On the surface, this book presents itself as the scholarly work of linguist Leon Kuperman. But from the very first page, you realize something's off. The 'dictionary' is incomplete, published posthumously after Kuperman goes missing. As you read the entries, a different story emerges. Definitions for simple words like 'morning' (아침) or 'distance' (거리) contain strange, personal asides, memories of a lost love in Seoul, and a deep, unspoken grief. The book isn't about translating words; it's about using the structure of a dictionary to hide a man's soul. You, the reader, become the detective, connecting these fragmented entries to uncover the passionate and tragic life Kuperman lived behind his academic facade.

Why You Should Read It

This book completely surprised me. It sounds dry, but it's the opposite. The format is genius—it forces you to read slowly and pay attention to every detail. A definition for 'key' (열쇠) might hold the clue to a hidden apartment. The entry for 'mistake' (실수) could reveal his biggest regret. It's a beautiful and sad exploration of how we use language to both express and conceal our deepest feelings. Kuperman (the character) isn't just defining words; he's trying to define his own life, his love, and his loss, and it's incredibly moving.

Final Verdict

Perfect for anyone who loves inventive storytelling and doesn't mind a book that makes them work a little (in the best way). If you enjoyed the fragmented style of Cloud Atlas or the emotional puzzle of The Dictionary of Lost Words, you'll fall hard for this. It's a short, powerful read that proves a story can be hidden anywhere—even in a glossary.