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By Root 1023 0

Korea’s mores and ethics. Hadn’t he refused to name his own daughter for that very reason? After the death of so many infants in his attempts for an heir, it was difficult to deny the irony that the first to survive was female, and one with health that was as stubbornly strong as her obstreperous personality. Now there was Ilsun. Japan’s laws were meant to eradicate the ancient moral right of male ascendancy, and he refused to support the implication that a female child could come into this world with the same rights as men. He believed that the highest standard of resistance was existential. He would campaign against colonialism with the example of his own life choices. At first he had little desire to find a name for a girl-child whose birth a few weeks after the Treaty of Annexation foreshadowed Korea’s decline. And then as she grew, the Japanese occupation also grew entrenched. The more his traditions fell by the wayside of modernization, which he blamed entirely on the Japanese, the more he saw that his daughter thrived in the change, and she came to represent to him Korea’s failures. He would resist the failure that surrounded him by refusing to name it—by refusing to name her.

Han wrote his letter and thought little of this resolve that had evolved over time—time that was its own kind of god, one that allowed procrastination, justification, forgetfulness—means to excuse one’s own failings. He dipped his brush in ink, his thoughts centered on his moral obligation to his ancestry. As his father and his father’s father would have wished, it was also his desire that his daughter be attached to an appropriately scholarly family. But damage had been done. He’d need a family liberal enough to accept a missionary-educated girl, yet traditional enough to subdue his daughter’s ambitions for more. His prediction that the imperial educational initiatives were thinly veiled plans to educate Korean youth into becoming Japanese sympathizers had come true. They can build a thousand public schools, Han thought,they can ban our native tongue, our flag, the teaching of our long independent history, but they cannot abrogate our traditions.

To prevent his wife’s involvement in the engagement, he’d eschew the services of a matchmaker to spy on the boy’s family. Besides, he knew them well enough. Han remembered the boy’s father from their days studying together at the Confucian Academy, preparing for the civil examinations, until the reforms had eliminated the exams, which were the only opportunity he’d had to gain a ministerial post and follow his ancestors’ tradition of officialdom. Instead, he was left to wait for royal recognition through occasional commissions for artwork or calligraphy. Yes, he had gained renown, but the method had been slow and undignified.

The prospective groom’s father, Chae, slightly younger than Han, was a lesser scholar from Yuncheon, one hundred li east in the mountains, a day-and-a-half journey. They were both painters in the Chusa tradition, and Han remembered that Chae was as much of a stickler for form and propriety as he was. Plus, he’d heard that Chae, a leader in his village, had been jailed and tortured for his participation in the March First movement. Upon learning this, Han had renewed the acquaintance and regularly corresponded with Chae as part of his resistance activities. In yesterday’s letter, Chae had casually mentioned that his eldest son had turned twelve, and he would be honored if Han might consider a union between the two families.

So be it. His daughter’s graduation come July would satisfy his wife’s wish that the girl was schooled. If his wife needed help with domestic duties in lieu of his daughter’s hands, she could find a decent girl who’d be grateful to work. In fact, since they were squeezing more taxes from everyone, there were plenty of girls from good families who’d embrace such an opportunity. Aiu! How irritating to think of women’s concerns! But among those concerns was Ilsun’s development. His son was exhibiting many of the rambunctious traits of his daughter—the prime