Kim Changho’s secret love for Kyunghee is an instance of situational irony in Book 2, Chapter 14. After unsuccessfully asking for Kyunghee’s hand, Changho leaves for Korea. Amid the failed proposal’s aftermath, Sunja observes:
Changho had loved someone who would not betray her husband, and perhaps that was why he had loved her. She could not violate who she was.
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 life takes an ironic twist in Book 2, Chapter 18, after Akiko reveals his true father. Flustered and frustrated, Noa yells at Sunja in the following chapter as he grapples with his blood ties to Hansu:
‘How can you make something clean from something dirty? And now, you have made me dirty,” Noa said quietly, as if he was learning this as he was saying it to her. ‘All my life, I have had Japanese telling me that my blood is Korean—that Koreans are angry, violent, cunning, and deceitful criminals…But this blood, my blood is Korean, and now I learn that my blood is yakuza blood.
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.