웅녀, 가위눌림, 태몽.
THESE are a few of the words written in Hangul in my novel The Stone Home, published by William Morrow in April. They appear midsentence, a sprig of Korean characters in a landscape of English. Though my book has been completed for some time, I still feel a surge of delight when I flip through the pages and stumble upon a word written in Hangul, nested within the text like a prize. You see, the decision to add Hangul wasn’t an intuitive one. Take a look here:
Umma bore down, a bear woman, all flesh and body, our hearts connected, an 웅녀 , the origin of our world.
When I read the line above, the words flow through me, a mix of the English and Korean I heard and spoke growing up. For many children of immigrants, we live in this in-between space, a thin seam uniting our personal and public tongues. But I wonder: How
