Bilingualism
In the last section of Native Speaker I found myself paying attention to Henry’s treatment of his bilingualism and his apparent fear of the Korean in himself and the use of the language by others. In Henry’s typical fashion, he is extremely, maybe even unhealthily aware of his handling of the language as well as the way in which the others characters use their native tongue.
On 273, when Kwang addresses Henry by his Korean name, Park Byong-ho shih, his response is: “I stop. I always freeze for a second when hearing my Korean name.” Clearly, Henry is apprehensive about his Korean identity, and his fear of his given name would seem to imply that he is incredibly uncomfortable about admitting his Korean upbringing among others. This fear is even more clear when Henry discusses the experience of visiting Korean dry cleaners: ”When I step into a Korean dry cleaner, or a candy shop, I always feel like an audience member asked to stand up and sing with the diva, that I know every pitch and note but can no longer call them forth” (267). I know this feeling really well. More than once someone has asked me to come on stage at a bar an wanted me to sing or play guitar for a song or two. Honestly, it sucks. You know that you can do it, but without the time to mentally prepare yourself (depending on the amount of liquid courage involved) I generally find myself trapped in a strange limbo between the crowd and the act. So when Henry is forced to speak Korean to other Koreans in America, I can see why he would feel strange, even with a firm grasp on the language.
It would also help to bring in the authority of Nigerian-born author Chinua Achebe (who now teaches just south of here at Bard College) in an article by Kenyan author Ngugi wa Thiong’o, titled “The Language of African Literature.” Thiong’o quotes Achebe: “I feel that the English language will be able to carry the weight of my African experience. But it will have to be a new English, still in full communion with its ancestral home but altered to suit new African surroundings” (436). Although Africa is not Asia, I think Henry’s problem is his disagreement with Achebe’s statement of connecting language with his ancestral culture. He is out of synch with his roots, rebelling (along with his father) in order to be more acceptable to American society, or at least what the Park’s perceived American society to be.
With the prevalence of silence in Henry’s life, and then his insistence that Mitt not learn Korean so that he could “grow up with a singular sense of the world, a life univocal, which might have offered him the authority and confidence that his broad half-yellow face could not” (267). The only place where Henry really has power over language is when he limits Mitt’s, and unfortunately, Mitt’s singular view of the world is never allowed to blossom. Bilingualism is definitely a touchy subject for Henry, but I think the split of thinking and speaking in two tongues, the imposed language being more comfortable than the traditional, sets up Henry’s split(s) from himself on the most basic level.
I don’t even think that I spent that much time thinking about what you posted about. There is so much in this novel to unpack it almost seems impossible. I had trouble writing my post and staying focused on one thing. You did a good job doing that and giving me yet one more thing to think about. Thanks.