Luck and agency
“There was more to being something than just blood.”
This is the first book I finished in 2021. Let’s take a moment to celebrate that. I’ve known about Pachinko for a while before finally picking it up recently. It was listed in virtually almost every book recommendations list I found then. Written by Min Jin Lee, the book follows generations of a Korean family, as they immigrate to Japan in the early 20th century. The story starts in Busan, where the first generations of the family originated, and eventually their journey for a better life in Osaka, Japan.
It’s hard to pinpoint one singular protagonist of the book, as the story spans for nearly 80 years, often following several characters at once. But if I had to choose one, the obvious answer would have to be Sunja, who, at the beginning of the book was a teenage girl living with her mother, and by the end, have aged and with a family of her own. Sunja, to me, is the sort of protagonist that I’m content with. I feel that way with her because I think the best protagonists are the ones who you either love or hate (or love and hate at the same time). That way, they serve their purpose in the story; we know enough about them to care for them, but also just enough to keep us from fully falling in blind love or admiration with them.
In the first half, we mostly follow the world from Sunja’s perspective; her thoughts, feelings, and growth as a naive, young girl. As we move through the book, we encounter more characters, first from Sunja’s own family, and eventually outside of it. What (we thought) was once Sunja’s story, was not hers after all.
Despite that, these characters never once felt like intruders or additions to the story. If I were to say that the next generation of characters were reflective or reminiscent of their parents or ancestors, it would be unfair, as this book also brings up themes of individuality: Are we who our family is or was? Or do we get to start over and carve our own identity, one that is wholly separate from those who raise us or came before us?
In other words, do we have agency in our lives? If so, how much of it? In scientific or philosophical terms, this reflects the neverending debate of determinism versus free will. A number of characters in this book are born in poverty and war, others in money and security. Some come from good families, while the rest are not so lucky. These circumstances, whether these characters wanted it to or not, will eventually affect the way they see the world and how they go about them.
Pachinko itself is a Japanese arcade-slash-gambling game. To paint a picture, it’s comparable to the slot machines in Western casinos, which rely on luck. Now, luck is somewhat similar to determinism. For example, if a person is born in a rich family, then that should equate with luck, should it? Because without this person needing to exhibit any such efforts, they would already be provided with certain luxuries that others are not. The real kick is that luck is neither reliable nor fairly distributed.
However, because of its game-like elements, Pachinko, unlike slot machines, is said to require certain skills or tricks from the players, in addition to the so-called luck or chance. Although, some would argue that this sense of control is debatable, because it’s basically still gambling.
So, to return to our argument: On the other side of the coin, free will argues that life is what you make it, whatever your circumstance. This view might sound idealistic, and some would say this control is just an illusion, like in pachinko. These people would say that we are, and truly were never in control in the first place.
But that doesn’t discredit the fact that many of us want to believe they actually do have a significant amount of control in their lives. I’ve encountered numerous characters in this book that feel this way too. As their worlds are falling apart (or even staying too still), these people seek to gain a sense of agency. Because maybe then, they would live on as a person with integrity and a self that is unattached to what the world tells them they are or who they should be.
“There’s nothing f-ing worse than knowing that you’re just like everybody else.”
