Harare Review of Books

264 pages.

First published April 9, 2024 (Columbia University Press)

Fiction/surrealism.

Table for One opens with a curious scene: a woman is dining alone.

“The woman drinks half a glass of soju for every three pork wraps, using both hands to have a quiet meal. Flipping meat with tongs, cutting it with scissors, grabbing it with chopsticks, putting it in her mouth with her hands—a typical way to eat. Even so, she feels uncomfortable, trapped by the gazes of those around her. The table, covered with one set of silver ware, is like a boxing ring. The woman sits alone and faces the fluttering stares. The curious spectators throw a left hook, a right hook—the woman’s only way to defend herself is steadfast eating.”

The woman turns out to be taking classes to feel comfortable eating alone in public. It’s that uncomfortable feeling you have too, when you do so, just … more so. The lives and reactions of the characters in this collection are mostly like this: it’s the mundane and quotidian, taken to a slightly surreal extreme.

Take the man in Sweet Escape who starts off worrying about bedbugs when he and his wife take a trip to Europe—but then he starts to feel imperilled when he gets back home and there’s an invasion in his own neighbourhood. Fortunately for his neighbours, and unfortunately for his wife, he is well-prepared. But where’s the line between a normal reaction to a threat, and obsession? Yun Ko-eun messes with the reader.

In another very cool story (my favourite), Roadkill, a salesman/vending machine operator gets caught up in a huge snowstorm, and takes refuge in a motel that grows increasingly creepy (a little like that fabled hotel in a sunny part of the US, perhaps). Most of the surrealism in the book seems to be packed into this one story. The best part is, although you can sort of see the ending coming, it’s super thrilling when it happens.

Other stories: a meta story (so many layers!) about an author, her protagonist, and invader graphics (and of course this one felt almost autobiographical); the one about the man who sells dreams, literally, until competition catches up with him; a story about a time capsule, which is possibly really about lost time and regret; Iceland, a story about escapism; one with a very unreliable narrator; and, finally, a story that perfectly captures the border between childhood and everything else.

I loved this collection, and wish I could read it again much more slowly. Yun Ko-eun has fantastic range and presents a delightfully weird perspective in her fiction, like a prism bending light and twisting reality just so. But don’t take my word for it: pick up this collection and read Roadkill first, and then enjoy all the rest on your morning commute (although the world may feel just that little bit stranger when you put the book down). Highly recommended.

Thank you to Columbia University Press and NetGalley for early access.

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