A Single Shard

Tree-ear isn’t too sure how old he is; but Crane-man says he’s around 12 or 13, and he should know. Crane-man has cared for Tree-ear since the day the monks from the temple on the hillside – ravaged by fever at the time – had entrusted the orphaned child to him. Their names reflect their stories. Tree-ear is called after the forest mushroom that grows from rotting wood without any parent-seed. Much like the feeding bird, Crane-man stands on one leg, the other shrivelled and twisted from birth. In the warmer summer months, the boy and the old man have shared a space together under a bridge for several years.

This 20^th Anniversary Edition from Oneworld Publications celebrates the 2002 winner of the prestigious Newbery Medal in the United States. The novel has the deceptive simplicity of a folk-tale; readers accustomed to the frenetic pace and fickle relationships of much contemporary YA fiction will find themselves in a very different narrative world. Most of the action is set on the West Coast of Korea in the mid- to late twelfth century in Ch’ulp’o, a village famed for its pottery, especially its celadon ware. The cast is small; its main players are Tree-ear, Crane-man, the irascible but inventive old potter Min, his kindly wife Ajima and, briefly, the king’s emissary Kim, charged with finding craftsmen whose work will enhance the exquisite collection of pottery in the royal palace. Minor roles include rival potters, a pair of violent robbers, government officers, villagers and farmers.

The young Tree-ear regularly hides in the shadow of a paulownia tree, watching in fascination as Min works on his pots. Often, the old man explores new techniques of decoration; each process is described in patient detail. When Tree-ear accidently breaks a pot, he repays Min by working long shifts, chopping and carting wood from the mountain forest for the kiln or digging clay from the river estuary; his only payment is a daily bowl of food, prepared by Ajima, which he carries back to the bridge to share with Crane-man. Much of the satisfaction on offer here is for the reader who enjoys discovering the slow crafting of the pots and the inventive nature of the process. Though Min shows no sign of teaching the boy to pot, despite his desperation to learn, there are moments of revelation for Tree-ear. Suddenly, he realises what it is to see something familiar in a different way. Just as, in the woods, he once felt that his eyes had known a deer with a new understanding, he now learns to see with his hands, finding and feeling a shape in the clay between his fingers.

Then there are Tree-ear’s relationships with Crane-man, Ajima and the gruff old potter himself. Hence that sense of a folk-tale – the older people remain constant, drawn with a few strong characteristics, while young Tree-ear grows through his experiences. Dramatic physical action is limited to events during a journey which Tree-ear makes to the capital city. For the most part Linda Sue Park describes Tree-ear’s development through simple interactions and dialogues. It’s a measure of her skill that these exchanges suggest wise insight, not banality.

Reflective readers who surrender to the quiet rhythms of the prose and the plot will surely find pleasure both in the crafting of the pots and in the the receptive awareness of Tree-ear as he begins a life absorbed in the potter’s arts. One day, the story implies, this will lead to the making of one of the most famous pieces of Korean celadon ware which, in our own time, is displayed in the Kansong Museum of Art in Seoul, an institution so distinguished that it opens its doors for just two periods of a few weeks each year.