Virginia Woolf's Smile
Virginia Woolf smiled, and as I slept, I dreamed. In the dream, I was still a man—tall and sturdy. My reason stood firm, shielded by thoughts as unyielding as steel armor. I kept writing, publishing books, building my fame. I even lectured from university podiums. The audience was half people, half birds. It was a lecture on Virginia Woolf, using her essay A Room of One's Own as the text, delving into feminism.
I praised her remarkable talents while emphasizing the limitations of being a woman. It wasn't mere misogyny; it was closer to a commentary on the constraints of her era. Whether I had any personal bias, I'm not sure. When the lecture ended, one student raised a hand. No, it was a bird. A sparrow chirped in a high-pitched voice, asking her question.
"Professor, professor. So, does that mean Virginia Woolf couldn't write even greater works because she was a woman? That if she'd been a man, she would have achieved better results? And does that imply that other great male writers wouldn't have succeeded as they did if they'd been women?"
It was a pathetic question. Wasn't that obvious? It wasn't just my hatred of women; it was considering the era's realities. If she hadn't been a woman, she probably never would have killed herself.
"Virginia Woolf asked whether Shakespeare's sister could have written as well as he did. Woolf herself answered no. In that era, women couldn't receive proper education or accumulate the same experiences as men. No writer, no matter how talented, could perform at their best in such conditions. Virginia Woolf could write as she did only because she was born into a wealthy, scholarly family that afforded her some freedom."
"Then, professor, professor—in today's world, with equal access to education and experience, if Shakespeare and his sister were born now, could they both achieve the same greatness?"
Of course not. "No. Women and men are structurally different beings. Even at the same level of achievement, the results would differ fundamentally."
Naturally, a woman could never outwrite a man at equal achievement. Without solid reason, a woman's writing—full of emotional appeals—was just begging. Begging to be read, to be loved. Such writing could never surpass a man's. Women never truly grow up. They can't grasp what responsibility means. Forever trapped in adolescence, their writing might aspire to young adult literature at best. Or pornography.
I didn't voice those thoughts aloud. I knew the backlash they would unleash. But the sparrow cackled. Not just the sparrow—the sparrow, owls, sandpipers, egrets, ducks, chickens, even the dozing owl burst into laughter. High soprano shrieks assaulted my ears.
"Our little know-it-all stands there—why is that?"
"What nonsense...!"
"But look at yourself now."
White hair, soft skin. Small breasts peeking modestly, arms so frail. A pale face that tugs at the heart. Cute little miss. Why are you standing there?
"You're no longer a man, a professor, or a novelist."
I looked down at myself. The armor of my steadfast reason and ironclad ideology was too big—it couldn't cling to my body. It fell to the ground and shattered pathetically. All that remained was a naked, bare little girl with white hair. Not a man, not an adult, not even a novelist.
Lifting my pale face, the birds were gone, replaced by towering women. No, they weren't giants. I was the tiny one. They approached with chilling smiles. The other listeners from the lecture—the men—watched impassively. The moment they overwhelmed me, I screamed myself awake.
"Seol-guk? Are you alright?"
I waved off Ham Ye-jin as she rushed over in alarm. Just a nightmare. A meaningless, unpleasant one. A hollow echo that couldn't touch me.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about it."
"...Alright, then."
She said that, but she still seemed concerned and brought me a glass of lukewarm water. I didn't refuse. Gripping the cup with my shrunken hands, I drank. The cup was too big; water spilled, wetting my clothes. Was it because I'd become a woman that I had such an emotional dream? The doctor had said female hormones might make me a bit more sentimental. I knew hormones could enslave people. But I trusted my resilient reason. I might change a little. My writing might be affected. But my essence wouldn't alter. No mere female hormones could corrupt it. As long as my core remained, I was still myself. I didn't like my name much, but I was still Seol-guk—and I always would be. That was an unchangeable fact.
Seeing me calm down, Ham Ye-jin spoke. "We've set up the computer and bookshelf from your old room over there. The fridge has porridge stocked for a while. There's a microwave there—warm it up with that. There's not much else to say, really. Just try to avoid going out as much as possible. The neighborhood's safe, so wandering around won't likely cause issues, but public opinion is still negative right now. It'll improve with time, so please bear with it until then. Order anything you need online, and if something urgent comes up, call me."
Ham Ye-jin handed me her business card. As an NIS agent, it was disguised as from some unrelated company. Not my concern. I pocketed it, and she handed me something else—my wallet.
"We were holding onto it. Everything inside should be as it was."
"Speaking of which, you mentioned new ID. How long will that take?"
"I'll contact you when it's ready. There are procedures, so a few days."
Not immediate, then. Would the photo be this new face? Come to think of it, I hadn't had one taken yet.
"We have one from the hospital."
"Candid shot, huh."
Ham Ye-jin fell silent. I had no intention of arguing over something trivial. Just venting a bit of displeasure.
"Anything else?"
"Please follow the hospital's precautions. No alcohol or smoking. And... it's best to avoid meeting friends for a while."
"Even my editor?"
"Use video calls if needed. Keep your address hidden for now."
"...Got it."
Forced hikikomori life for the time being. I wasn't outdoorsy anyway, so it wasn't a huge hassle, but the uncertainty of how long it would last irked me.
"And stop searching your name online. It'll all fade with time anyway."
"Quite confident."
"I've seen plenty."
Ham Ye-jin stood. My altered perspective felt alien anew. Someone her height used to be someone I looked down on. Now I had to crane my neck up. For reference, the hospital measured me at 146 cm—elementary school kid level. Over 30 cm shorter than before. The giant women from the dream flashed in my mind. My mood soured further.
"Then I'll be going. Take care, stay healthy. Don't forget your meds."
"Goodbye."
With that old-fashioned farewell and nagging, Ham Ye-jin left. The house felt emptier than expected in solitude. My thoughts naturally drifted back to the dream. Dreams fade fast. Details were already blurring, but "Virginia Woolf" lingered. No idea why she popped up suddenly. I'd barely read any of her books anyway. The lecture content was just superficial knowledge from general education. And becoming a woman didn't make me want to read her now.
I lay back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. An unfamiliar ceiling. I wanted to shower.