When a Daughter Opens her Mouth: Baring the Truth of “Sweet Home”

“Underlining in the Bookstore” Series: Lee Soho’s poetry book, Home Sweet Home

By Dalli

Published: May 24, 2023

Translated by Julie Leigh

 

Series Introduction: With a strong conviction that women’s voices, whether in writing or speech, deserve a more resonant presence in the world, I carefully curate books for inclusion on the shelves of my bookstore, Salon de Mago. By underlining words in these selected books, this series aims to impart their essence and flavor to readers.

 

Surely they’ll go to hell

for making us sad.[1]

-Author’s note from Lee Soho’s poetry book, Catcalling (Minumsa, 2018)

 

A few years ago, when I first read Lee Soho’s poems, their words struck a chord with me. Despite being previously unknown, they echoed the voices of my family—persistent figures who continued to burden me, regardless of my attempts to shake them off and live a life free of regrets about them. Somewhere along the way, they became such presences in my life.

Lee Soho’s poetry book, Home Sweet Home (Moonji, 2023) ©Dalli

 

When I’m about to make decisions solely for my own well-being, an internal conflict always surfaces. I start questioning whether it’s okay to put my happiness first and sort of ignore the challenges my family is going through. It even makes me wonder if I’m turning into a total “bitch.” There have been times when chasing a fulfilling life felt like committing a sin. Recently, while watching a TV drama, a scene hit me right in the feels. Parents reassured their child, saying, “We’re good as long as you’re happy.” It left me with a lump in my throat. Can it really be that way?

 

We lay in silence,

absorbing the laughter of another family on the TV

- From “Plastic House” (Lee Soho’s Home Sweet Home)

 

During elementary school, my teacher handed us a family environment survey form to fill out. Back at home, while tackling the questions, one stood out: “My home is democratic—yes/no.” Caught between the choices, I hesitated. That’s when my father pointed at “yes” and told me to check it. I gazed at his face and questioned, “Is our home democratic?” Without hesitating, he affirmed, “Yes.” At that age, I might not have fully understood the concept of “democratic,” but I was perceptive enough to realize this situation was anything but that.

 

From an external standpoint, my home appeared perfectly fine. My father was renowned for his loyalty to his wife and daughter. He projected the image of a warm, caring dad: after each business trip, he never forgot to bring back gifts for the family, and he’d even cycle to my school to deliver my lunch box at lunchtime, ensuring it stayed warm. However, there was a flip side. He was the sole authority permitted to express anger within the family. If my mother and I failed to greet him at the door upon his return from work, he felt insulted and disrespected. His disapproving “tsk” and the widening of his eyes could effortlessly quash any hint of my mother’s grumbling or nitpicking, like a remote control controlling the volume on a TV. All things intense—be it love or rage—belonged exclusively to him, leaving me to go cold on the opposite end of the spectrum.

 

Dad is as sensitive as night butterflies

Not a single one should be left undisturbed

Only when they are killed

can he fall asleep

-From “Myfathercomesintotheroom” (Lee Soho’s Home Sweet Home) 

Lee Soho’s poetry books on my shelf include Catcalling (Minumsa, 2018), Letters, Subversive and Unfinished (Hyundae Munhak, 2021), and Home Sweet Home (Moonji, 2023). © Dalli

 

Poet Lee Soho explores the very heart of societal and everyday violence in her works, from the initial poetry collection Catcalling to the latest release, Home Sweet Home, published by Moonji. The primary stage for these narratives is our household—the space we consider the most intimate—where the actors are our own families. However, the scenes depicted in the collection appear anything but “sweet.” Instead, a palpable tension permeates the daily lives of these families, creating an atmosphere so precarious that readers may find it uncomfortable. This discomfort arises from the instinctive recognition of the sentiment domestic violence carries, a shared feeling even among those who haven’t directly experienced it.

 

I recently read an article in which some readers of Lee Soho’s works wondered if the  contents might be ‘real’—if they might be things that actually happened to her. This prompts me to ponder if domestic violence is wrongly perceived as rare and uncommon [and she could only have written about if she had experienced it]. Interestingly, when authors tackle workplace issues or the harsh reality of sexual violence, it’s not automatically assumed that they’ve personally undergone those ordeals. If Lee Soho’s verses evoke an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation, it’s because the author boldly unveils the grim truth concealed within the supposed sanctuary that is the family. Her poems, which distort the notion of “sweet homes” and starkly reflect reality, compel us to reconsider the concept of home, our lived experiences, and the dynamics within our families.

 

Mom pokes the blue bruised eyes of a fish on the cutting board,

chopping off its head now tinged with black, and

puts only the deboned flesh on my father’s spoon.

-From “The Auspicious Moving Dates” (Lee Soho’s Home Sweet Home)

 

In almost every group therapy session or mental health treatment program, family issues are consistently on the agenda. Our individual traumas often trace back to our family histories—the people we simultaneously love and resent the most. These are issues everyone grapples with but rarely reveals to others, laden with complex emotions deeply rooted in our lives for a long time. Yet even those wounded by their own families often express a common sentiment: “If only I were born into an ordinary family...” Once when I shared my family history, someone remarked, “You’ve grown up well despite being from a not-so-ordinary family.”

 

When people talk about an “ordinary family” or a “normal family,” they might envision a household free from financial struggles, absent of violence, with every member bound by love, and no complaints or obstacles in their lives. It’s quite stifling for society to insist on this idealized “happy home” as the norm. In a society where people unquestioningly adopt the idea of a perfect family, domestic violence is often dismissed as just a nuisance or a cause for shame rather than recognized as a violation of human rights. To keep up the appearance of peace within a family, the perpetrator’s violence is often excused, adding to the oppression felt by the victim.

 

Lee Soho channels the voice of a daughter to sharply depict and unveil a patriarchal dominance within what is perceived as a "normal family." In this portrayal, women, often excluded and marginalized, emerge as the primary victims, while paradoxically participating in the oppression of other female members within their own families.

 

Mom

muzzled and

taught us

how to speak like a princess

- From “Growing Pains” (Lee Soho’s Home Sweet Home)

“Bingo is My Name-O” from Lee Soho’s Home Sweet Home.

From left to right and top to bottom, the boxes read: handle all the internet shopping tasks; feel like dying from overwork even at home; see-through fashion is strictly prohibited; often compared to a daughter of Mom’s friend; always need permission to go out with friends; your opinions are frequently ignored; assigned the closest room to the entrance; often told you should be a role model for your younger siblings; hardly gain anything from being a good daughter; feel their disapproval when too many packages arrive for you; the home atmosphere is determined by your parents’ mood; no one cares when you cry; you become the mom when Mom is not around; take charge of household chores; they call you when electronic devices don’t work; have been told that you’re such a battleaxe; when things turn out well, it’s all thanks to your parents, but when things turn out bad, that’s your fault; have been told that you’re self-sufficient; heard "live with it" a lot; your singledom is a misfortunate for your family. © Dalli

In my early twenties, a friend asked me, “Guess what people most want to abandon if they could do it without anyone knowing?” I had no clue, and she secretively told me, “It's family.” We burst out laughing, facing each other. When I was growing up, my top mission was to be independent from my parents and family. The label “family” always came with responsibilities, not born out of love but self-guilt. What I wanted to protect wasn’t patriarchal practices or others’ well-being but myself. 

 

While I’m nowhere near being “a good daughter,” breaking free from the “daughter” identity remains challenging. When the weight of guilt, a familiar companion, becomes overwhelming, I recall a saying I once heard: “I have a duty to protect myself.”

 

I wish my home were all in red

 

I grab a red pen and scribble my names—

Lee Kyeong-jin Lee Sori Lee Soho

 

Who should I kill for my happiness

 

The pen chose me.

- From “Taxi-Mania” (Lee Soho’s Home Sweet Home)

 

About the Writer: Dalli is the author of the essay “I Write What My Body Speaks” (2021). She organizes programs and groups at Salon de Mago, a local bookstore and cultural space in Namwon, North Jeolla Province. She continually engages in reading and writing activities with women in the region.

*Original article: https://www.ildaro.com/9635