This is a new collection of short stories by Lee Jeong-eun, winner of the Korean Novel Literature Award, titled A Novel with 10 Knots or 10 Stories of Us.
In this collection of short stories, author Lee Jeong-eun constantly questions the boundaries between normal and abnormal, oppression and freedom, and mainstream and non-mainstream.
Lee Jeong-eun, a novelist on the edge, tells her concerns and questions in a sparkling and entertaining way.
His descriptions are fresh and vivid.
Sometimes humorously, sometimes sharply, it exposes the dark corners of the human world one by one.


"The Great Cultural Revolution" is a novel that won the 14th Monthly Literature Award in 2025 and depicts the inner world of a middle-aged man against the backdrop of a story unfolding between a father and son playing Go.
The author leaves the judgment of values ​​to the readers, but draws emotion and empathy from the lives of everyone struggling in their own places.


In "I Remember You," the woman smells a familiar perfume in an elevator and thinks of her husband.
Having lost her husband to pancreatic cancer, she remembers the love he gave her, one by one.
“I will remember you forever.
I love you even though I complained that it was annoying.
This is a novel whose last sentence, “I want to fight with you again as fiercely as when I was alive!”, will be remembered for a long time.

All the things that had hurt him until now seemed like bubbles.
Munhyeok, the warehouse manager, wanted to work directly involved in production.
But when I think about it, what I'm doing now is also participating in production.


Moon Hyuk scolded Sujae for being careless when he saw him make a mistake.
Come to think of it, it was Sujae's consideration that helped him win.
It was his fault for not noticing Soojae's actions because he was so obsessed with maintaining his reputation as a top player.
I had to admit that I was narrow-minded.
I wasted precious time because of useless obsession and impatience.


Munhyeok still had a wife who was watching his every move.
There is also Sumin, who is pretty and smart like her mother.
And when I thought of Sujae, my heart filled with pride for Sujae.
He was my son, ten centimeters taller than me, with distinct features, fair skin, and a charming appearance.


It was an appearance that would not be out of place no matter where it was shown.

As evening fell and Moon-hyuk entered the apartment entrance, he saw a long shadow moving ahead.
The long day created the sunset and lengthened its shadow.
It was as if he was telling me that there was so much life left.
The leaves of the silver birch trees around the apartment were turning white in the wind.
It seemed like a card section welcoming him.
I walked quickly towards the house where my wife was waiting.


I remembered what I had said to Soojae and Soomin as they came in, panting.
“Who is chasing me?”

I thought I had to catch up on the lost time.
In his haste, Munhyeok skipped two steps and climbed the stairs in one breath.
--- From "The Great Cultural Revolution"

Perfume evokes memories.
As I enter the elevator, a faint scent permeates the air and reaches my nose.
Inhye looks around.
I turned around to see where the scent was coming from, but I could only see myself in the mirror, no one else.
It's probably the scent left behind by the person who rode it first.
It's the same scent I smell every morning when my husband goes to work.
I look around once more, wondering if my husband's spirit might be hovering around me.
She is alone, after all.
As she inhaled, the familiar scent of lavender wafted towards her nose again.
It was the scent my husband would leave on my shoulder every morning as he left the front door while he was still alive.

--- From "I Remember You"

A novel is formed by the writer's experiences and journey.
For a writer, pain and trials are great assets.
There are hidden times of pain and humiliation.
How can we write without uncovering that hidden history?
What can I do if the pain of my past life becomes the subject of my writing and makes me write?
No wonder it is said, “When one wise man disappears, a museum disappears.”
I agree with that.


My desire to write was sky-high, but I couldn't develop it further, so I couldn't help but feel frustrated.
I sat down in front of the word processor and cried my heart out.
There are so many stories, but what should I do? If only you hadn't gotten married early and studied a little more, you wouldn't have suffered so much over sentences.

From then on, you devoted yourself to studying.
But success doesn't happen overnight.
I wrote the article thinking it was a pretty good idea, but when I read it, it was crude.
It makes no sense to lower the dignity of the writer because of a sentence.
The original source of writing was the idea of ​​dealing with the process of overcoming pain in a larger and more detailed way.


My friend's daughter said she didn't want to hear stories that exposed her mother's ordinary daily life, and that she had a hard time understanding her mother's thoughts.
I think he thought there was no need to publicize to the world the writing of trivial daily events in the form of a diary under the name of literature.
They say that such trivial stories are the kind of things women talk about among themselves at the neighborhood beauty salon.


But I want readers who can relate to me because I'm putting my experiences out there.

--- From "Our Peak Time"

Through my mother, I see parts of my childhood that I cannot remember.
I feel that my mother loves me.
Even after I go to the other world, I know that no matter what mistakes I make, my mother will always be on my side.
The only person who will pray for me is my guardian angel.


Even when I was alive, as long as I thought of my mother, I had no worries no matter where I went or what I did.
It was the same even when I was a beginner driver.
I always knew that my mother's prayers and her faith would not make me unhappy.
I have no worries because my mother will protect me in the future.


My mother's presence! That current flows through my entire body.
Now my mother lives in my heart.
I remember what my mother said to me.

“I believe there is a ‘heaven.’
“It’s not that I dare not hope for it, but the very act of hoping is greed.”

I never imagined life without my mother.
If I have a next life, I want to be born as a mother, not as my mother's daughter, and experience motherly love again.
I pray that our beloved mother is in a place where there is no pain.
When was the golden age of mothers?
--- From "The Golden Age of Mothers"

The Bible says that no human being is born into this world useless.
Then I too will have something to do before I am forgotten by the world.
There may be times when even a personal history is necessary.
There is a popular saying that speed increases with age.
I need to take a break from my time running at over 100 kilometers per hour.


I'm in a hurry to make up for lost time.
I believe that perhaps, as we pass through this tunnel of suffering, God has provided us with the opportunity to write about the truth of life and the value of humanity, even in our petty stories, with an indomitable will.


Time running towards the peak of life.
Only by clashing fiercely with the world around you and fighting with all your might can you move forward.
Come on, let's go! Without fear.


In September 2024, I was discharged from the nursing home.
And what has become a habit is waking up early in the morning and sitting in front of the computer.
Living here, at this very moment.
It's back.
And whispers.


Ah, God, I bow my head to your consideration.
--- From "I'm Still Here"

As soon as I got home on foot, I went into the bathroom.
I turned on the shower very carefully.
A thick stream of water shoots down, and warm water flows down from my head.
I stood there for a while, enjoying the feeling of the warm water running through my fingers.
I was happy.
I've been living too comfortably all this time.
Everyday life feels like a blessing.
Complaints also disappear.
Now I realize that everyday life is happiness.
Through my brother, he told me, 'That person has come!'


There are places in the world that teach us reality, and there are places that make us dream.
I feel sorry for the life that endured the misfortune, but my brother had a role to play.
After that I couldn't see him.
It is said that he went to a nursing home because his chronic illness worsened, and that he passed away there after receiving help from the nuns.
The hammer guy said he went to prison for assault.


On a starry night, I go out to the veranda.
I stick my head out and look out the window.
A large polar bear appears on an Arctic iceberg, looking up at the sky, and the big brother is standing on two legs, waving his arms high in the air and roaring.

--- From "The King Returns"