Pachinko: Irony 5 key examples

Noa’s encounter with Isak could not be any more tragic. Beaten, scabby, and deformed, Isak has been tortured in prison beyond even his son’s recognition. The narrator reveals the brutal scale of his suffering, sketching an almost graphic parody of the once “beautiful young man.” “Black scabs” and “jutting cheekbones” have ruined his former fine features, while his elbows resemble “sharp tree branches” beneath his clothes, and his lower teeth have “cracked off entirely.” These gruesome descriptions can only hint at the cruelty of Isak’s prison conditions, feeding directly into the scene’s heartache.

The dramatic irony makes this scene only more pitiful. In the moment, both Noa and the reader no longer recognize the “gaunt and filthy” “beggar” who stumbles thief-like into the house. Isak has been transformed to the point that he has lost his humanity, deprived of the most basic comforts that come with sympathy and briefly cast out by those closest to him.

Yoseb’s discovery escalates one of the novel’s central tensions. Having previously decided that Sunja was “harmed through no fault of her own,” Yoseb now joins the reader in recognizing the identity of Noa’s father. As Hansu’s presence continues shadowing the Baek family, the story hurtles toward this uneasy truth. “You have no business being around [Noa],” Yoseb warns Hansu in an effort to defend his brother’s memory. He, Sunja, and the reader have come to realize Noa’s paternity. Noa himself does not.

Yoseb joins a growing cast of characters who uncover Noa’s paternity, a truth whose dawning clarity emphasizes both Noa’s obliviousness and his tortured denial. For the reader, Noa’s eventual discovery seems all but inevitable. Akiko’s tactless admission merely becomes a matter of time. Here on Tamaguchi’s barn floor, Yoseb picks up on cues that will culminate in Noa’s suicide.

In noting this, Sunja pinpoints the irony of Changho’s desires. The Baek family’s friend burns for Kyunghee and even sheepishly confesses his attraction to his boss. But this very lust is unattainable: if Kyunghee were to reciprocate Changho’s affections, she wouldn’t be the graceful, quiet woman he admires from afar. What keeps Changho from having sex with her seems precisely to be the “knowledge that she would never respond to him.” Kyunghee’s faith and fidelity are part and parcel of her beauty. To be otherwise would simply “violate who she was.” Kyunghee is thus attractive to Changho precisely because she is inherently unattainable.

The irony of this love also makes Hansu’s offer so dangerous. “Do you want to go back to the house and want someone else’s wife?” he tempts his underling, as though threatening to make the lewd dreams a reality. Yet for Changho, attaining this woman of his desires would mean ruining her forever. He has no choice but escape to a romance existing only in his dreams.

Noa’s accusation exposes the brutal irony of his fortunes. The firstborn who has strived for excellence and honor discovers his “dirty” blood. The very labels that Noa tried to escape—stereotypes of criminality, cunning, and filth—he now believes run in his own blood. Noa has diligently emulated Isak his entire life, only to be cruelly duped. Having risen the class ranks and hidden the garlic stench on his clothes, he finds his own roots reaffirmed in the most damning way possible (from his perspective, that is).

His reaction to this discovery supplies a second irony. Noa’s rejection of his mother may be as painful as his shattered self-perceptions. The outburst at Korean “blood” betrays a surprisingly inflexible conception of morality. The student of novels like Middlemarch—which deals with characters coming up against social constructs—is suddenly entangled in the oppressive social constructs around him. “How could you be so imprudent?” he blames Sunja, criticizing his “foolish mother” and wishing that he “were never born.” If Noa’s thirst for knowledge helps him access new worlds or empathize with different perspectives, he hasn’t translated these skills to his own life. Sunja’s learned son happens to be no more empathetic than his oppressors.

Mieko passes over her husband’s former lover without so much as a glance. Patronizingly, she dismisses the lady on her doorstep as just another “shameless” Korean. The “beggar was no doubt a Korean who wanted money,” she thinks to herself, even though readers themselves may beg to differ. Mieko overlooks the woman who may have even closer ties to Hansu than she does herself. Caught in a loveless marriage, Mieko merely assume the worst about her unexpected guest.

This kind of ironic thoughtlessness sharpens the contours of her cruelty. Mieko not only misrecognizes the woman on her doorstep but also goes so far as to believe that she is doing the woman a favor by offering kitchen scraps. Mieko’s haughty obliviousness arguably hurt Sunja more than any calculated act of cruelty. Like Tamaguchi’s spoiled children, Mieko's fault may lie less in deliberate ill-will than a basic refusal to think.