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War with Pigeons

By Tae Kim

An interview with the author, Tae Kim

Q: You’re an attorney and a banker. What possessed you to write a book?

A: I think the key word there is “possessed,” as the daunting prospect of writing a novel eventually gave
way to my growing need to exorcise my demons.
My life was following the lines of a well-drafted script, the author of which was unknown to me. Perhaps
it was my religion, or my Korean-American upbringing, or even my adopted notions of Confucianism, that
made me stay the course – study hard, work hard and believe I would be rewarded some day. In short,
that was the plan – an abridged description of the male, Korean-American, Presbyterian dream.
Then my life ran into 2008, the events of which unravelled all of my hard-earned history. The sudden death
of a dear cousin, the financial crisis in the credit markets and the collapse of the real estate market were
all events that took turns strangling me emotionally and financially.
Many things I had worked so hard for, that I had given up so much for, didn’t seem to matter so much
looking back from 2008. The only statistics that mattered were the number of people I was support ing
and the bonus I was to receive for 2008. One was unbearably large and the other obscenely small.
And, yet, I still could not speak. I don’t know whether it’s as true for the “typical” Korean-American man,
but for a Korean man, at least, and particularly if you were Christian, you did not speak these things. You
were the pillar against which your family leaned, you were the voice of reason and wisdom, you were the
proponent of hope and kindness, a harbinger of a better life to come. You did not cry – unless your
parents died – you did not complain nor even fathom that something was beyond your reach, you did not
worry and you did not rest, for the day you rested you could be blamed for not having tried hard enough.
In a word, you were supposed to be the Rock – you were supposed to be Peter, when in your own private
life, your own personal world of suffering, being a pillar for your family seemed immeasurably beyond
your reach.
And so the words fell, silently from my lips to the page, so that I could speak in a manner that was
acceptable, in a manner divorced from my own personal life, but in a manner that would exorcise my
demons. I needed to speak in this way, to preserve my sanity while still maintaining those elements of my Korean-American self that I considered
important. I needed to make sense of a life that had been upturned by the events of 2008 and maintain a record, so that I would never forget the keys to
life.
Q: But how did you find the time with your job and family?
A: It really was the worst time to try and write a book. Things were pretty crazy in the office and at home I had a three year old, a one year old and a
newborn. But in some ways, the mayhem probably motivated me to make the time to do something that I felt was necessary. So I started to take the bus
to work and I wrote as much as I could during the commute. If I came up with ideas at work, I simply e-mailed short blurbs back home. Most nights, after
the kids were asleep, were spent typing in what I had written on the bus and developing the ideas contained in the blurbs.
Q: How would you sum up your message?
A: Love and loss are parts of every person’s life. They come in many different forms, whether it’s a mother’s love for a child and the grief she
encounters upon his premature death, or the love shared between childhood friends that dissipate as their paths in life diverge or the ill-fated affair
between lovers that ends in tragedy. Buried within the pain of loss, it’s difficult for people to imagine that there still exists hope – but hope will never end
unless you allow it to.
Q: What elements of the book do you think readers will find intriguing?
A: The settings for the novel are no doubt familiar to all Korean Americans – the Korean cafés, restaurants, clubs and room salons that litter the side
streets in the section of midtown Manhattan commonly referred to as Koreatown. Yet, the particular details of these establishments, and the Korean-
American professionals and Korean-Nationals who frequent them, have rarely been described in such detail for the rest of American society to see.
Q: You never use the words “ Korea ” or “Korean” within the text of the novel. Why is that?
A: It was a conscious decision which, once made, I found great difficulty adhering to. I resorted to using “homeland,” “place of his birth,” “fellow
countrymen,” “native language” and, when all else failed, “Choson,” much more frequently than I would have liked. The reasons for the omission,
however, are fairly simple. There is no attempt to disguise the fact that this novel centers around a handful of characters, all of whom are Korean
American, and their unique Korean American experiences. But I wanted the reader to come to that conclusion based on what was described rather than
being told that this was “Korean” or “Korean American.” It was my attempt to mitigate the rise of pre-conceived notions or any potential impulse to
categorize on the part of the reader. The experiences will ring familiar to all readers regardless of their backgrounds. Besides, some of the most powerful
messages are conveyed by the things that are not said.

Synopsis
''If you are reading this letter it could only mean that I'm dead and I suspect the circumstances of my death were less than natural,'' begins the letter from
Simon to his dear friend Peter.
Peter, appointed the executor of the deceased's estate, uncovers more about Simon's life during the administration of his Last Will and Testament than
during the lifetime they had shared as friends. Simon's reflections, codified in a small, black notebook, of the variety that Hemingway and Picasso were
purported to have used, provide insights into the deepest recesses of Peter's own life, allowing him to find love and meaning in an existence that had to
that point been marked by loss.
From the insidious room salons that discreetly litter the side streets in Midtown Manhattan, to the cafes and night clubs frequented by young Asian
professionals and kyo-pos, War With Pigeons artfully immerses the reader into a segment of American society that is rarely seen.
At its heart, the book is a story of love, loss and hope, whether it's in the context of one courageous woman's hardships in coming to America , the
sufferings of her son to secure love in an unsympathetic world or the struggles of a beautiful woman to continue on the path of life after her beloved has
departed.

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Asian Wisconzine-Book Section p2 Page 2 of 2

This debut novel from writer Tae Kim is a tribute to the tradition of storytelling, using prose that is entertaining and sensually romantic at times, heart-
wrenching and poignantly riveting at others, but always passionate and beautifully written.

Author Bio
TaeHun Kim was born in Inchon , Korea and immigrated to the United States in 1971. He received his BA in history from Haverford College and his JD
from New York University School of Law. He worked as a securitization attorney for several years at Brown & Wood LLP, after which he spent several
years as a senior credit officer for Moody’s Investors Service, Inc. He is currently working for a bank in New York City . He lives in Englewood , New
Jersey with his wife and three children.
Early Review
"There is more to an estate than simply money. 'War With Pigeons' tells the story of Peter, as he receives a collection of his friend's reflections and
memoirs. Through the novel, Tae Kim gives readers a vivid picture of Asian American society and how the Asian culture still remains prominent in their
lives at many levels of society. 'War With Pigeons' is an intriguing and fascinating novel, highly recommended."
– Midwest Book Review

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