Diary of a murderer And other stories

Young-ha Kim, 1968-

Book - 2019

"In the titular novella, a former serial killer suffering from memory loss sets his sights on a new, and final, target: a killer targeting young women, his daughter included. Complicating matters is an old detective seeking to close the cold cases from the now-retired murderer. But whom, if anyone, are we to trust? In the following three stories we witness a family's disintegration after a baby son is kidnapped and recovered years later; a comic, erotic ride about pursuing creativity at all costs; and an affair between two childhood friends that questions the limits of loyalty and love"--

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Subjects
Genres
Short stories
Published
Boston : Mariner Books 2019.
Language
English
Main Author
Young-ha Kim, 1968- (author)
Other Authors
Krys Lee (translator)
Edition
First Mariner Books edition
Physical Description
200 pages ; 21 cm
ISBN
9781328545428
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

All appears relatively calm at the start of each story in this collection by popular South Korean Kim (I Hear Your Voice, 2017). In the titular novella, an elderly man plainly states that it has been 25 years since he last killed someone. This lucid declaration is followed by a slow deterioration of the self-declared serial killer's memory as a result of Alzheimer's and dementia. Anxiety and paranoia creep into his brief diary entries as a mysterious meeting with a man who seems to know his dark past disrupts the very core of his carefully constructed reality. So, too, in the stories that follow, expectations of an orderly life are thrown into turmoil or characters experience a fortunate near-miss. A lover's tryst gives way to a vengeful set of coincidences, a family struggles to make sense of their child's sudden disappearance, a writer pursues creation at high costs. Kim delicately weaves philosophical debates on the nature of happiness and morality into his characters' inner narrations. Both jarring and atmospheric, this is a cerebrally satisfying collection.--Michael Ruzicka Copyright 2019 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

This dark, innovative story collection from Kim (I Have the Right to Destroy Myself) is rife with grim plots and unreliable narrators. The lengthy title story, a first-person account of a former serial killer stricken with Alzheimer's, is told in a series of notes the narrator writes to himself amid his concerns that another serial killer is stalking his adoptive daughter (whose mother he murdered). As the plot progresses and the killer decides he needs to make one last kill, characters swing into new identities-readers learn about the protagonist as they learn not to trust a thing. "The Origin of Life," the weakest story in the collection, tells the story of an affair between one-time childhood sweethearts gone wrong. The somber "Missing Child" explores what might happen when an abducted child is returned to a family 10 years later. "The Writer," the book's strangest and funniest story, is a twist-filled account of a blocked novelist who is sent to New York by his new publisher and finds inspiration in an unlikely source. The collection, with its universally bleak stories, suffers from diminishing returns, but the title story is exceptional. The best stories are engrossing and disturbing, and are excellent showcases of Kim's talent. (Apr.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

While celebrated South Korea author Kim's long fiction has appeared in English, (e.g., I Hear Your Voice), this is the first of his five story collections to be translated. The opening novella features a now inactive serial killer slowly losing his memory. ("It's been twenty-five years since I last murdered someone, or has it been twenty-six?") Now he's worried that another serial killer he knows is targeting his adoptive daughter-the very daughter his final victim begged him to spare. The narrative is brisk and the voice magnetic, but can this narrator be trusted? Other stories feature a violent encounter that upends two offbeat lovers and a writer contemplating murder to get his creative juices flowing again. VERDICT Spiky, quirky reading for all short story fans, whether of literary or pop bent. © Copyright 2019. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

These tales of obsession reverberate with the hard, cool, and dryly comic voice of one of South Korea's most versatile writers (I Hear Your Voice, 2017, etc.).In the title story, which takes up practically half of this svelte collection, Kim Byeongsu is entering his eighth decade afflicted with Alzheimer's. Because his mind has shattered into fragments that wander or collide, he is compelled to write down everything and anything that comes into his head before it vanishes into the ether. Observations, random encounters, physical details, reminiscences, pieces of poetrythey all somehow find their ways into his journal. When he's able to connect some of these jottings, Byeongsu determines that there's a serial killer at loose in his neighborhood and that the next victim could be his daughter, Eunhui. Such reasoning is based on personal experience: Byeongsu himself was a career serial killer who managed to evade the law for three decades until he quit and took upbowling? Maybe it was a car accident that shook him out of "the work that [he's] best at." He's not sure, and neither are we. Creeping anxiety and Kafkaesque humor meld in this deceptively intricate novella (the foundation of a 2017 movie, Memoir of a Murderer, co-scripted by its author), goading you into believing just about anything Byeongsu says, no matter how disreputable his past or unreliable his memory. The other three stories retain the first one's chilliness (sustained nicely with help from Lee's translation), which comes across somewhat diffused in different, but no less jolting, contexts. In "The Origin of Life," a liaison between former childhood friends distorts itself into what appears at first to be a romantic triangle but coalesces into a more rhomboidlike shape. "Missing Child" ramps up the intimacy of terror (and vice versa) in chronicling a kidnap case, while "The Writer" frolics with sex, lies, and philosophy in tracking the crash and burn of its title character. Kim's gifts may need a bigger canvas than the short form allows to spread his wings. Still, this is a lively, enthralling introduction to his eclectic artistry. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

It's been twenty-five years since I last murdered someone, or has it been twenty-six? Anyway, it's about that long ago. What drove me back then wasn't, as people usually assume, the urge to kill or some sexual perversion. It was disappointment. It was hope for a more perfect pleasure. Each time I buried a victim, I repeated to myself: I can do better next time. The very reason I stopped killing was because that hope vanished. I kept a journal. An objective report. Maybe I needed something like that at the time. What I'd done wrong, how that made me feel. I had to write it down so I wouldn't repeat the same gut-wrenching mistakes. Just like students keep a notebook with all their test mistakes, I also kept meticulous records of every step of my murders and what I felt about them. It was a stupid thing to do. Coming up with sentences was grueling. I wasn't trying to be literary and it was just a daily log, so why was it so difficult? Not being able to fully express the ecstasy and pity I'd felt made me feel lousy. Most of the fiction I'd read was from Korean-language textbooks. They didn't have any of the sentences I needed. So I started reading poetry. That was a mistake. The poetry teacher at the community center was a male poet around my age. On the first day of class he made me laugh when he said solemnly, "Like a skillful killer, a poet is someone who seizes language and ultimately kills it." This was after I'd already "seized and ultimately killed" dozens of prey and buried them. But I didn't think what I did was poetry. Murder's less like poetry and more like prose. Anyone who tries it knows that much. Murdering someone is even more troublesome and filthy than you think. Anyway, thanks to the teacher I got interested in poetry. I was born the type who can't feel sadness, but I respond to humor. I'm reading the Diamond Sutra: "Abiding nowhere, give rise to the mind." I took the poetry classes for a long stretch. I'd decided that if the class was lame I would kill the instructor, but thankfully, it was interesting. The instructor made me laugh several times, and he even praised my poems twice. So I let him live. He probably still doesn't know that he's living on borrowed time. I recently read his latest poetry collection, which was disappointing. Should I have put him in his grave back then? To think that he keeps writing poems with such limited talent when even a gifted murderer like me has given up killing. How brazen. I keep stumbling these days. I fall off my bicycle or trip on a stone. I've forgotten a lot of things. I've burned the bottoms of three teapots. Eunhui called and told me she made me an appointment at the doctor's. While I yelled and roared with anger, she stayed silent until she said, "Something is definitely not normal. Something definitely happened to your head. It's the first time I've ever seen you get angry, Abba." Had I really never gotten angry before? I was still feeling dazed when Eunhui hung up. I grabbed the cell phone to finish our conversation, but suddenly I couldn't remember how to make a phone call. Did I first have to press the Call button? Or did I dial the number first? And what was Eunhui's phone number? I remember there being a simpler way to do this. I was frustrated. And annoyed. I threw the cell phone across the room. I didn't know what poetry was, so I wrote honestly about the process of murder. My first poem, was it called "Knife and Bones"? The instructor remarked that my use of language was fresh. He said that its raw quality and the perceptive way I imagined death depicted the futility of life. He repeatedly praised my use of metaphors. I asked, "What's a metaphor?" The instructor grinned--I didn't like that smile--and explained "metaphor" to me. So a metaphor was a figure of speech. Ah-ha. Listen, sorry to let you down, but that wasn't a figure of speech. I grabbed a copy of the Heart Sutra and began reading: So, in the emptiness, no form, No feeling, thought, or choice, Nor is there consciousness. No eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind. No color, sound, smell, taste, touch, Or what the mind takes hold of, Nor even act of sensing. No ignorance or end of it, Nor all that comes of ignorance. No withering, no death, No end of them. Nor is there pain, or cause of pain, Or cease in pain, or noble path To lead from pain. Not even wisdom to attain!   The instructor asked me, "So you really haven't studied poetry before?" Excerpted from Diary of a Murderer: And Other Stories by Young-ha Kim All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.