"Breaking Boundaries in Literature: The Nobel Prize and Korea's Untold Stories" is a journey that transcends the familiar boundaries of literary critique. In this bold narrative, I delve into the heart of a question that has long troubled me: why does a prestigious award like the Nobel Prize often recognize works that fail to capture the full spectrum of the human experience, let alone the complex cultural sentiments of nations like Korea? At first glance, it may seem as though this is a book about literary criticism—a questioning of how one-sided perspectives come to dominate global recognition. But at its core, this work is much more than a critique of literary bias. It is an exploration of the multiverse itself, a challenge to the idea that the Nobel Prize, or any human-made institution, can truly grasp the depth of experience that exists beyond anthropocentric narratives. In a world defined by quantum uncertainty and the principles of relativity, why do we still cling to the notion that a singular "truth" or "universal" story can represent all of us? I ask this as someone who has spent years observing the increasing polarization in literature—where binary thinking, political ideologies, and human-centered concerns dominate. But the natural world, the cosmos in which we exist, operates on principles far beyond our limited comprehension. Could it be that in seeking to capture a singular "universal human experience," we are ignoring the more profound and chaotic truths that surround us? As you read this book, I invite you to consider a new perspective: one where the significance of a literary work is not measured by its political or social resonance, but by its ability to reflect the chaos, the order, and the vastness of the natural world. The Nobel Prize, once a symbol of human accomplishment, may have lost its way by focusing too narrowly on human ideologies. In doing so, it misses the greater, more profound narrative that unfolds in the universe—one that includes but is not confined to the human condition. Ultimately, "Breaking Boundaries in Literature" asks more questions than it answers, and that is precisely the point. The story of Korea—its division, its pain, its resilience—is not one that can be told from a single perspective, nor can it be understood within the limits of binary thinking. It is, in fact, a story that belongs to the cosmos, to the chaotic interplay of forces that shape not just human lives, but the very fabric of reality itself.

"Breaking Boundaries in Literature: The Nobel Prize and Korea's Untold Stories" is a journey that transcends the familiar boundaries of literary critique. In this bold narrative, I delve into the heart of a question that has long troubled me: why does a prestigious award like the Nobel Prize often recognize works that fail to capture the full spectrum of the human experience, let alone the complex cultural sentiments of nations like Korea? At first glance, it may seem as though this is a book about literary criticism—a questioning of how one-sided perspectives come to dominate global recognition. But at its core, this work is much more than a critique of literary bias. It is an exploration of the multiverse itself, a challenge to the idea that the Nobel Prize, or any human-made institution, can truly grasp the depth of experience that exists beyond anthropocentric narratives. In a world defined by quantum uncertainty and the principles of relativity, why do we still cling to the notion that a singular "truth" or "universal" story can represent all of us? I ask this as someone who has spent years observing the increasing polarization in literature—where binary thinking, political ideologies, and human-centered concerns dominate. But the natural world, the cosmos in which we exist, operates on principles far beyond our limited comprehension. Could it be that in seeking to capture a singular "universal human experience," we are ignoring the more profound and chaotic truths that surround us?

Traditional histories of the Korean War have long focused on violations of the thirty-eighth parallel, the line drawn by American and Soviet officials in 1945 dividing the Korean peninsula. But The interrogation rooms of the Korean War presents an entirely new narrative, shifting the perspective from the boundaries of the battlefield to inside the interrogation room. Upending conventional notions of what we think of as geographies of military conflict, Monica Kim demonstrates how the Korean War evolved from a fight over territory to one over human interiority and the individual human subject, forging the template for the U.S. wars of intervention that would predominate during the latter half of the twentieth century and beyond. Kim looks at how, during the armistice negotiations, the United States and their allies proposed a new kind of interrogation room: one in which POWs could exercise their "free will" and choose which country they would go to after the ceasefire. The global controversy that erupted exposed how interrogation rooms had become a flashpoint for the struggles between the ambitions of empire and the demands for decolonization, as the aim of interrogation was to produce subjects who attested to a nation's right to govern. The complex web of interrogators and prisoners -- Japanese-American interrogators, Indian military personnel, Korean POWs and interrogators, and American POWs -- that Kim uncovers contradicts the simple story in U.S. popular memory of "brainwashing" during the Korean War

FROM HAN KANG, WINNER OF THE 2024 NOBEL PRIZE IN LITERATURE “[Han Kang writes in] intense poetic prose that . . . exposes the fragility of human life.”—from the Nobel Prize citation WINNER OF THE INTERNATIONAL BOOKER PRIZE • “Kang viscerally explores the limits of what a human brain and body can endure, and the strange beauty that can be found in even the most extreme forms of renunciation.”—Entertainment Weekly One of the New York Times’s 100 Best Books of the 21st Century “Ferocious.”—The New York Times Book Review (Ten Best Books of the Year) “Both terrifying and terrific.”—Lauren Groff “Provocative [and] shocking.”—The Washington Post Before the nightmares began, Yeong-hye and her husband lived an ordinary, controlled life. But the dreams—invasive images of blood and brutality—torture her, driving Yeong-hye to purge her mind and renounce eating meat altogether. It’s a small act of independence, but it interrupts her marriage and sets into motion an increasingly grotesque chain of events at home. As her husband, her brother-in-law and sister each fight to reassert their control, Yeong-hye obsessively defends the choice that’s become sacred to her. Soon their attempts turn desperate, subjecting first her mind, and then her body, to ever more intrusive and perverse violations, sending Yeong-hye spiraling into a dangerous, bizarre estrangement, not only from those closest to her, but also from herself. Celebrated by critics around the world, The Vegetarian is a darkly allegorical, Kafka-esque tale of power, obsession, and one woman’s struggle to break free from the violence both without and within her. A Best Book of the Year: BuzzFeed, Entertainment Weekly, Wall Street Journal, Time, Elle, The Economist, HuffPost, Slate, Bustle, The St. Louis Dispatch, Electric Literature, Publishers Weekly

This psychological thriller of a North Korean spy living in Seoul is “perhaps the most intriguing and accomplished Korean fiction yet to appear in English” (Kirkus). Foreign film importer Kim Ki-Yong is a family man with a wife and daughter. Living a prosperous life in Seoul, South Korea, he’s an aficionado of Heineken, soccer, and sushi. But he is also a North Korean spy who has been living among his enemies for twenty-one years. Then, after more than a decade of silence from the home office, he receives a mysterious email stating that he has one day to return to headquarters. But is the message really from Pyongyang—or has he been discovered? And if the message is real, is he being called home to receive new orders or to be executed for a lack of diligence? Spanning the course of a single day, Your Republic Is Calling You delves deep into a gripping family secret to ask whether we ever truly know the people we love. Mining the political and cultural transformations of South Korea since the 1980s, author Young-ha Kim confronts moral questions on small and large scales. “This intense novel’s bristling plot—confined to the events of a single day—ironically echoes that of Joyce’s masterpiece Ulysses.”—Kirkus

FROM HAN KANG, WINNER OF THE 2024 NOBEL PRIZE IN LITERATURE “[Han Kang writes in] intense poetic prose that . . . exposes the fragility of human life.”—from the Nobel Prize citation SHORTLISTED FOR THE BOOKER PRIZE • A “formally daring, emotionally devastating, and deeply political” (The New York Times Book Review) exploration of personal grief through the prism of the color white, from the internationally bestselling author of The Vegetarian “Stunningly beautiful writing . . . delicate and gorgeous . . . one of the smartest reflections on what it means to remember those we’ve lost.”—NPR While on a writer’s residency, a nameless narrator focuses on the color white to creatively channel her inner pain. Through lyrical, interconnected stories, she grapples with the tragedy that has haunted her family, attempting to make sense of her older sister’s death using the color white. From trying to imagine her mother’s first time producing breast milk to watching the snow fall and meditating on the impermanence of life, she weaves a poignant, heartfelt story of the omnipresence of grief and the ways we perceive the world around us. In captivating, starkly beautiful language, The White Book offers a multilayered exploration of color and its absence, of the tenacity and fragility of the human spirit, and of our attempts to graft new life from the ashes of destruction.

"Lovely and timely. So glad Joshunda is telling our stories." - Jacqueline Woodson Eight-year-old Ava Murray wants to know why there’s a difference between the warm, friendly Bronx neighborhood filled with music and art in which she lives and the Bronx she sees in news stories on TV and on the Internet. When her mother explains that the power of stories lies in the hands of those who write them, Ava decides to become a journalist. I Can Write the World follows Ava as she explores her vibrant South Bronx neighborhood - buildings whose walls boast gorgeous murals of historical figures as well as intricate, colorful street art, the dozens of different languages and dialects coming from the mouths of passersby, the many types of music coming out of neighbors’ windows and passing cars. In reporting how the music and art and culture of her neighborhood reflect the diversity of the people of New York City, Ava shows the world as she sees it, revealing to children the power of their own voice.