We Do Not Part

Inseon is Kyungha’s friend and one of the novel’s only two primary characters. She is calm and contemplative and characterized by “a quiet strength” (31). Although she is a self-employed carpenter at the time of the narrative, Inseon’s background is in photography and film. Kyungha notes that Inseon “studied photography in college” but that her work as a photographer led to “an interest in documentary filmmaking” (22). It was as a documentary filmmaker that Inseon truly found her voice, and even after she gave up her film career, she remained devoted to the kinds of projects she explored through film. 

Inseon’s work as a filmmaker is so important to her because she works at the intersection of the personal and the political. Her early films explore women’s roles during wartime, not only in Korea but also all over Asia. Although she is interested in the shared experience of Asian women, developing the theme of Historical Memory and Collective Trauma, she is equally devoted to recognizing individual humanity and difference. As her work narrows in on Korean history, she becomes increasingly focused on the buried histories of individual victims of state-sponsored violence in Korea. Inseon understands that mass killings rob victims of humanity and individuality and hopes to use research to uncover the identities of bodies long buried in Korea’s many mass graves. 

Inseon’s interest in Korea’s history of violence is, however, also deeply personal. She is from Jeju, an island off the southern tip of the Korean peninsula that was the site of a large uprising and mass killing during the leadup to the Korean War. Inseon’s own family was deeply impacted by the Jeju massacre, and she hopes to uncover their stories through her work. This work also helps Inseon to connect with her mother, who spent decades cataloging information about various massacres in the hope of finding lost family members and also finding out more about the mass killings. Inseon was devoted to her mother and was her primary caregiver in the months leading up to her death. She continues her mother’s research to feel closer to her but also to honor her life’s work and ensure that the information she uncovered becomes part of the long-buried public record. Like Kyungha, Inseon values relationships and connectivity. She is solitary by nature, but in addition to her close relationship with her mother, Inseon shares an important bond with Kyungha. Kyungha becomes part of her healing process, just as she does for Kyungha.

Inseon’s mother is no longer living by the time the narrative begins, but she remains an important secondary character as well as a key piece of this novel’s greater thematic investigation into the themes of grief and loss and historical memory and collective trauma. Inseon’s mother was a Jeju native who, like the rest of her fellow islanders, worked in the region’s agricultural sector well into old age. Jeju is an agriculturally rich island, and Inseon’s mother’s work growing and harvesting mandarins, in particular, rooted her in Jeju’s local economy, history, and culture. 

For readers familiar with Korean history and geography, Inseon’s mother will read as quintessentially “Jeju-an.” Inseon’s mother is also characterized by her strong familial relationships. She was closely bonded to both her immediate and extended families, and Inseon shares many details about her family life with Kyungha, explaining how important family relationships were to her mother. Her focus on family inspired Inseon’s third, more personal, film, as well as the development of her current project, showing how she continues to influence Inseon even after her death. 

Inseon’s mother also provided Inseon with historical details from a personal perspective, describing violence done to her sister, cousin, husband, and others. This background information explains both Inseon’s interest in creating films that draw attention to the Jeju massacre as well as her mother’s decades of research into Korean mass killings. Both women demonstrate what Kang argues is necessary for Korea to move past its violent history: acknowledgement of mass killings, treating the victims and survivors with humanity and dignity, and state apologies.

Inseon’s father is another character who, although no longer living during the narrative, remains important to its thematic structure. A Jeju islander, he was taken prisoner during the uprising and spent many years away from his family. He returned haunted by the emotional scars of his experience but also physically scarred from the torture that he endured at the hands of the Korean government. He developed a heart condition, which Inseon identifies as another “scar” of the time he spent incarcerated. 

Like its depiction of Inseon’s mother, this novel’s characterization of Inseon’s father is an important point of engagement with the Jeju massacre. Inseon’s father’s experience was typical of many young men, targeted just because he was male, and the trauma that he experienced at the hands of his government would dictate the entire course of the rest of his life. His character illustrates that it was not just those killed who became victims of the massacre: The survivors never truly recovered. He and Inseon’s mother did not share stories of their experiences with their children, but Inseon notes that he had days when he “wasn’t quite himself” (126). With the example of Inseon’s father, Kang continues to make history personal, exploring the ways that the massacre resonated through individual lives.