Lost Names: Scenes from a Korean Boyhood

“My Mother thinks my father should say, ‘Look, you, too, are working for foreigners, as their hound.’” 

Many Koreans worked for the Japanese authorities during colonial occupation. Though there were many complex motives behind collaboration, for many patriotic Koreans, such as the Kims, working for the oppressors is seen as a betrayal. 

“‘But you can and you will,’ I say to her. ‘And you have, many times since, if not crossing a frozen river on foot.’” 

Crossing the thin ice on the frozen river was a moment fraught with danger, but also a moment marked by bravery. Kim reminds his mother that, in the years that follow, she and her family have crossed metaphorical “thin ice” many times. Such bravery is necessary to survive under the repressive Japanese regime.

“It strikes me then that I have not seen any Japanese children in the field. I discover later that they have their own morning assembly in another field in the back of the school. It is obvious that we do not mix in classes. They have their own classes and classrooms, and we have ours, although we are all in the same school.” 

The Japanese colonial project sought to assimilate Koreans into Japanese culture, but it kept them as second-class citizens. Kim is not surprised when he discovers that his school is segregated. He rarely interacts with Japanese people throughout the novel, except for a few teachers.

“For that matter, all Christian children in our town—Presbyterian, Catholic, Methodist, Baptist, Seventh Day Adventist—are unable to attend their churches because of the Sunday-morning assembly at the school.” 

Part of the Japanese colonial project was to find ways of sowing discord among their colonized subjects. By banning Korean in schools, they hoped a generation of young Koreans would not be able to read or write their own language. Sunday assemblies attempt disconnect Kim and his schoolmates from their Christian community, helping to assert Japanese cultural supremacy.

“We’ll soon find out.” 

As maps are drawn and redrawn, it is difficult for the people of Kim’s town to grasp what is happening in the world. The apparent treaty between Germany, Japan’s ally, and the Soviet Union, an enemy, makes things even more confusing. Kim’s teacher turns to Mr. Kim for answers, despite that the teacher is employed by the Japanese.

“White rice is scarce and expensive, not because the rice harvest is poor but because now, our rice farmers are forced by law to sell their rice to the government at a cut-rate price; rice is then shipped to Japan (which the Japanese want us to call the ‘mainland’), leaving very little rice in Korea. Now, only the Japanese and very rich Koreans can afford white rice.” 

White rice holds great significance in Korean culture; in fact, to ask “Have you eaten?” in Korean translates to “Have you eaten rice?”. The Japanese exploitation of Korean resources during this time makes a once-staple item a symbol of occupation and class oppression. Kim feels ashamed eating white rice in front of his classmates, who can only afford millet and barley. 

“‘Iwamoto’… ‘Iwamoto.’ I mouth the name. Our new name. My new name. ‘Iwa’—rock. ‘Moto’—root…base…foundation. ‘Rock foundation.’ So this is our ‘new’ surname, our Japanese ‘-family’ name.”

Forced to pick a new, Japanese surname, Mr. Kim choses “Iwamoto,” meaning “Rock Foundation.” This is appropriate for Mr. Kim, who is = a pillar of his society. The name also evokes the biblical phrase, “On this rock I will build my church.” 

“‘Take a good look at all of this,’ he whispers. ‘Remember it. Don’t ever forget this day.’” 

Mr. Kim wises his son to never forget the day that the Japanese tried to erase their names. Kim does not; this scene informs Kim’s project of the “remembrance of things lost.” The erasure of their Korean names is an attempt to destroy their cultural identity.

“‘…inflicting on you this humiliation…’ he is saying, ‘…unthinkable for one Asian people to another Asian people, especially we Asians who should have a greater respect for our ancestors…’” 

Chopstick’s apology to Mr. Kim evokes, for the first time in the novel, a sense of remorse and regret from the Japanese oppressors, indicating that not all of them condone what the Japanese are doing to the Koreans. Ancestor worship is one facet of Shintoism; Chopstick points out the hypocrisy the Japanese exhibit by forcing the Koreans to disrespect their ancestors by changing their names. 

“Stop! Stop! Stop! I want to shout out into the howling wind and the maddening snow. How long—for how many generations—are you going to say to each other, ‘I am ashamed to look in your eyes’? Is that going to be the only legacy we can hand down to the next generation and the next and the next?” 

Kim, with a child’s wit, sees through the self-indulgence of perpetual self-pity and groveling. Kim is disgusted by his elders giving into Han. He realizes that, without active resistance, his people are doomed to perpetual subjugation and colonization. 

“Today, I lost my name. Today, we all lost our names.

‘February 11, 1940.’” 

As its eponymous tale, “Lost Names” is the pivotal story in the novel. Losing his Korean name marks the beginning of Kim’s awakening to resistance to giving into Han. In 1940, Japan approaches the apex of its empire, invading Indo-China, and preparing to attack Pearl Harbor. 

“Nowadays, many families in town have one or two maids, not because they are well off and can afford to have maids but because taking these girls in is one way to help the peasant families.” 

Taking in vulnerable girls as maids is a way for Korean families to help protect their own in the face of Japanese occupation. Because nothing in school is taught in Korean anymore, Mrs. Kim helps these girls learn to read and write Hangul as a form of passive resistance. 

“My father knows something about bombs, I suspect, although not too much about aerial bombs…” 

As Kim matures, he begins to have a greater inkling of what his father did to land himself in prison. Mr. Kim’s analysis of a fuel tank that an American plane jettisoned (the closest thing to a bomb being dropped on Korea that Kim recalls) seems suspicious.

“No, you don’t forget that. No, I won’t forget that. I exult in neither bitterness nor hatred nor an ephemeral snobbishness of suffering; yet, I glory in neither magnanimity nor understanding nor forgiveness. I merely reflect, with a quick, sharp ache within me, that that is only one of the many other things that I cannot and will not forget.” 

Kim vows to never forget the cruel beating he received from the Japanese athletics teacher. This is an example of Kim resisting the fatalism of Han and instead accepting a reembrace of things lost. He chooses to remember the event as it was, not inflected by anger, or revenge, or any sort of nobility born from suffering. 

“We wanted you to decide. We didn’t want you to feel that you are running away, you know, deserting your friends. You are in this together, and you don’t want to look like a weakling, not that slaving for the Japanese is important or worthwhile.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Kim leave it up to their son to decide whether to leave “school”—by this point, little more than forced manual labor. They are aware of Kim’s deep sense of justice; they know he would likely rather endure hardship with his friends rather than abandon them.

“You and your father must know a way to find out, don’t you? And that’s why I have been wondering when you would decide to go home. You know, I used to tell myself, ‘Well, when that boy quits, we’ve had it.’” 

Even the Japanese feel Mr. Kim’s political influence. Kim’s teacher knows that Mr. Kim has the resources to see through the veil of Japanese propaganda. The teacher has been to mainland Japan and seen the destruction wrought by American bombs, but to him, the Russian invasion of Manchuria is what signals the end of Japanese occupation on the continent.

“He does not see me, but I see him, and for one fleeting moment, I am sorry for him, but then I think—For thirty-six years, you and yours have trampled on us and tried to destroy our souls […] Love and compassion that have been smothered by the memories of thirty-six years cannot be resurrected by pity that lasts only for a fleeting moment.” 

This quote is an instance of Kim looking into the future of his life’s story, beyond what the author depicts in Lost Names. Kim’s opportunistic teacher never found the protection he sought by attempting to cozy up to Mr. Kim and other influential members of Korean society. Because of the cruelty Kim and others faced during the colonial days, Kim is unable to find pity for the man. 

“I am touching his thin hand, his rough, bony hand, and his arm and, looking up, I am seeing his face, his emaciated face with those hollow eyes that are filling up with silent tears. I am seeing his face twitching and struggling as he is trying to hold back his tears and smile.” 

Kim’s narrative shifts into present tense when he reunites with his father, creating a sense of immediacy in the moment. This indicates the importance of the event in Kim’s life. Mr. Kim’s body is ravaged by the cruel treatment he received in the prison camp; he is the embodiment of torment and Korean resilience.

“‘You’ve got to organize the people first, sir,’ I say. ‘organize them quickly because right now, our people are simply a crowd, a mob. You’ve got to organize them and assign them specific targets, like the railway station, warehouses, and so on. We should round up everyone who knows how to handle weapons and have them organized into a sort of battle group. It is all very simple, really, sir.’” 

Mr. Kim’s complete respect for his son is evident in the way that he defers to Kim’s judgement about what to do about the remaining Japanese forces in their village. Kim’s expertise is ironic: all of the military training that the Japanese schoolteachers have made the Korean students undergo is now backfiring.

“What I am really ashamed of is that our liberation was given to us, Mother. We didn’t get it ourselves. It just dropped from the sky. Just like that. A present!” 

The shame Kim felt at the graveyard at the reaction of the older generations continues after the fall of Japan. Liberation came due to the American war effort, not Korean resistance. This is both a sign of maturity and immaturity in Kim, who, at age 13, now views himself as an adult.

“Survival, yes, that’s it. Survival. Stay alive. Raise families, our children, like you, for the future. Survival, son, that’s what my generation has accomplished, if that can be called an accomplishment.” 

Mr. Kim’s generation inherited a country that the Japanese had already conquered. Merely surviving under such an oppressive regime is an important feat; however, the focus on survival meant that Mr. Kim’s generation was unable to fight for Korea’s freedom.

“No one can really say your generation was bad and his generation is better, can he, sir? We are all in the making of history together, aren’t we sir?” 

Kim begins to reconcile the conflict he feels between his generation and the preceding ones. He realizes that freedom means the future is in everyone’s hands. Making history is collaborative effort—no one generation is responsible for the outcome.

“It is your world now.’” 

After the surrender of the police chief, Mr. Kim symbolically passes the torch of leadership to his son and his son’s generation; this torch takes the form of the police chief sabre. Though there is much work to be done, seizing control of his country is the first step in the redemption of Mr. Kim’s generation.