한국국제교류재단

Petty Lies, Sulmi Bak’s debut novel, makes clever use of a narrative form that has a long and storied history: the epistolary novel (think Bram Stoker’s Dracula). This form has the advantage of focusing on one perspective at a time and providing a clear and distinct voice for each. As a result, the reader gradually understands the full picture as the narrative unfolds layer after layer. Petty Lies is a fine example of this tradition, pulling the reader this way and that before the final curtain falls.

We begin with a letter from Mira to the mother of a boy she had tutored, and from the very start the tension is so tight that the words seem to be stretched to their breaking point. Mira lays out the story behind how she came to tutor Yujae, which all began when his brother Yuchan tortured and killed Mira’s family dog, Bell. This was a horrific enough incident in and of itself, but it led to an even greater tragedy and set Mira on the path of blind revenge. Surprisingly enough, her letter does not go unanswered. Jiwon — that is, Yujae’s mother — sends a reply, and the horror and tension only deepen. We are then led through narratives by both Yujae and Yuchan before Mira has the last word, not in a letter, but in a visit in which we only hear one side of the conversation.

What makes Petty Lies such a fascinating work is the uniqueness of the four voices. Mira, Jiwon, Yujae, and Yuchan all have very different experiences and very different outlooks on life, each limited in their own way. Some of them will remain myopic to the end, refusing to acknowledge that their view of the world and of others might not be completely accurate, and they will pay the price for this shortsightedness. Some will learn the truth and achieve their goals. Will any of them have a happy ending, though?

Ultimately, Petty Lies is a frank and brutal examination of the darkest corners of human nature. It shines a light on what people are capable of doing and what might drive them to do those things. The way the narrative shifts from perspective to perspective shakes us awake, never allowing us to get comfortable in what we think we know about what has happened. As perspectives pile one upon another, adding layers to our understanding of events and slowly slotting pieces into the puzzle, we finally begin to realize the truth. But it is only as the last piece of the puzzle falls into place that we can finally see the full picture.

Whether it is the slowly building sense of dread or Bak’s fluid and approachable prose, this is a book that you will not want to put down until you’ve turned the very last page. And, even then, it is a story that will linger like an eerie echo on a dark, moonless night.

From a young age, Chef Mingoo Kang had always been interested in cooking. He spent time working as a chef abroad before returning to Korea and founding his restaurant Mingles in 2014; the name was inspired by his desire to bring together Korean and Western culinary traditions. The success of this venture inspired him to dive even deeper into the world of Korean cuisine. It was when he met the Buddhist nun Jeong Kwan that he came to understand the importance of jang, which he calls a “true expression of terroir.” This journey led to the 2024 publication of Jang: The Soul of Korean Cooking, which made The New York Times’ list of the best cookbooks for that year.

Jang are seasonings that start with fermented soybeans, the three most common of which are ganjang (soy sauce), doenjang (soybean paste), and gochujang (red pepper paste). Connoisseurs of Korean food will probably already be familiar with jang, but for most people it may still remain, in the words of Chef Kang, “a near secret ingredient.”

The first quarter of the book functions as an introduction to this secret ingredient. After the story of Chef Kang’s journey of discovery, the next section traces the history of jang over two millennia, including, most recently, the decline of making jang at home during the Japanese colonial period and the current resurgence of artisanal jang. This is followed by a detailed description of the processes by which ganjang, doenjang, and gochujang are made. This section is not about how to make jang at home but about understanding the character of jang by exploring how it comes into being — how simple ingredients are almost magically transformed by nature, time, and human skill and effort. The book then offers some practical information on how to combine dishes to form a meal, and finally Chef Kang lays out a list of pantry items you will need if you want to start cooking Korean food. Most of these are standard fare and will be familiar to the aforementioned connoisseurs of Korean cuisine, but I will admit that gochujang powder came as a pleasant surprise; this might be a favorite new popcorn seasoning.

The bulk of the book, of course, consists of recipes categorized in accordance with t he jang used in each. Separate chapters are devoted to ganjang, doenjang, and gochujang, each finishing with a profile of an artisan producing that type of jang, connecting us not only to the terroir but also to the people. As for the recipes, most aren’t from Mingles; they are dishes that Chef Kang prepares at home for friends and family, and thus they are more approachable and less intimidating. There are recipes that any lover of Korean food will find familiar, such as jangajji (vegetables preserved in ganjang), haemul pajeon (seafood scallion pancake), gangdoenjang bibimbap (mixed rice with a thicker type of doenjang), and the world-famous yangnyeom fried chicken.

But, for this reader at least, it was the recipes that take jang in unexpected directions that were the real eye-openers. The use of ganjang in a ragù sauce or doenjang in a cream sauce for pasta dishes immediately sparked new ideas. Then there were things I never would have considered. Ganjang in granola? Gochujang in a chocolate mousse? Doenjang in crème brûlée? It sounds wild...but why not? This is, I believe, the real meaning of fusion cuisine. It’s not fancy techniques or flashy combinations of ingredients — just an understanding that for all the differences in our various culinary cultures, flavor ultimately knows no borders.