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I’m planning to return to blogging now. For a while, I’ve felt unsure what to blog about, but now I’m going to try to get some ideas out and see how it goes.
For this post, I’ll just share a picture I took of some good food.
This is Hangari Bajirak Kalgooksoo restaurant in Koreatown, Los Angeles.
- Hangari (항아리) is spelled and pronounced hang-a-ri (not Han-ga-ri) because the first syllable comes from Chinese 缸 (gāng), meaning a jar or container for liquid. Hangari means “jar.”
- Bajirak (바지락) means clam.
- Kalgooksoo is nonstandard Romanization for kalguksu (칼국수). Kal means knife, and guksu means noodles, so Kalguksu means knife[-cut] noodles, akin to Chinese 刀削麵 (dāoxiāomiàn).
The red part says “Hangari” and the black part says “hangari kalguksu. ”
- I recommend this place.
- The kimchi were fresh, and everything was tasty.
- I must have had +40 clams in my soup. If I went back I would order mixed seafood.
World-renowned Japanese writer Murakami Haruki has a new book out, his first collection of short stories in nine years. The title is「女のいない男たち」or The Men Without Women, and it includes six new stories, all of which were first published in the last six months.
While Murakami’s novels are always published in English within a year or so of their initial publication (the next one, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, will come out this year), his short story collections are not usually published in English. That is, the publishers usually make their own collections, such as in the case of The Elephant Vanishes (17 stories spanning the 1980s, and published 12 years later in Japanese as「象の消滅」). The Chinese publishers seem to do the same thing. The difference is that the Chinese publishers will take a well-known story, make it the title of a collection, and publish it with a bunch of lesser-known stories. The English-language publishers seem to publish fewer, larger collections and simply don’t bother to translate and print the lesser-known stories. Thus, I surmise that this book may never come out in English as The Men Without Women. Fans who don’t read Japanese will have to wait for the next short story collection.
As for the title, I translate it as The Men Without Women rather than Men Without Women (or Men Whose Women Are Gone, etc.) because otoko tachi (rather than simply otoko) seems to refer to specific men. Indeed, in each of these six stories, the protagonist is a man without a woman. However, it is probably not a coincidence that Ernest Hemingway published a collection of ten short stories about men in 1927, called Men Without Women, and the name of that book in Japanese translation is—you guessed it—Onna no inai otoko tachi. It was translated by Ayukawa Nobuo in 1982, just when Murakami was beginning his writing career.
The Japanese Wikipedia page includes some trivia about the new book. Apparently, it is usual that it does not include a preface. The two stories “Drive My Car” and “Yesterday” were supposedly altered somehow before publication in the book, and “Drive My Car” has already been translated and published in Korean by Yang Eog-gwan (梁億寬).
Below are the front and back covers of the book, with English translations of the story titles, descriptions, and dates/places of publication. All translations are mine, and thus later publications may make different choices.
The Men Without Women
First issue April 20th, 2014
[His] short story world for the first time in nine years.
That story is
And exceeds expectations.
Bungei Shunju publication / Fixed price (JPY 1574 + tax)
Six stories that intertwine and echo.
“Drive My Car”
Bungei Shunju Dec. 2013
Stage actor Kafuku hires Misaki, a female driver. Why did his deceased wife have to have a relationship with that man? Little by little, he began to tell Misaki.
Bungei Shunju Jan. 2014
What is the strange “cultural exchange” proposed by his classmate Kitaru, from Den-en-chōfu but who can speak perfect Kansai dialect? And then, 16 years passed.
Bungei Shunju Mar. 2014
What did his friend, the confirmed bachelor Dr. Tokai, obtain for the first time by sacrificing his life?
MONKEY Vol. 2 Spring 2014
Shut up in the “house” that is a lonely island on land, Habara is toyed with by the story that even the world finds captivating, told by the “contact person” woman after the affair.
Bungei Shunju Feb. 2014
Betrayed by his wife, Kino quit his job and opened a bar. Then at certain times, a strange presence would envelop the place.
“The Men Without Women”
First published here
One night after midnight, a phone call from his former lover’s husband came to deliver sad news.
One year ago, today. 一年前的今天。 今日から一年前。
Yesterday I made Chinese and Japanese translations of my entry from one year ago. See below.
Seven lessons learned by one couple after a year on the road.
See what a road tripper is doing to try to feel the fabric of America.
June 10, 2012
The tide rolled in under the dock and lapped the mossy green grass growing in the muck. We ate pancakes on the veranda, talked about our friends that weren’t there, parted.
We took the highway past downtown and out to the west side, where we ate at Masada Cafe inside the United House of Prayer for All People. A Frommer’s “Find,” we heard “best down-home Southern cooking in Savannah” and won’t disagree. We found the UHoPFAP by a highway overpass and another church where some were out in their Sunday best. Signs said, “Kitchen Open.” A metal cafeteria counter was nearly empty, but luckily the rest of the food was in the back. I went for cash while our chicken fried. We got meat and three with cornbread and tea for $7. The skin was thin and crisp, the meat was juicy, and the sides were rock solid. I ate fried chicken, succotash (Lima beans and corn), green beans and mac and cheese.
Downtown is for squares. We strolled among “green lungs,” columns and iron rails. We passed homeless people, boarded buildings and the Housing Authority in the projects. Our car cobbled along River Street and down the back alley under Factor’s Walk and Row. We watched a cargo ship churn down the river and got a toot from the tugboat of the “Charleston Express.” We ate peanut butter pie in Gallery Espresso. We crossed iron bridges by the old Cotton Exchange. A group of kids passed a Corvette parked under a brick arch on the cobblestone street where dockhands once ported rice and cotton.
We ate dinner on the south side, at Sammy’s Greens, which occupies one side of a narrow building on a residential street next to “Rent Savannah” red brick apartments. Sammy’s was bright. We had house made ginger ale, and I ate a curry sandwich with pear chutney and tofu on French bread (6″ for $5) and couscous with tomatoes and olives ($2). A “Buddy” 50cc mint green Taiwanese scooter sat outside.