Get 20M+ Full-Text Papers For Less Than $1.50/day. Start a 14-Day Trial for You and Your Team.

Learn More →

Beauty Looks Down on Me

Beauty Looks Down on Me by Eun Hee Kyung Translated by Sora Kim-Russell pring Snow I cannot forget the day I first saw Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. A late spring snow was fluttering down. As I followed my father into the carpeted Italian restaurant, I realized it was a world apart from any place I had ever known. Small flower vases and candlesticks were set on the tables, and the air in the room was quietly stirred by the subdued conversations of affluent, refinedlooking people skilfully handling Western-style silverware. Father and I were shown to a reserved table beside a window. A waiter took my father's elegant overcoat and my old, clumpy parka and hung them on a coat stand. From the moment I sat facing him, I directed my gaze at a large painting dimly lit by a spotlight on the wall behind him. I couldn't look him in the face. The air inside was warm and sweat soon began to ooze along the folds on my neck. Now that you're a middle school student, you must do more for your mother. I nodded almost imperceptibly in response to Father's words. And you can call me whenever you want. That sounded http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & Culture University of Hawai'I Press

Loading next page...
 
/lp/university-of-hawai-i-press/beauty-looks-down-on-me-Y6Braa30nT
Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 President and Fellows of Harvard College
ISSN
1944-6500
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

by Eun Hee Kyung Translated by Sora Kim-Russell pring Snow I cannot forget the day I first saw Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. A late spring snow was fluttering down. As I followed my father into the carpeted Italian restaurant, I realized it was a world apart from any place I had ever known. Small flower vases and candlesticks were set on the tables, and the air in the room was quietly stirred by the subdued conversations of affluent, refinedlooking people skilfully handling Western-style silverware. Father and I were shown to a reserved table beside a window. A waiter took my father's elegant overcoat and my old, clumpy parka and hung them on a coat stand. From the moment I sat facing him, I directed my gaze at a large painting dimly lit by a spotlight on the wall behind him. I couldn't look him in the face. The air inside was warm and sweat soon began to ooze along the folds on my neck. Now that you're a middle school student, you must do more for your mother. I nodded almost imperceptibly in response to Father's words. And you can call me whenever you want. That sounded

Journal

Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & CultureUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Jan 28, 2008

There are no references for this article.