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If you liked Brazil, you'll enjoy Boy Genius. Yes, I know that one is a film and the other is a book, but they're the same sort of entertainment -- dark, surreal and relentlessly satirical, rooted in reality but capable of abrupt about-faces into pure fantasy territory. Both deal with issues of identity and authority (or rather, rebellion against authority), both lunge sometimes recklessly between broad comedy and Grand Guignol horror-tragedy, and both offer their protagonists, at best, a bittersweet victory.
Park's story follows the life of the titular character, a child prodigy who stars in a state-sponsored Korean television program. Due to his celebrity and intelligence, Boy Genius quickly ingratiates himself with the country's ruler, His Excellency the Most Honorable President Park -- only to suffer an equally rapid fall from grace when the President's favor shifts. After moving to America with his parents and suffering further indignities and tragedies, Boy Genius embarks upon a globe-spanning quest for revenge upon the ruler who disgraced him.
Bear in mind, that's an almost criminally simplistic explanation of Boy Genius's plot, which is solidly rooted in a surreal dream-universe in which wild dogs live as humans, the Korean government uses whales to distribute propaganda, and a surgical procedure exists that can transform Asians (and others) into flawless Caucasians.
Racial identity is a big issue here. Boy Genius, who buys unquestioningly into every racial stereotype imaginable, is not above his own opinions; as long as he remains Korean, he reasons, he will never be a truly successful American Capitalist. It's a thought most non-WASP Americans have probably entertained at one time or another, but Boy Genius sees it as a simple fact, and his solution takes the issue to an almost ludicrous extreme. As if to confirm his opinions, once he undergoes the operation that makes him a white man, all doors are opened to him and success beckons, almost lasciviously. Indeed, at one point Boy Genius finds himself within reach of a perfect happy ending -- only to lose it due to his all-consuming desire for vengeance.
Through a series of improbable coincidences, most of the significant characters that Boy Genius meets in the latter stages of his "quest" are people he has already encountered -- childhood acquaintances who've undergone their own identity changes, often with thought-provoking results. It seems as if everyone Boy Genius has ever met has undergone some manner of radical identity shift -- the changes of adulthood taken to an excessive extent -- invariably abandoning their ethnic baggage in the past. A feral dog becomes a matinee idol, a bland-but-clever schoolgirl evolves into a blonde bombshell and a downtrodden immigrant turns ghetto power broker; the changes themselves are exaggerated, but the reasoning behind them usually isn't.
Boy Genius, despite becoming a Caucasian, remains essentially the same person; other characters generally recognize him before he recognizes them, as he's simply the same guy in a different costume. To some extent, this ties into his tragic flaw: from day one, Boy Genius has been told that he is better and smarter than everyone else (indeed, given his name, it's inescapable), and as a result, he is arrogant, overconfident and often difficult for the reader to like. Intelligence doesn't equal omniscience, or guarantee street smarts, so Boy Genius is deceived and manipulated by almost everyone he meets; indeed, late in the book there's a subtle implication that Boy Genius may not be nearly the genius that he thinks himself to be, suggesting that even his intelligence is a matter of deception.
Needless to say, this doesn't make him the easiest protagonist to root for, and many readers will proceed through the book hoping not for Boy Genius's eventual victory, but for an eye-opening comeuppance. While Park offers several fairly shocking revelations, Boy Genius never really changes his worldview. Instead, like Brazil, there's a point at which the book basically throws all pretense of reality to the wind and improbability becomes feverish delusion. If you've followed the story to this point, your progress through the final act won't be difficult -- but writing-wise, Park spins his wheels a bit, essentially fast-forwarding through vast chunks of globetrotting action in order to connect a couple of set pieces. By the time Boy Genius confronts the book's villain-who-may-not-be-a-villain, Park's energy has ebbed to the point where the victory seems hollow at best.
Despite its vaguely unsatisfying ending, Boy Genius creates a number of memorable characters. Two of these stand out. Choco Joe, Boy Genius's African-American cohost, is a downtrodden American Dream personified; he's Boy Genius's only true friend, and one of the few characters who doesn't undergo a dramatic identity shift over the course of the story. Equally intriguing is Dr. Namumanu, the diminutive, metal-claw-handed surgeon who, "assisted" by her dog Dr. Kyoko, offers the "racial reassignment" surgery that so many of the book's characters crave. Ironically, Dr. Namumanu is the book's most shameless Asian stereotype, her broken English proclaiming the fact that she, unlike her clients, is not ashamed of her identity.
While Boy Genius is an easy read, it's not always a fun one; between Park's often-grim imagery and his main character's unpleasantness, the book's narrative may stall your reading for days at a time -- but the story's surreal roller-coaster ride will bring you back eventually. You may not take pleasure in the book's conclusion, but you'll be left with plenty to think about -- including some very real questions about your own identity.
-- George Zahora
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