9.8

Blending Stories Across Time in The Melancholy of Untold History

By Alana Joli Abbott  |  July 22, 2024 | 10:30am
Books Reviews Minsoo Kang
Blending Stories Across Time in The Melancholy of Untold History
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A storyteller faces certain death. A historian falls into a deep depression after the loss of a loved one. And four gods play out a conflict in life after life, regardless of the number of years they spend in their war. These tales blend together, weaving in and out of each other in a dance of myth, history, and personal narrative, in Minsoo Kang’s powerful debut novel, The Melancholy of Untold History.

Opening with an unnamed storyteller, the novel launches readers into a specific historical moment, as a group of people face execution by an uncaring emperor, for no reason they can fathom. Before the introduction concludes, an unnamed historian gives a lecture before having dinner with his wife, a colleague, and her boyfriend. While the historian’s life seems idyllic, at least during that captured moment, disaster strikes: his wife, the love of his life, dies senselessly in an accident, leaving him to make sense of a world without her in it. The first chapter launches into a seemingly unrelated myth: four gods who are the best of friends have a falling out over a perfect peach, their ensuing conflict the result of a curse placed on them by two divine figures: a sky baby and a dragon. As the book progresses, it weaves in and out of time, not only by revisiting the myth of the four mountain gods—who themselves move through history battling each other, long after their purpose is forgotten—but by uncovering how the historian’s career intersects with the storyteller’s life. The mystery of those people headed for execution is revealed through the historian’s own publications; the historian’s life is reframed by the tale of the four gods, who were inventions of the storyteller in the first place. These threads that at first seem wholly unrelated are revealed as completely interwoven—and tropes that seem at once familiar, especially from a Western lens, are recontextualized by each story’s relation to the others. 

All of this is elevated by Kang’s gorgeous prose, which moves from literary to crass sometimes within the same sentence. Early on, when the sky baby is first laying his curses on the Red Mountain God, he insults him, calling him, “you stingy old bastard, you flaccid pig’s dick, you donkey’s dirty anus.” But these base moments—many of which are played, successfully, for humor—contrast with the luminous.

The historian philosophizes on the idea of “pristine perfection,” an idea that plays out later, through other characters, as well:

“Throughout my life, [these moments] have come to me every once in awhile, sometimes years and decades passing between them. I recognized them because they affected me in a specific way. Like I was witnessing something…otherworldly. Perfect things that should not be happening in this imperfect world.”

The echoes of those moments of perfection, of supernaturally sublime occurrences, happen in the myth, and the history, and the lived experience of the historian. When he experiences them, he mourns—they cannot last forever. But there’s also a sense that they are not meant to be captured, but instead, should be breathed in and let go, that their passing is part of the point of their existence. Such an appreciation is beyond the historian at the beginning of the novel, but as he journeys through his depression, in tandem with the justice-seeking storyteller facing his own death and the four gods squabbling over generations of humanity, the readers, at least, gain a sense of what those moments might mean: an intangible thing given to the reader as part of the story. While many of the characters lack names, this never leads to a full detachment from the reader—instead, it invites the reader to experience a deeper closeness, because those names are unknown; the historian, the storyteller, and the colleague could be someone in their own lives, experiencing their own joys, woes, and struggles.

Kang’s novel is on the shorter side, clocking in at around 240 pages. But it packs so much into those pages, weaving philosophy and mythology and grief together until they feel as though they’re perfect companions to each other. There’s a literary non-linearity to the structure that might feel unfamiliar to readers who prefer a more straightforward narrative, but as each section unfolds, more is revealed about each story, until they come together in a vibrant whole. Ghosts, gods, friendship, and love are part of each experience—whether metaphorically or metaphysically—and their interdependence makes the whole narrative feel weightier than its slim length. And yet! Those moments of philosophy are also lifted by humor, so that the experience never feels too heavy. Sky baby and the dragon reappear at just the right moments to alleviate the heaviness of sorrow, and the stories find their proper endings at last. Untold history may be melancholy, but it’s in the process of living that history can be transformed, that stories can be understood, and that justice can, at last, be found.

The Melancholy of Untold History is available now, wherever books are sold. 

Alana Joli Abbott is a reviewer and game writer, whose multiple-choice novels, including Choice of the Pirate and Blackstone Academy for Magical Beginners, are published by Choice of Games. She is the author of three novels, several short stories, and many role-playing game supplements. She also edits fantasy anthologies for Outland Entertainment, including Bridge to Elsewhere and Never Too Old to Save the World. You can find her online at VirgilandBeatrice.com.

 
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