Yeji Y. Ham is a Korean-Canadian writer. She received her BA in creative writing from UBC and MFA in literary arts from Brown University. Her works have appeared in Shorts (Platypus Press), Wilderness Journal, Rivet Journal, The Broome Street Review, and No Tokens. The Invisible Hotel is her first novel.
A stunning debut novel of literary horror in the gothic tradition, The Invisible Hotel is a startling, haunting, and inventive speculative novel about the human consequences of the Korean war that has continued for over seven decades and has led to an invisible collective of fear.
Interviewed by Yvonne Blomer
Yvonne Blomer (YB): Can you give a brief introduction to the main elements of your novel as you focused on them?
Yeji Y. Ham (YYH): The Invisible Hotel is a haunting exploration of the Korean War’s enduring legacy, set against the backdrop of contemporary South Korea. The narrative follows Yewon, a young woman who feels trapped in her rural hometown. As she navigates her internal landscape, the story delves into themes of intergenerational trauma, loss, and the collective fear stemming from the war. Yewon’s vivid dreams of an abandoned hotel act as a gateway to hidden truths, intertwining her personal struggles with the nation’s history. Through the lenses of family, history, and identity, I hoped to reveal the invisible fears that linger, creating a pervasive sense of unease and mystery.
YB: I note that food plays a huge part in this novel. Mrs. Han’s food, village food, all the international food in Seoul and the varying dishes. Yewon is often thinking of food, surrounded by food and hungry but rarely eating or enjoying food. Can you touch on the importance of food in the novel?
YYH: Absolutely! Food is woven throughout the narrative, transcending mere sustenance to symbolize the deep psychological and societal scars left by the Korean War. The story contrasts the post-war era of scarcity with the abundance of contemporary South Korea, showcasing the rich variety of international dishes available in Seoul. This culinary diversity reveals a generational divide in the characters’ relationships with food.
Older figures like Yewon’s mother and Mrs. Lim, the elderly neighbor, embody the struggles of the war era, shaped by a deep-rooted instinct to nourish and protect. They often ask if Yewon has eaten, constantly monitoring her meals. In contrast, the younger generation, raised amid South Korea’s economic miracle, tends to view food through the lenses of choice and aesthetics, embracing an array of international cuisines that reflect their new reality.
Caught between these two worlds, Yewon’s complex relationship with food symbolizes her internal turmoil. Her frequent contemplation of food, coupled with her inability to consume it, reflects her struggle to digest painful truths about herself and her country. This difficulty in processing food and information underscores the novel’s exploration of trauma and its impacts.
Mrs. Han, a North Korean refugee, further illustrates these themes, representing the enduring horrors of the war. Her experiences with famine highlight the stark differences between the two Koreas and the devastating human cost of division. For her, food—once a scarce commodity—serves as a haunting reminder of her past. Her obsessive dedication to cooking for Yewon embodies a complex interplay of survival, trauma, and maternal love.
Through food, I hoped to convey the characters’ emotional struggles and connect past traumas to present realities. It is not just sustenance; it becomes a symbol of memory, loss, and the ties that bind us to our history.
YB: What role do you think the gothic or horror genre can play in revisioning history and the impact of historical events? Did you begin this project with the uneasy gothic sense it carries or did that come as you wrote? Do the historical moments lend themselves to the genre or were you already working in gothic sensibilities?
YYH: The gothic and horror genres offer a compelling framework for reimagining history, allowing us to explore emotional and psychological depths often overlooked in traditional narratives. These genres create haunting spaces where the past resurfaces, illuminating how historical traumas shape both individual and collective identities.
I didn’t initially set out to write within these genres, but the dark undercurrents of the Korean War—its atrocities, lingering uncertainty, and pervasive fear of an invisible conflict— naturally lent themselves to gothic and horror elements. The secluded village, shrouded in mystery, and Yewon’s dreams of an abandoned hotel create gothic spaces within the narrative. This hotel becomes a focal point, where its physical decay mirrors the psychological scars left by the war. Also, the recurring image of bathtubs filled with bones symbolizes the hidden remnants of violence, echoing the war’s lasting impact on the characters’ lives.
The gothic genre also allows for the revival of silenced narratives. For instance, Mrs. Han, a North Korean refugee, embodies voices often marginalized in official historical accounts. By focusing on the uncanny and the return of the repressed, the gothic enables these overlooked stories to resurface, revealing deeper complexities.
Horror acts as a disruptive force, confronting readers with the raw and terrifying realities of historical events. It disrupts sanitized narratives, exposing the brutal truths of war and its aftermath. Through horror, the novel engages with the collective trauma of the Korean War, vividly portraying psychological scars and a pervasive sense of dread.
Looking back, I see that these gothic and horror elements emerged organically as I explored the story. They weren’t conscious choices from the beginning, but as the narrative developed, these genres provided an ideal framework for a nuanced and unsettling exploration of history. Ultimately, they reveal how the past refuses to remain buried, continually influencing the characters’ lives and shaping their identities.
YB: How does time move or work in the novel? It feels like the brother’s birth and the father’s death, the bones in the bathtub, the sister’s lost pregnancy happen over time and at the same time. The Korean war sits under the surface of the entire novel especially with the young students in Seoul who will either do military service or have done it and with Mrs. Kim who hasn’t seen her brother for 68 years.
YYH: In The Invisible Hotel, time is depicted as a non-linear and cyclical force that intricately intertwines the past, present, and future, reflecting the inescapable legacy of the Korean War.
As you’ve noted, events like the brother’s birth, the father’s death, the haunting imagery of bones in the bathtub, and the sister’s lost pregnancy occur not in isolation but simultaneously, creating a dense atmosphere where history is perpetually present. This temporal compression evokes a sense of claustrophobia, suggesting that the characters are trapped within the confines of their shared historical trauma.
The bathtub filled with ancestral bones serves as a significant symbol of this temporal entanglement. As a constant presence in the home, the bones embody the war’s enduring impact on the community, passed down through generations. The ritualistic act of scrubbing them becomes a haunting reminder of the past’s weight in the present. This connection between past and present is further emphasized by Yewon’s struggle for autonomy, perpetually shadowed by her family’s history.
The structure of the novel mirrors this complex relationship with time. Each chapter introduces new environments and situations, creating a dreamlike experience where Yewon navigates her desires for freedom while remaining anchored by her family’s history. This fluidity captures her sense of entrapment and the haunting legacy of inherited fears, illustrating the duality of being both an active participant and a passive observer in her life.
The specter of the Korean War looms large over the narrative, influencing the characters’ lives and choices. For instance, Mrs. Han’s separation from her brother and the looming specter of military service for Yewon’s brother exemplify the enduring consequences of the war, highlighting the ongoing tension between past and present.
Ultimately, I hope the novel conveys that time is not merely a linear progression but a complex interplay where every moment carries the weight of history. The recurring presence of the hotel symbolizes the unseen effects of the Korean Wadr on the characters’ lives. It represents a space where the trauma of the war manifests, even when the physical conflict may seem invisible. The novel illustrates how the echoes of the past persist, creating a continuous dialogue between what has been and what is yet to come, revealing that the wounds inflicted by the war remain unhealed, continuing to shape future generations.