Juhea Kim takes art seriously — that’s partially why her stunning novel, “City of Night Birds,” is Reese’s Book Club pick for December. She takes us behind the scenes of her creative process, revealing how her deep love for Russian ballet and classical music shaped her writing. She explores her unique connection to Russian culture and the concept of the “Russian soul,” as well as how she uses music and dance to structure her novels. Calling all artists, writers, and creatives — this one’s for you.
Hey Bessies, Hello Sunshine. Today on the bright Side, we're diving into this month's shelf life pick with the one the only, Jew hay Kim. Her stunning novel City of night Birds, is lighting up Reese's book Club this December. And when I say that this masterpiece sweeps us into the captivating world of Russian ballet, let me tell you, ju hayes Pros does not tell a story. It sings. Grab a coffee, because this is a conversation you don't want to miss.
Art is speaking to universal values and again, it doesn't do that done. That's not true art, and that's not a true artist.
It's Thursday, December nineteenth. I'm Simoane Voice.
I'm Danielle Robe and this is the bright Side from Hello Sunshine, a daily show where we come together to share women's stories, laugh, learn and brighten your day. So every month we have the pleasure of talking with rock stars also known as authors, and every time we do, we love exploring their mindsets, their creativity, the way they bring their ideas to life on the page. And today we're in for such a treat because Jew hay Kim is so excellent in every single way and she draws from her passion for classical music and Russian ballet to inspire her writing and create the structure of her novels.
Well, Danielle, what's so fascinating about jew Hay is that she was born in South Korea and raised in Portland, Oregon, and yet somehow her writing in this book captures the soul and spirit of Russia, country she had never even set foot in before writing an entire novel about it. It does make a lot of sense, though, when you realize that jew Hay grew up reading the great Russian authors like Tolstoy, who she calls her literary north star. His words kind of became this spiritual compass for her, guiding her to a place that she hadn't yet been, but somehow already knew deep down in her soul. And now jew Hay, whose first language was Korean and second, which is English, is now winning awards from the.
Tolstoy estate itself.
Her debut novel, Beasts of a Little Land, won the twenty twenty four Yasnaya Polianna Literary Award for Foreign Literature.
Incredible, and her second novel, City of Night Birds, is really a love letter to Russian ballet and classical music, two things that have inspired her throughout her life. This book is set in an array of Russian cities and it tells the story of a ballerina, Natalia, who overcomes an injury and battles her way back to the stage. You know, the world of ballet has long been associated with tradition and discipline and resilience, all qualities that Juhey embodies herself. She is wildly brilliant and I'm just so excited for this conversation. Let's bring her in. Juey, Welcome to the bright Side.
Hi, so nice to meet you.
It's so nice to meet you, and we're really so happy to have you here. Ariese's Book Club. Authors are just such a sparkly part of our show, so Simone and I love speaking to beautiful writers.
Oh, thank you so much.
Want to jump right in with your book, which is City of night Birds, because it follows this journey of ballerina whose relentless ambition propels her to the pinnacle of the dance world. But then there's an injury that abruptly derails her career. And I know that you've mentioned that writing a novel about Ballet has always been a dream of yours. What inspired you to set your story in this world? And what about ballet made it the perfect backdrop for this narrative.
Well, I was asked by my then editor what I was working on next, and immediately I knew that it was going to be my lifelong passion, which is ballet. I grew up learning ballet, performing on stage. I am also a lifelong classical musician, so I grew up playing the cello, and I have always had this love for classical music and ballet, and so much that I wanted to express about it. Went into City of Night Birds. My novels tend to come.
From the ether.
I sometimes say that it feels as though I'm being inspired by the muses, because it does feel mystical and difficult to explain rationally, but when you receive it, it feels so pure and you don't want to chase away this pure inspiration that came from somewhere outside of you, somewhere greater than you. With this story, I knew immediately who these characters were going to be and what the story was going to be, and I chose Russian ballet because of all the different schools of ballet that's out there. I personally most gravitate toward the Waganava method.
As somebody who dances.
I think Russian ballet is so known for its bravura, which means this technical mastery and vim this vibrance that they have and their way of relig to the audience. So I love that charisma that Russian ballet brings to the world stage, so I wanted to convey some of that through this specific setting.
Correct me if I'm wrong, But from what I know about Russian ballet, there's a real discipline, maybe even more so than other types of ballet. There's this technical precision, but there's also a storytelling element, which particularly interests me about you as an author, because I'm wondering if, as you were writing this book, instead of the Hero's Journey, you thought of it maybe as a song or a dance and having a crescendo, like did you think of it in this sing song way?
Absolutely, this book is as close to music as I can imagine a work of art can be when it is primarily a literary format. And I'm always inspired by classical music when I write my novels. My first novel was inspired by a symphony, specifically Bruckner's Symphony number eight, and you know that symphony has four movements, So I wanted to structure my novels with four walls, like the four movements of Brokener symphony, and going around the walls was my multiple cast of characters, the multiple third person POV ending at the keystone at the top, which is where the resolution comes and all of these different narratives come together to make sense at the end. And for this novel, I was instantly pulled by the idea of a concerto, and a very specific concerto molts are Piano Concerto number twenty three in a major. Now, Moltzart wrote hundreds of different pieces, and I think of this particular work as showing the full range of romantic love, from its sacredness all the way to its profanity. And I wanted to do this in first person POV because a concerto is a symphonic work that features a virtuosic solo instrumentalist, and it is designed to showcase all the talents of that soloist. So I imagined structuring this novel with past and present alternating timelines to show that breath of what a single voice can do and to give that texture. And I'm really happy at how musical it seemed to me while I was writing it, and hopefully while you're reading it too.
Do Hey, I am so blown away by you.
I want to actually go back to something you said earlier about being visited by muses when you're writing this story, and I know that there are so many creative listeners in our audience who want to tap into that same source of inspiration. What state of mind were you in to be so connected to the source.
I'm at a point in my career where I know what helps induce this condition. So you can't force it, because again, it's not really you. But if you're listening and you're a creative, you can create the conditions for which you are likely to be visited by inspiration. For me, nature has a lot to do with it. If I am lacking an inspiration, I go for a walk and candles help me a lot. You know a favorite beverage, whether that's a hot drink like coffee or hot chocolate. I drink a lot of hot chocolate while writing City of night Birds.
I think that there are two different types of writers.
There's the lightning strike of inspiration writers and there's the revisors. I'm clearly the former. I know a lot of writers who are the latter. But there is no right or wrong way to write. You have to figure out what type of writer you are and trust yourself whichever way it is. There are pros and cons to each approach. I, for example, love drafting because that's when I'm in this flow state and it feels magical and I can write for hours and hours and I don't even want to eat or sleep during that time. But I do not enjoy revising all that much because it feels disrespectful to the muses to be like slashing all the things that I wrote during that flow state. However, I also know that revising is crucial to make it understandable to anybody else who's not me. Every writer brings something so unique to the process, so trust yourself.
I could listen to you talk about creativity and flow states all day, but I also want to get into your personal story because that is what makes you unique and what makes your writings so unique. So you immigrated to the US from South Korea when you were nine years old. I read that at the time you only spoke Korean and had to learn to read and write English in school. And you wrote that you went from being a top student in South Korea to feeling like the dumbest kid in class when you got to Portland. And that thought is so shocking to me, because I can ever imagine you feeling insecure about your intellectual abilities.
Is Portland kids must have been mensa.
I not only felt bad about, you know, myself compared to other kids. I didn't really have teachers who also believed in me for a long time, up until probably high school. So I had one teacher who made a difference. His name was mister Johnson, and he taught me math from seven to twelfth grade, and he was the person who saw the potential in me. But now I make a living as a writer, and it is not as though in English class I was doing some creative writing and blowing everyone away, including my English teacher. So if you ever went to school and did not feel like a special talented kid, you're not alone, because that's exactly how I felt.
We have to take a quick break, but when we come back, we're diving deeper into you. Haykim's latest novel City of Night Birds stay with us.
And we're back with jew Hakim.
In thinking about the location where you set this novel in Russia, it's so interesting to me. I know you have this connection to Russian ballet, but it seems like you have this interest and curiosity about Russian culture in general. Is that tied to ballet for you or is it larger than that.
It's absolutely larger than that. And you know this is a question of sensibility.
Now. Susan Sontag, the photographer, said that sensibility is the hardest thing to talk about, and I believe that that's true, Like, how do we describe what sensibility is? And in this case, the Russian sensibility really matched up with my own sensibility, which comes from being Korean.
As a matter of fact, I have a.
Theory on why I think that Korean sensibility corresponds largely to the Russian sensibility. The Russians, with their literature, with their music, with their ballet, really prize the soul. And it's called dusha in Russian. And it's something that I hesitate to bring up because it is so cliche. We have heard again and again about the Russian soul, Russian soul. But I have proof that this isn't just a cliche. It is really like deep within Russian artists psyche. So recently, like just a couple of weeks ago, I took a master class with Natalia Sipova, who is a renowned former principal of Bolshoi Ballet and now current principle at the Royal Ballet. And it was a master class for advance to intermediate students, and she stopped the class very early on when we're doing basic tundus.
This isn't something that you know, typically.
People would be like, okay, you guys, stop, like, let's really go over this. She stopped the class and she said, okay, guys, legs are great, but the arms, the portobra, your shoulders and your back. This is how you show your soul, your beautiful woman's soul. And this really struck me. I gotta tell you, there is not an American or English ballet teacher who'd stop class at basic tondus five minutes into class with advanced students to tell them you need to be showing your soul right now. This is not a very creative portion of the class, but already she was thinking, this is what you need to take away from today's class, like how you show your soul. And this applies to not just ballet, but I think their music, their literature. So I grew up reading, of course, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Pasternak, all of these writers who really exhibit a deep commitment to humanity. You know, there's always a message, this deep love of humanity in even the darkest Russian novels like Dostoevsky. You can sense this soul aspect from Tchaikovsky, for example. Tchaikovsky was very well aware of the Russian soul. She wrote frequently about it in his letters as well. So I think that that sensibility really resonated with me as a Korean artist because of our similar death or our similar love of humanity.
It's remarkable to me that you wrote this novel without ever having visited Russia. The way that you honor a culture that is not your own is it's really a rare skill. What was that moment like when you finally visited Russia? Was the flame as fervent as you had imagined it to be?
Oh? It was, It was in so many ways very close to how I imagined. I could feel the love of arts from the streets, from the monuments of poets and composers, everywhere in the parks. You know, the common people, like even just pedestrians. If you stop them and asked, do you have a favorite poem? Could you please recite it for us? Chances are they have a favorite poem that they can just recite. And these are not publishing people, So that sense of history, that love for the arts was completely how I imagined, and it was so beautiful.
I had a certain.
Amount of trepidation because I am such a place based writer and I really wanted to do research firsthand. Unfortunately, because of the political situation, I wasn't able to go until I was given an award and I was able to receive a humanitarian visa to specially visit for this occasion. And I was really touched by the people most of all, and the readers were so thankful that I did not turn my back on my readers there.
I think that they're is a sense.
That a lot of authors are afraid to be seen connecting in any way with Russian civilians now, and I was definitely mindful that these are book lovers, and my colleagues, my translator, my editor, I speak with them, and these are not the same as their politicians. Just like in any country, I think that the more civilians understand that they are closer to one another than they are to their respective governments, we have a better chance of creating peace. And my job as an artist is to remind people of that fact, because art is one of the few things in the world that truly transcends boundaries. Yes, art is speaking to universal values, and again, if that doesn't do that, then that's not true art, and that's not a true artist. So I wrote this book very cognizant of that. I invite anybody who is wondering what does this say about the context of the Ukraine War, I really invite you to read it. I did have to take a certain amount of personal risk to be able to write this novel because I am well known in Russia, and I did it out of my own commitment to integrity. So I really hope that you will read it and enjoy it.
Well, you were speaking about the transformative nature of art, and I'm sitting here thinking to myself, I'm experiencing that right now because I've operated under this misconception about Russia that it is kind of this cold, soulis nation. But I'm primarily basing that off of the actions of some of the members of government that we've seen that are, you know, quite questionable actions that we've seen in recent years. But just because a government feels soulless, it doesn't mean that the people are soulless. And you've done so much justice and brought so much dignity to the artists in Russia, as exemplified by the fact that you won the largest annual literary prize in Russia awarded by the Leo Tolstoy Estate, And we also have to share with our listeners that you donated the entire prize money to the conservation of Siberian tigers and the more leopards. What does this recognition mean to you, not just this award, but in the greater context of this idea that you are a steward of Tolstoy's legacy.
It meant everything to me because he happens to be my literary and humanitarian north star. I don't know if you are aware of this, but Leo Tolstoy, of course, was a vegetarian way ahead of his time, and I have been a vegan since the age of nineteen.
And not only that, I.
Happened to have learned how to write from reading his novels, like my path to being a novelist has been completely self taught, and I would transcribe by hand passages from Anna Karenina in order to understand, Oh, this is how you write. So to be given this recognition by his literary successors and his actual descendants was an honor that I don't think I will ever receive again in my lifetime. I also wanted to take that as an opportunity to elevate the causes that I believe in, and I think that I have done that with not just the donation of the prize money, which I knew immediately that that would have to happen.
But also how I've been able to speak.
About this issue in my award acceptance speech. And I had to do this fairly carefully given the fact that I.
Was in Moscow.
You know.
I talked about.
The tigers and the leopards not recognizing man made boundaries, that they and nature are innocent, and that inspires hope in me and I see poetry in their resilience and innocence. And I think you understand that all of this means multiple things. It's not just about tigers and leopards that I was speaking, and this speech was accepted really well. You know, it's a real stance for peace, as much as I am able to publicly in such a country. And these animals are so symbolic of what happens around the world, which is that when wars happen, when man made conflicts happen, there are innocent people and animals who suffer, and that's not something that can be reversed when the war is over. The time to act is actually now and continuously so leopards, especially with about seventy individuals remaining in the wild and their genetic diversity is just really low at this point in the wild, they need our attention now despite the fact that there are wars raging, because when the war quiets, that we will have realized that, oh, the leopards died away decades ago. So I feel really proud of being an ambassador for these voiceless animals and telling people that yes, you may not like the fact that I am speaking to civilians of a country that waged war, but you have to believe that this is necessary. These are scientists and conservationists, and by keeping this bridge open, we're able to protect these animals and also understand each other better and hopefully call for peace better.
We've got to take a quick break, but we'll be right back with author do Hakim.
And we're back with do hakimju.
Hey, we've been talking so much about your beautiful prose. I think it's time to let our listeners hear some of it. Will you read a passage of City of Night Birds for us with pleasure.
I will read from the prologue, which is called overture in this book.
So this is towards the very beginning.
At this point we have met Natasha Leonova, who is a prima ballerina, returning to her hometown of Saint Petersburg, and it's clear that she's been injured gravely and she seems unmoored. And in this passage, she is just walking around in Saint Petersburg during the white Nights, which is appear a time in the summer when.
The sunset's really late. So here I begin.
I wander off to the summer garden and walk under the linden trees in bloom. Their nectar is so intoxicating that with one sip bees dropped to the ground. I stop when I reach a gallery of Greek sculptures. I sit on one of the green benches between the statues and watch the sky turn from cobalt to violet and rose gold. The twilight will last until sunrise. There is no place other than Saint Petersburg in the summer where I felt.
This slowing of time.
Instead of the past, present, and future all flowing in order like train cars, they fold translucently into one another, and many years ago feels as close and real as yesterday, tomorrow, as distant as years from now, as if my thoughts have opened a portal. I see him between the white statues, perhaps a phantom or a piece of my imagination that has escaped like a moth into the night air. I grick the armrest of the green bench, but he begins walking towards me, and his quality of movement lets me know he is real.
By God, there have been only a few humans who could look soul alive. He darkens, lightens, darkens, lightens as he passes through the shadows of the statues. Darkens, lightens again, revealing his arched eyebrows, black hair, flashing green eyes that can raige or laugh without saying anything. The great Dmitriostrovsky to his fans, Dima to his friends, Dmitrian Anatolievitch to his company members. But to me, he is Janus, my two faced downfall, and the only person in the world I would not hesitate to call my enemy. We maintain eye contact until he stops abruptly in front of my bench. Natasha, he says, with a nod, as if we were the most natural thing that we have run into each other. Dmitri, I level my voice so as not to give him the satisfaction of anerving me. What are you doing here? What a way to greet an old acha?
He laughs.
Whatever you want to call me, may I.
He gestures at the spot next to me and sits down without waiting for my answer. Welcome back to Peter, he says, stretching his legs out before him and prossing them at the ankles. Let us dispense with the niceties, I say, and he smiles.
I could never.
Understand why you hate me, so Dmitri looks out at the statue shaking his head in an exaggerated show of regret. The frown disappears in a moment, restoring the smooth planes of his face. He hasn't changed much since our last meeting. I remember the light filtering through the flute of Champagne in his hand. At our bar off Passe Boges. I can hear the moonlight rushing through the four fountains and dropping like silver spoons into the basin. Our friends murmured toasts in French and Russian Sante Budham. That night was just before my accident, and then I realized with the start that Dmitri might be the same. But I've lost everything since then.
Thank you, ju hey, thank you so much.
You are such a worldly writer, and I know that your books have resonated with an international audience. So we have actually something very exciting for the first time ever. On the bright side, we have a listener question all the way from England. Ella wants to know how you make your settings feel so lived in. Hi do you?
Hey?
I'm Ella and I'm a book reviewer from England. I'm a big fan. I recently read Beasts of a Little Land and I loved it so much. That I immediately wanted to read more by you, which when I was completely gutted when I found out The City of Nightbirds isn't being published in the UK until next year. Luckily I was able to beg and get my hands on an advanced copy, which, of course I absolutely loved. Your writing has actually even inspired me to book tickets to go to a ballet for the first time in my life, so thank you very much for that inspiration. I love the way that you're able to bring characters and places to life so vividly. Your first book was obviously set in Korea, which is a place that is so connected to your upbringing, whereas City of night Birds obviously mainly takes place in Russia, which is a country that you've not lived in. But in both books, you really make your readers feel as so they're walking through the streets of these places, which is so beautiful to read. So I'm curious how your approach to writing differed, If it differed when it came to writing about a country and a culture that you are familiar with versus one that you're perhaps less connected to.
You know, recently I heard from a reader from the far East of Russia, and she had read the Russian edition of Beasts offul Little Land, my debut novel, and she said, how did you know exactly how it snows in the far east of Russia? Because I wrote in one of the passages that the snow fell as if a giant salt cellar had been tipped from the sky. It was that type of fine dry powder, and I didn't know.
I actually had no idea.
It's not like I could do research on that, but I had previous experience that sometimes snow does feel that way, and I just drew from my own personal experience with snow, and it just so turned out that this reader from Vladivostok region had also seen snow that way. So what I do is draw from my own life experience, and sometimes it happens that the reader can fill in the blanks and use their imagination. With this novel, I think I had to rely more on my imagination than normal, because I, you know, I had nothing really from personal experience to go off. But I knew that a lot of things I experienced through sensorial detail. And I have always been a censorial writer. I don't have seen esthesia, but I am probably quite close to having seen aesthesia, which is experiencing different senses at the same time.
You know, for.
Example, Natasha has this experience early on in the book where she hears music when she enters Waganova that she has only heard once before, and it's as though she is seeing and hearing things that are not there, and that is a premonition to her. I had a very similar experience when I was taking the.
SATs when I was seventeen years.
Old, and I was hearing Taikowsky's Symphony Number five, and I could see all the answers as if a spotlight had been cast on all the right answers. So I was just looking at all the correct answers and just filling in the planks. And this type of sensorial knowledge is very useful when you're trying to illustrate settings, because not only are you relying on what's actually there, but you're connecting with the smells, the colors, the sounds, the light, and these are all the things that I see in my mind's.
Eye while I am drawing in that environment.
So you know, some of it is completely luck and some of it is I think my attention to different senses. The music that I here when I am drawing a certain scene, and I really appreciate you saying that it feels real to you, because it felt really real to me when I was writing it too, And that's the only chance you have at making the reader see what you see. If it feels real to the writer, it will feel real to the reader.
I have one last question for you.
When I think of ballet, I of course think of discipline, but when I've seen it sort of portrayed in film, it seems that it's often a metaphor for human resilience. If readers take away one lasting feeling or lesson from City of night Birds, what do you hope it'll be?
Oh gosh, that's such a hard one, And it's the last question.
This.
I usually have a habit of embedding my final message into the last sentence of the novel. I did it for my first novel, and I did it for the second one. And if you are patient enough to follow through with Natasha's journey and reach the last page, I think you will understand what it is I.
Am trying to say.
The book is a kind of a debate between the premissy of art versus human life, and actually the book argues in both ways, so is it art for art's sake? Or is it art for humanity's sake? And you will see that the narrative argues both sides.
But maybe in the final page you.
Will get a sense of what is truly truly important and what serves the other.
So yeah, I think that you will just have to read to find out.
Juey, thank you so much for joining us today and sharing so much of your of your inspiration with us.
Thank you so much for having me.
It was my absolute pleasure and honor to be on this podcast, and this is something that I'm gonna remember as one of the highlights of my career being a Reese's book Club author and speaking to you on this podcast.
Thank you.
It's incredibly kind.
Thank you for sharing your moment with us.
And it is so well deserved.
Juw hay Kim is the author of City of night Birds and the December Reese's book Club Pick. It's available wherever you get your books.
Now, that's it for today's show. Tomorrow, we're popping off about last minute gifts with People Magazines Beauty and Style director Andrea Labenthal.
You don't want to miss it.
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