Please Don't Call Me That!
by J. Scott Burgeson
original manuscript submitted to
Newsweek (Korean-language version)
March 31, 2009 edition

Sometimes it seems like choosing a good book title is even more difficult than writing the actual book. The title should sum up a book's contents in just a few words, and even more importantly, it should grab the attention of today's distracted, attention-challenged readers. As the author of several books about Korea myself, I speak from direct experience when I say that it's difficult enough for me to pull this off in my own native language of English. In Korean, I'm completely helpless at it.

Of course, this should not be too surprising. Words are more than just transparent containers of meaning. They also evoke feelings, attitudes and even entire worlds. This seems especially true here in Korea, which is such an old culture that sometimes certain Korean words accumulate too much "baggage" for their own good; they become so "heavy" that people here no longer
want to "carry" or "use" them. I think this partly explains why English words are so popular here these days. They're so "light" for the average local that it must be downright liberating to use them.

For example, I personally think the word "여관" is perfectly fine and useful, but then again I'm not Korean. In the modern period, the word "여관" came to take on a decidedly negative nuance in Korea, presumably because this is a "conservative" culture and the notion of people spending time alone together in rented rooms is frowned upon by society at large. In Japan,
on the other hand, the equivalent word in Japanese -- ryookan -- has remained value-neutral right up to the present day, and in the eyes of many Japanese is actually considered quite refined and upscale. I guess the idea of people spending time alone together in rooms isn't such a big deal in Japan?

In any case, the solution for many 여관 owners here in Korea was to simply start calling their establishments "motels," no doubt to signify a "cleaner" and more "modern" image. Apparently some don't realize that "motel" is a combination of the words "motor" and "hotel," since I've seen plenty of "motels" in Korean cities that lack any parking facilities at all. Technically,
then, you'd have to call them "notels," wouldn't you?

After a while, however, the word "motel" also acquired something of a negative connotation in Korea, essentially for the same reasons the word "여관" did, so many motel owners just changed the "m" to an "h." Thus, what was once a 여관, and then a motel, was now suddenly a fancy "hotel." After a few more years, will the owners be forced to come up with yet another word to describe their type of business? Perhaps they could just start using the word "inn," which is the direct English translation for "여관," and then the circle of linguistic alienation would be complete?

As I have said, the word "여관" bears no negative associations for me, simply because I'm not Korean and do not come from a culture where it is so necessary to pretend that I am terribly conservative about certain things such as sex. I also come from a culture where being "sarcastic" or "ironically hip" is often well appreciated, yet so far I've had poor luck translating this type
of humor into the Korean titles of the books I've written here.

For instance, I thought "외국인이 한국에 빠진 날" was a pretty good Korean-language title for my first book, "맥시멈 코리아" (1999), but my publisher certainly didn't think so. Perhaps they thought it sounded too much like a depressing art film? Well, that was actually kind of the point! I also thought "아웃 오브 코리아" would be a fun title for my second book, "발칙한 한국학" (2002), but again my publisher didn't really think so. Perhaps they didn't like the idea of me "comparing" Korea to Africa? Or perhaps they just thought I was too funny-looking to be comparing myself to such an iconic stud as Robert Redford?

Fortunately, "발칙한 한국학" turned out to be a pretty popular title, although for me it was rather strange because the book was actually about foreigners in Korea. My publisher, however, insisted that they absolutely did not want to use the word "외국인" in the title, even though the book was about 외국인 in Korea! I've been told by many Koreans that the word "외국인" is
"perfectly fine and useful," but apparently it's not such a great word to use in the title of a book here in Korea.

In fact, I must admit that I'm starting to get a little tired of the word "외국인" myself. I recently stopped by a small cafe near 안국역 to buy a tuna sandwich for lunch; there were two young women behind the counter, and as soon as I entered, the one on the right exclaimed to the other, "어, 외국 손님이 들어 오네! 난 영어를 못하니까 네가 대신 주문 좀 받아!" She then quickly disappeared into the kitchen with a loud, awkward laugh.

That was when I realized that for me, at least, the word "외국인" has become as "heavy" as the word "여관" is for most Koreans.

It's simply burdened by too much "baggage," which is to say that it elicits too many vague and often incorrect assumptions. Just as not every guest in a 여관 is "up to no good," not every non-Korean here is a clueless tourist who's just stepped off the plane.  I mean, I've been living in Korea since 1996. I know how to order a sandwich in Korean. It would be nice just to be treated like any other regular Korean customer. It's certainly not a very good feeling when store clerks avoid me just because I'm a "외국인" or a "외국 손님." I rather prefer to think of myself as a human being before all else.

There's a perfectly simple solution to this problem I have described here, which would also help make a very good book title --at least in English. Unfortunately, my solution doesn't work very well in Korean -- at least not yet. I realized all this when I was trying to come up with a title for my new book, which just happens to be a sequel to "발칙한 한국학." In English, we call
someone who has voluntarily chosen to live abroad an "expat," which literally means "out of one's own country," and has a rather "cool" and sometimes even "glamorous" connotation. In many ways, Ernest Hemingway is the archetypal expat, mainly because he wrote several hugely successful books about the expat life. We also generally think of an expat as someone who has
lived abroad for at least a while, and probably at least knows how to order a sandwich in the local language. Someone just like me, you might say!

My new book is all about expats in Korea, meaning non-Koreans who have lived here for quite a while. They're not Korean, of course, but they're not tourists, either; like me, most of them don't really like the word "외국인," perhaps because it literally means "outsider" and they all live their lives very much within Korean culture. In a word, they're expats. The problem is that
there's no equivalent term in Korean, which is quite strange considering that there have been plenty of Korean expats for at least the past one hundred years, if not longer. As a result, there was no Korean word meaning "expat" that I could use in the title of my book, and if I used the English word "엑스팟," most Korean readers would have no idea what I was talking about.
Like I said, making good book titles is really quite difficult!

In the end, my publisher decided to call my new book "더 발칙한 한국학." Like the original "발칙한 한국학," it's not really about "한국학," and as should now be clear, it's not really about "외국인," either. It's about expats! We may never know who was responsible for introducing the loanword "motel" into the Korean language, but if "엑스팟" takes off and becomes popular here, you can at least say that you read it here first and know exactly who was responsible.

And in the meantime, the next time you see a so-called "외국인" here in Korea, why not consider that they might actually be an "엑스팟" instead? Who knows, you might even find it to be a very "liberating" experience -- I know I certainly would!