No one can argue that “Dictee” is anything but a tough read from page one. We can only assume that such leaps that Cha takes from the “standard” storyline novel are the result not only of artistic license, but of a purpose that no standard discourse could reveal.

In the opening paragraphs, the reader is made almost painfully aware of each mark of punctuation, given as much importance as the few words of which the story is made up. It is difficult for the reader to gain much of the substance from the first read through, because the structure of the sentences serves to confuse rather than organize the sentence. The mind automatically weeds through the excessive wording, to create a visual of the scene being described. The reader begins to gain a sense, through personal experience, of struggle between what the narrator wants to share, and the cumbersome and limiting medium of writing.

Cha further demonstrates the importance of and inherent problems with this physical self expression through hugely varying examples. On page 14 she relates what seem to be exercises for learning French. For anyone who has attempted to learn a foreign language will be aware of the level of imprecision of meaning which translating can produce. Somehow there are always discrepancies between what one wants to say, and the available words with which we can express ourselves. Because of this, often foreign language students are forced to interpret the essence of the sentences, rather than the dry words themselves, but the reader is confused by her choppy, incomplete, running sentences, with which we struggle to gain meaning much less be able to restate in a new form. Much like the book, the format is necessary to the meaning.

We are further convinced of the importance of language through examples of prayer, letters concerning militaristic aide in war, and racial identity though a native tongue. Again on page 14, the prayer is not merely an arrangement of vocabulary words, as the heading “Translate into French” would cause us to assume. It is a confession of sins and an apology to ones god, and in effect, a group of words which can save this individual for eternity, based on their beliefs. The letter to the US asking for military aide in Korea is potentially no less important to the lives of thousands. This single letter could, if convincing, save the Korean people from further physical and economic damage from Japan. However, as the dates following this letter reveal, those written words were indeed not enough to save the people of Korea from further abuse. Suddenly the written words appear much more fragile and dependent upon the feelings they instill in their reader than their quality of arrangement and structure. Perhaps the words will always fail the human emotions which they attempt to reveal. However, when Cha relates (presumably)the story of her mother, language seems less an imperfect medium of expression as providing a sense of identity itself. For her mother, “the tongue that is forbidden is your own mother tongue. You speak in the dark. In the secret” (45). Suddenly we are exposed to the softer side of language, or our dependency on it not merely for a means of communication and self expression, but for understanding ourselves. The mode through which we chose to express ourselves can be just as meaningful as the thoughts and ideas which they strive to represent.

Though Cha’s book is visually confusing as it is not in our native novel format, it is vital in her labors to stress the importance and volatility of words on a page, and the importance and trust which is instilled in the integrity of their meanings and the interpretation which their reader will assume.

(sorry if this is too academic paper-y. Thats all I know how to write!)

-Megan