Essays in identity

A Korean reads ‘Native Speaker’

By: Hyung Jin Park
   I decided to read Chang-rae Lee’s Native Speaker in the midst of a busy life with multiple roles as a student, father and husband. The reason was a kind of obligation mixed up with personal curiosity about the author and the book’s title. At first, I was intrigued not so much by the title as by the native name of the author in the poster, which especially stood out for me (a Korean) in a place like Princeton Public Library.
   In my understanding, Native Speaker is a story of a journey toward self-awareness of "belonging" — from alienation to affiliation, from detachment to attachment. I believe that it is an awakening process. The author unfolds this experience with linguistic symbol and metaphor. Henry Park’s (the novel’s protagonist) reluctant attitude to his roots was refigured.
   All too often, I hear a specific notion when we talk about ethnic experience in America — "identity." Ambiguity, crisis and struggle center around identity, a problem of belonging. We all belong to some category whether we feel pride or shame. We must belong to some kind because we were born to some kind. I call this sense of belonging a sense of "culture."
   We cannot deny the force of culture, that milieu in which we are being molded consciously and unconsciously. This force is most realistically felt in a place like America. Language — the most powerful force and symbol of one’s culture — was symbolically picked up by the author to sketch one’s journey to reconfigure one’s identity.
   For me, the climax was toward the end of the book (Page 337). Henry’s sense of identity was deepened and enlarged by his sympathetic understanding of his father and his empathetic listening to the native (Korean) immigrants. Identity, I am saying, is not to be found in a sense of narrowness. It is to be enlarged, meaning … that it is to be deepened. Enlarging with deepening is, I believe, a learning process of true maturity, reflecting our understanding of the human condition.
   To me, Henry is a real, not a fictional figure. I myself, being a father who is raising two American-born children, know this reality deeply well. We often hear the complaints from my own (native countrymen), "I wish I could be an American!" This remark was heard by my wife and me when we earnestly tried to help our kids with their homework in our kind of English. We observed that our kids were very afraid of being different, culturally.
   The fear of being culturally different is often manifested in (my kids’) reluctance to carry a lunch pack or bag with any Korean lettering. One thing I have learned from the American lifestyle is "difference," the OK-ness and openness towards difference. "Don’t be afraid of being able to be different."
   This novel reminded me of the first joke of my American life, still ringing in my ears: FOB (fresh off the boat), SOB (still on the boat) and BOB (back on the boat).
   Finally, I was attracted not only by the novel itself, but by the author whose career is quite unorthodox to the parents of Korean-Americans who often impose their American dreams on their kids, pushing them into a stereotyped path to become good professionals — doctors, lawyers and engineers.
   So far I have hardly found a second generation (Korean-American) like Chang-rae Lee in a career as a novelist, poet or humanist in this country. In that sense, I praise this novel as a breakthrough.
A Presbyterian minister who is pursuing a doctorate at Princeton Theological Seminary, the Rev. Hyung Jin Park resides in West Windsor with his wife Mi-K, and their daughters Izada, 11, and Irene, 7. A native of Seoul, Mr. Park first came to the United States in 1988. A big fan of the Princeton Public Library, Mr. Park wrote this essay as part of his participation in the library’s inaugural "Princeton Reads" program.