilo de Jang Eun-jin no es dramático, fluye en una narración cotidiana en la que los pequeños detalles del día a día se convierten en algo esencial.
"¿Podemos considerar que una carta sin respuesta es como una carta no escrita?"
A medida que la novela avanza y a partir de que se interrumpe la rutina del narrador con el encuentro con la mujer novelista que le acompañará en parte de su viaje, nos iremos alejando de esta racionalidad que le proporcionaban los números para ir profundizando en ese otro mundo que es el de los sentimientos, las emociones a través de las palabras. En plena era digital el narrador solo se sentirá seguro con un papel y un lápiz, eso le da la seguridad que quizás el mundo no es capaz de proporcionarle. Es una novela que se va revelando poco a poco porque este narrador viajero, constructor de historias a través de sus cartas también está necesitado de formar parte de una historia. Una novela fresca y totalmente universal que habla de lo que significa pararse y escuchar. La edición de Shiro Libros es una delicia.
"Uno puede abrir un email lleno de expectativas solo para descubrir que se trata de correo basura. Cuando me lo imagino, me parece que lo lento es mejor. Una esperanza viva y que se retuerce puede mantener a alguien avanzando hasta que cae en la desesperanza."
˫♫� ˫♫�
May 23, 2023
Cudowna! Trafia na moją listę książek do przytulenia i to chyba będzie mój ulubiony Tajfun 💙 Czytałam w ebooku i zdecydowanie muszę się zaopatrzyć w egzemplarz papierowy. Przepiękna historia.
May 20, 2015
I cried like a baby at the end. This book was so fleeting yet filling, like an Ane Brun song, possibly "To Let Myself Go".
The perfect portrait of under-accomplishment, our main character is travelling without an explicit purpose. What he does on the road (but not necessarily likes or anything) is meet people, assign them a number, remember their address, and send them letters. He's accustomed to being alone with Wajo, the dog. This woman, a novelist, starts tagging along and it doesn't make much sense because apparently she likes being alone too - until she tells the guy: being with him is the same being alone, so it's really cool with her.
No One Writes Back has a bit of everything, from travel to loneliness, suicide and death, with the backdrop of a complicated relationship with the fam, where regret is stronger than being thankful. Still it doesn't feel like it spreads itself thin, in fact its charm comes from all these details coming together in a strange, utterly familiar way.
5 stars all the way.
The perfect portrait of under-accomplishment, our main character is travelling without an explicit purpose. What he does on the road (but not necessarily likes or anything) is meet people, assign them a number, remember their address, and send them letters. He's accustomed to being alone with Wajo, the dog. This woman, a novelist, starts tagging along and it doesn't make much sense because apparently she likes being alone too - until she tells the guy: being with him is the same being alone, so it's really cool with her.
No One Writes Back has a bit of everything, from travel to loneliness, suicide and death, with the backdrop of a complicated relationship with the fam, where regret is stronger than being thankful. Still it doesn't feel like it spreads itself thin, in fact its charm comes from all these details coming together in a strange, utterly familiar way.
5 stars all the way.
Read
January 1, 2018I went to Vienna with a Nobel and was unsurprisingly disappointed. I roved in Portland for some damn reason and got what I deserved. I tried sojourning in the South and got burned. Then I jaunted on over to Korea (under Dalkey auspices) and was lovingly surprised.
answer KEY ::
answer KEY ::
February 26, 2023
było płakane i moje serduszko 💔
August 3, 2021
4.5 stars.
A young man leaves home with nothing but his blind dog, an MP3 player and a change of underwear. For three years, he wanders from place to place, eating convenience store noodles and sleeping in lonely motels. Each night, he writes a letter to one of the people he's met on his journey and hopes, as he mails each letter, that just one of them will write back. And then one day, one of the people he meets becomes a friend...
Nothing much happens in this story, yet it was completely compelling. It's the kind of novel you can't stop thinking about even when you're not reading. The dream-like feeling of the story combined with the way the author reveals, sliver by tiny sliver, the tragedy that's turned the protagonist into a lonely wanderer had me completely hooked from the first page. Highly recommended.
A young man leaves home with nothing but his blind dog, an MP3 player and a change of underwear. For three years, he wanders from place to place, eating convenience store noodles and sleeping in lonely motels. Each night, he writes a letter to one of the people he's met on his journey and hopes, as he mails each letter, that just one of them will write back. And then one day, one of the people he meets becomes a friend...
Nothing much happens in this story, yet it was completely compelling. It's the kind of novel you can't stop thinking about even when you're not reading. The dream-like feeling of the story combined with the way the author reveals, sliver by tiny sliver, the tragedy that's turned the protagonist into a lonely wanderer had me completely hooked from the first page. Highly recommended.
June 30, 2021
1. As soon as I entered the square I heard that high one-note ringing. It was a lady standing next to the fountain where I usually stop for a breath or a bite to eat, and she was banging on a triangle. What kind of person plays the triangle seriously, as if it's a real instrument? At least a harmonica has different notes! She should learn that instead, I thought. Next to her was a man clearing his throat, "Ladies and gentleman, my name is Jimmy, and I want to tell you..." he began.
2. I was immediately annoyed that these two peddlers had taken my spot. This was where I would stop on my walk, unwrap my sandwich and eat while reading my book in peace, with the sound of the water behind me. But as he talked, I became curious.
They were an odd pair. The woman had a cart of books that she rolled behind her. And the man, who was speaking in a surprisingly mellifluous voice and holding up a copy of the book, had a three legged black cat companion sitting next to him. As he talked, the cat jumped up onto his shoulder and perched there like a bird. The more I stared at the man, the more he looked familiar. In fact, I recognized him, but it took me a while, because it's been years since I've seen his face.
3. "Ladies and gentleman, my name is Jimmy, and I want to tell you about an incredible book. It is called 'No One Writes Back' and it was written by this lady standing next to me. Her name is Jang Eun-Jin and she has put her heart and soul down onto these pages! Let me read you the beginning of this novel:
'I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo.'
Who is this speaker and why has he left home? And who uses MP3 players anymore these days, instead of carrying around a cell phone like a normal person? And who is Wajo? OK I'll tell you, Wajo is his dog, that one's not really a mystery. But Wajo is also a blind seeing-eye dog. What is Wajo's story?
These are just some of the mysteries in the first pages, but many more mysteries await you if you purchase a copy of this book right now for only $10. On his travels, this man assigns a number to all the people he talks to. Every night, from a different dingy motel, he writes a letter to someone he knows. Sometimes it is family or friends. Sometimes it is one of these numbered people he has met. Why does he do that? And why does he call his friend every morning to see if anyone has written back? Why has no one written him back?
This and much more you will find out if you decide to buy a copy right now for the low low price of $9.99. That's right folks, I have just discounted a penny for you, you won't find this deal anywhere on Amazon so stop checking your phones. If you don't like it, you can take revenge by giving it a bad review on the Internet. Here, take one sir, read a couple paragraphs yourself and see how the prose sings. Take one, miss..."
4. More accurately, it's been years since I've seen the top half of his face. I used to see him regularly at the library next to the L-N shelves, with his face buried in a book. I say this as if my face weren't also buried in a book, but it was. We were both revealing only the top halves of our faces, and we rarely stole a glance at each other because of how absorbed we were in our books.
One day as I was reading 'The Moon and Sixpence', I became intrigued by the cover of the book he was reading. It was called 'Wittgenstein's Mistress' and the name intrigued me, so that the next time I was in the library, I sought it out. It was a strange novel, with only one character in it. I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel with only one character. When he saw that I was reading it from across the library, a look of surprise flashed across his eyes. That next week, his face was buried in 'The Moon and Sixpence'.
That is how our friendship developed, without a word between us, but slowly through unspoken book recommendations.
Three years ago, he suddenly stopped showing up. I always wondered what happened to him.
5. He handed me a copy and I found myself inexplicably reaching out for it. A group had gathered around the fountain, all holding and reading the book. The book itself was thin and unimpressive with its white cover and abstract design. Not even an exciting photo or an interesting blurb. I flipped to a random page and started reading.
"People mistake the flash that explodes every time a picture is taken for a blessing. The light is not a blessing, but a splendid method of disguise to cover up the tragedy called a picture. Darkness begins where light ends."
That's actually quite good, I thought. Flipping to the front, I read:
"Motels are secretive.
And sometimes—no, often—no, almost always, they are suggestive."
I was quite intrigued at this point. But the man named Jimmy, this man I used to think I knew in some odd way, has sent his cat around to collect the books. "If you're not convinced, just place the book on Edgar's back and he will bring it back to me. But think carefully before you do. If you buy the book now you can get it signed by the author!"
I grip the book tightly.
6. How would I approach him? How could I break the silent friendship we've developed? Should I even try? Would he recognize me without a book covering the lower half of my face? Maybe I could say:
"Hi, I don't know if you remember me, but we used to read together..."
No, it wasn't together. "... we used to read across from each other at the library. My name is Sophie. It's nice to finally meet you."
Then again, maybe he never gave a second thought to our friendship, if you can even call it that. Maybe three years ago, he left and traveled the world peddling this one book and has renounced all the other book recommendations we exchanged implicitly. Afterall, what kind of relationship is it where you don't even speak to each other, but somehow share your inner worlds through reading? It's like two completely separate worlds sharing the same vision. Like... l-like toothpaste and soap, or something.
7. Until that day at the library, I’ve never read a novel with only one character. It seems like a lonely venture. What kind of person writes a novel with only one character in it, and what kind of person voluntarily reads it? Is it a person who feels alone in the world, or one who feels overwhelmed by them and wants a break from people altogether?
Kate, the only character in this novel, walked around all alone in the world, yet her head was filled with all these characters. Was she lonely? Was she delusional? When I thought about it, I realized that all novels are novels with only one character: the author. All the other characters are made up in the author's mind like the ones Kate made up in this novel.
Coming back to the present, I wondered: Does this author... Jang Eun-Jin, does she also live in her own head? Is her incessant triangle playing a way of trying to get out, to make some kind of connection? Perhaps she is like a man sitting in a motel waiting for a letter to arrive.
7. Gripping the book tightly, I walk up to Jimmy. Will he recognize me? As I pull out my wallet, I say "I would like a copy. By the way, I don't know if you remember me, but we used to read together..."
2. I was immediately annoyed that these two peddlers had taken my spot. This was where I would stop on my walk, unwrap my sandwich and eat while reading my book in peace, with the sound of the water behind me. But as he talked, I became curious.
They were an odd pair. The woman had a cart of books that she rolled behind her. And the man, who was speaking in a surprisingly mellifluous voice and holding up a copy of the book, had a three legged black cat companion sitting next to him. As he talked, the cat jumped up onto his shoulder and perched there like a bird. The more I stared at the man, the more he looked familiar. In fact, I recognized him, but it took me a while, because it's been years since I've seen his face.
3. "Ladies and gentleman, my name is Jimmy, and I want to tell you about an incredible book. It is called 'No One Writes Back' and it was written by this lady standing next to me. Her name is Jang Eun-Jin and she has put her heart and soul down onto these pages! Let me read you the beginning of this novel:
'I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo.'
Who is this speaker and why has he left home? And who uses MP3 players anymore these days, instead of carrying around a cell phone like a normal person? And who is Wajo? OK I'll tell you, Wajo is his dog, that one's not really a mystery. But Wajo is also a blind seeing-eye dog. What is Wajo's story?
These are just some of the mysteries in the first pages, but many more mysteries await you if you purchase a copy of this book right now for only $10. On his travels, this man assigns a number to all the people he talks to. Every night, from a different dingy motel, he writes a letter to someone he knows. Sometimes it is family or friends. Sometimes it is one of these numbered people he has met. Why does he do that? And why does he call his friend every morning to see if anyone has written back? Why has no one written him back?
This and much more you will find out if you decide to buy a copy right now for the low low price of $9.99. That's right folks, I have just discounted a penny for you, you won't find this deal anywhere on Amazon so stop checking your phones. If you don't like it, you can take revenge by giving it a bad review on the Internet. Here, take one sir, read a couple paragraphs yourself and see how the prose sings. Take one, miss..."
4. More accurately, it's been years since I've seen the top half of his face. I used to see him regularly at the library next to the L-N shelves, with his face buried in a book. I say this as if my face weren't also buried in a book, but it was. We were both revealing only the top halves of our faces, and we rarely stole a glance at each other because of how absorbed we were in our books.
One day as I was reading 'The Moon and Sixpence', I became intrigued by the cover of the book he was reading. It was called 'Wittgenstein's Mistress' and the name intrigued me, so that the next time I was in the library, I sought it out. It was a strange novel, with only one character in it. I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel with only one character. When he saw that I was reading it from across the library, a look of surprise flashed across his eyes. That next week, his face was buried in 'The Moon and Sixpence'.
That is how our friendship developed, without a word between us, but slowly through unspoken book recommendations.
Three years ago, he suddenly stopped showing up. I always wondered what happened to him.
5. He handed me a copy and I found myself inexplicably reaching out for it. A group had gathered around the fountain, all holding and reading the book. The book itself was thin and unimpressive with its white cover and abstract design. Not even an exciting photo or an interesting blurb. I flipped to a random page and started reading.
"People mistake the flash that explodes every time a picture is taken for a blessing. The light is not a blessing, but a splendid method of disguise to cover up the tragedy called a picture. Darkness begins where light ends."
That's actually quite good, I thought. Flipping to the front, I read:
"Motels are secretive.
And sometimes—no, often—no, almost always, they are suggestive."
I was quite intrigued at this point. But the man named Jimmy, this man I used to think I knew in some odd way, has sent his cat around to collect the books. "If you're not convinced, just place the book on Edgar's back and he will bring it back to me. But think carefully before you do. If you buy the book now you can get it signed by the author!"
I grip the book tightly.
6. How would I approach him? How could I break the silent friendship we've developed? Should I even try? Would he recognize me without a book covering the lower half of my face? Maybe I could say:
"Hi, I don't know if you remember me, but we used to read together..."
No, it wasn't together. "... we used to read across from each other at the library. My name is Sophie. It's nice to finally meet you."
Then again, maybe he never gave a second thought to our friendship, if you can even call it that. Maybe three years ago, he left and traveled the world peddling this one book and has renounced all the other book recommendations we exchanged implicitly. Afterall, what kind of relationship is it where you don't even speak to each other, but somehow share your inner worlds through reading? It's like two completely separate worlds sharing the same vision. Like... l-like toothpaste and soap, or something.
7. Until that day at the library, I’ve never read a novel with only one character. It seems like a lonely venture. What kind of person writes a novel with only one character in it, and what kind of person voluntarily reads it? Is it a person who feels alone in the world, or one who feels overwhelmed by them and wants a break from people altogether?
Kate, the only character in this novel, walked around all alone in the world, yet her head was filled with all these characters. Was she lonely? Was she delusional? When I thought about it, I realized that all novels are novels with only one character: the author. All the other characters are made up in the author's mind like the ones Kate made up in this novel.
Coming back to the present, I wondered: Does this author... Jang Eun-Jin, does she also live in her own head? Is her incessant triangle playing a way of trying to get out, to make some kind of connection? Perhaps she is like a man sitting in a motel waiting for a letter to arrive.
7. Gripping the book tightly, I walk up to Jimmy. Will he recognize me? As I pull out my wallet, I say "I would like a copy. By the way, I don't know if you remember me, but we used to read together..."
February 24, 2023
4.5*
Need time to encapsulate what I experienced.
Highly recommended.
Need time to encapsulate what I experienced.
Highly recommended.
February 16, 2024
“are you here to rest, or to stay the night?�
no one writes back is a comforting, cyclical story where nothing and everything happens, a tender picaresque that encapsulates the influence of words and relationships. i picked up this book only because it made me think of a film i loved: wendy & lucy by kelly reichardt. i didn’t expect it would affect me this much. it felt like the entire book was written specifically for me. i’d initially considered to duck a star because of the melodramatic ending and the lackluster translation (or is it the original writing that is lacking in the artistry?). however, i still love it enough to look past the flaws and i’ll never forgive the author for breaking my heart with that twist!
“i came on this journey because i was lonely, but i’m still lonely�
edited, 16/2/24» 4�
July 8, 2017
cũng có hơi hơi nhiều lý do đ� cho ít sao hơn nhưng vì nội dung k� v� một cuộc hành trình (mà lại là một cuộc hành trình hấp dẫn) nên nhất định muốn chấm theo quá trình ch� không phải kết qu� hehe
October 18, 2023
[این کتاب رو با ترجمه فارسی نشر دانش آفرین با نام «هیچکس نامه نمینویسد� خوندم]
بعد از یه ریدینگ اسلامپ چند ماهه، این اولین کتابیه که تموم کردم ┌|∵|┘
چقدر عجیب اما شیرین بود�(个_个�)�
با اینکه یه سری جاها از حرفه� یا کارهای شخصیت اصلی حرص میخورد� ولی باز دوست داشتم ادامه بدم و بیشتر درباره� بدونم...
در کل بخوام بگم بیشتر از چیزی که حدس میزد� دوستش داشتم:`)
بعد از یه ریدینگ اسلامپ چند ماهه، این اولین کتابیه که تموم کردم ┌|∵|┘
چقدر عجیب اما شیرین بود�(个_个�)�
با اینکه یه سری جاها از حرفه� یا کارهای شخصیت اصلی حرص میخورد� ولی باز دوست داشتم ادامه بدم و بیشتر درباره� بدونم...
در کل بخوام بگم بیشتر از چیزی که حدس میزد� دوستش داشتم:`)
January 8, 2023
nie umiem tego opisać.
wogóle się nie spodziewałem zakonczenia, jednak uważam, że tej książki nie dało się skończyć lepiej.
''wszyscy odpisują''
wogóle się nie spodziewałem zakonczenia, jednak uważam, że tej książki nie dało się skończyć lepiej.
''wszyscy odpisują''
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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