When My Name Was Keoko

Fiction | Novel | YA | Published in 2002

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Summary

Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Chapters 1-5

Chapters 6-9

Chapters 10-14

Chapters 15-20

Chapters 21-25

Chapters 26-29

Chapters 30-32

Character Analysis

Themes

Symbols & Motifs

Important Quotes

Essay Topics

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Discussion Questions

Themes

Resistance and Liberation Occurs Differently for Every Individual

Throughout My Name is Keoko, Park portrays how a nation, a family, and individuals must respond to crisis and oppression in various forms of resistance. For some, their fight is literal, and they go to war and fight courageously for their family's well-being (Tae-yul). For others, it is subtle, and they fight using subversive underground tactics to dismantle the oppressor (Uncle). And for others, they don’t seem to fight at all—yet even in their non-action, resistance manifests in unexpected ways (Abuji).

At the core of this novel, Park explores how individuals—when faced with the most challenging realities of life, death, loss, and abuse—must find ways to cope and endure by fighting. Yet fighting does not have to look the same for every individual. People should not expect a strong young man like Tae-yul, who is interested in plane mechanics, to respond to crises in the same way as an elder like Mrs. Ahn who can barely walk does—yet both must find ways to resist defeat. Whether mentally, spiritually, or physically, each character demonstrates a range of resisting occupation.

The most obvious and expected form of resistance is actual resistance by military force. Tae-yul decides to join the Japanese Imperial Army and later becomes involved as a kamikaze pilot. He believes that by sacrificing his life, his family will gain not only honor but, more importantly, will receive additional supplies from the Japanese. He uses his body more than his mind to fight against the oppressive Japanese forces. Though he has a plan to subvert the system, his plan eventually fails. He sits in jail—though his intentions fulfill their desired effect and his family receives more supplies and better treatment from the Japanese soldiers in Korea. In effect, Tae-yul tries to benefit from the system in place and responds by adapting to the system rather than trying to enact structural change.

Uncle also exhibits a traditional model of resistance during occupation. His involvement in the underground Korean resistance movement is, quite literally, a resistant act. But as opposed to Tae-yul, Uncle is operating within a network of resistance to try and overthrow the actual system itself. His involvement shows a community’s ability to develop an evolved, calculated, and tactical response to oppression. Rather than allowing the Japanese forces to blindly destroy the Korean community, many Koreans make a unified effort to resist their erasure, giving men and women like Uncle (and Mrs. Ahn) a community purpose that may sometimes go unseen by others. When others see and acknowledge this type of resistance is perhaps the most powerful action as it imparts confidence, pride, and hope in the people: “What Uncle and others like him are doing—it’s more important than anything. We aren’t Japanese—we’re Korean. But we’ll never be allowed to truly be Korean unless we have our independence” (90).

On the other hand, resistance can also be a private or solitary act, a psychological or emotional space where a character can develop their internal defense against the sense of defeat. Sun-hee’s journal takes on this purpose. Because she is a young girl who cannot enlist in the army or run a print shop, her ways of fighting back seem limited. She focuses her energy inward, and begins to master her sense of Korean heritage and pride through language and intellect. Though her body may be unable to express literal resistance against the Japanese soldiers, her mind becomes her fortress.

Inspired by Mrs. Ahn’s act of refusing to learn the Japanese numeric system—claiming “They cannot have my thoughts. I will not allow it” (74)—Sun-hee begins to cherish her ideas, writing against the Japanese oppression in her notebook and secretly learning how to write and think like a subversive Korean. In many ways, her act of secret rebellion is the most threatening to Japanese control, because if they cannot force her into obeying their ideology, they will never control her. Due to her age and gender, this is the only way Sun-hee can resist, but it’s effective for her and allows her to develop strength in ways that even the grown men in her community lack.

Each character, as a result of their oppression, finds a method of fighting, of resisting, of rejecting—and it looks different for all. However, it’s important to note that in each instance, resistance also happens in response to a legacy of abuse. This highlights how, as members of any society, a community can only tolerate so much harassment, targeting, and dehumanization until that community decides to fight back:

They’re doing it again. Taking whatever they want. Grandfather’s hair, Omoni’s jewelry, Sun-hee’s diary. My bicycle. And we can’t do anything to stop them. Now it’s Uncle they want. And they want me to stand there and do nothing again. This time, I have to do something (141).

Tae-yul’s comment shows how his decision to fight back was a result of his family’s and nation’s lineage of abuse. In other words, a person or community’s choice to be rebellious does not simply emerge overnight, but is a layered reaction in response to years and even generations of neglectful treatment.

Sacrifice and Struggle Deepens the Appreciation for Community

Essential to the physical or emotional survival of every character is community. Whether family, school, culture, neighborhood, or other types of sub-communities that exist, individuals need to have a sense of place in order to maintain joy, hope, and sense of self. In the narrative, community takes on many forms, and it’s clear that as the struggles and sacrifices of the characters increase, so does the need for community.

Community is many things, but in the case of When My Name Was Keoko, it largely takes on a cultural and regional shape. Community is who one lives with and around, who one identifies as, and who one can trust. During war, these factors become less and less clear, so the sense of community shrinks, but in doing so, it also becomes tighter and more resilient. The ability to identify community in one individual during a time of chaos and danger is perhaps more powerful than being able to find community in hundreds during a time of peace and safety. In war, relationships develop a more defined purpose and urgency than ever before.

A clear example of concentrated community is when Mrs. Ahn, a widow previously shunned by her community during times of peace, becomes a symbol of community in times of war. Her relationship with Sun-hee and Omoni flourishes, as they develop a system of helping each other when needed. These parties—mere next door neighbors—would arguably never have established a community if soldiers were not constantly placing them in danger and threatening their sense of peace and safety. Thus, as they are more and more suppressed, they begin to look to each other for safety and a sense of comfort. This community yields large benefits for all—an exchange that resultantly benefits everyone involved. Mrs. Ahn is able to learn Japanese from Sun-hee and is alerted by family members when needed, and in return, Mrs. Ahn shares her rarest supplies with them and secretly houses Uncle when Japanese soldiers hunt him.

Through neglect and abuse, the Korean nation’s sense of community grows and becomes stronger. More than anything, it lives in the people, and comes to light during times of darkness. As Sun-hee explains, her sense of love for her Korean community arises only when she faces the utmost danger:

What did it mean to be Korean, when for all my life Korea had been part of Japan? It took the words of a man I’d never heard of—a faraway American—to make me realize something that had been inside me all along. Korean was the jokes and stories Uncle told us. It was the flag he’d drawn. It was the rose of Sharon tree Omoni had saved, and the little circle Tae-yul had carved on the bottom of the gourd bowls. Korean was the thoughts of Mrs. Ahn, in her own language, not someone else’s (111).

Her own realization reveals just how often people take community for granted until forced to recognize it.

The Ability to Shift Morals and Expectations During War

Hinging on the ability to survive and endure a near-destructive experience is one’s ability to shift and adapt morals and expectations during times of distress, particularly in war. Time and again, the novel reveals how characters must continually reshape their understanding of what’s around them in order to survive. Whether it’s learning who to trust, finding ways to tolerate an outcome, or allowing more flexibility in traditional gender roles, humans cannot remain static if they want to survive a crisis.

Besides the obvious violent dangers of an occupied nation during war, being able to adapt to new standards is among the most threatening realities that can challenge a person’s survival. It appears throughout the narrative in each character’s experience, as something that they once believed to be true is no longer applicable the following day, and they must elasticize themselves in order to endure and continue forward. One of the biggest ways this is show in the text is through the use of “chin-il-pa”—or Koreans who support Japanese. It’s a derogatory term within the Korean community, used to signify anyone who betrays their people to gain Japanese favor, but as the story progresses, it’s clear that the situation isn’t as black and white as it may seem.

At times, Sun-hee despises chin-il-pa, but must reconsider her position when her Uncle—a proud Korean—becomes chin-il-pa in order to progress in his business. In moments like this, the characters must struggle with deep introspection, questioning what they once believed and trying to determine a new truth in response to an immediate and evolving context:

It’s so confusing. Uncle acting like chin-il-pa when he’s not…Tomo, the son of an important Japanese official, helping a resistance worker…Uncle disobeying Abuji in order to be able to obey him one day. If I can’t fully understand, how can she? (90).

Here, Sun-hee grapples with her changing sense of reality. What she used to believe as true has morphed within the span of a few days, and she must continually regather her morals, beliefs, and expectations to fit a new circumstance. Her perception of truth is not rigid—she must learn how to accept and question former beliefs. It is an ability that allows her to cope with the changes and effects of war and violence, and one perhaps undervalued as a sign of strength and endurance.

Warfare and crisis, more than anything else, force individuals to question everything, and if one fails in reinterpreting surroundings, it may perhaps lead to a disconnect with family, community, and safety. The characters grapple with this and adapt their beliefs on a regular basis, having to make difficult choices that could lead to the survival of themselves, and their families. Decisions about culture, relationships, friendships, and loyalty arise, choices that define who they are as individuals. In doing so, these choices re-shift how they cope with their present. Sun-hee again must grapple with her choices while talking to Tae-yul about their father:

‘More important than family?’ she asks. But it’s not one of her usual whiny little-sister questions. She’s thinking hard, I can tell. ‘Our duty to Abuji is important,’ I say. ‘It’s a part of our culture. But if the Japanese have their way, someday there won’t be any such thing as our culture. When Uncle works for independence, he works for the right to live as Abuji wants us to…Do you see what I mean?’ (90).

Rarely is a child forced to choose between the expectations of her father and the ambition of her uncle, but this novel shows again and again how war places everyone in compromising situations of morality and expectation—and one’s ability to choose may result in one’s ability to live another day.