The Hogwon Murders is a comic mystery novel in which the world's least successful magazine feature writer, Calvin Scott, finds himself in Southeast Asia chasing a story, a pretty blonde and a killer all at the same time.
Author's website: http://www.markhillonline.com/
Also by Mark Hill on obooko:
In the time-honored tradition of tourists everywhere, the passengers aboard the Nam Yang Travel Company's "conveniently appointed, executive luxury, deluxe visitor limousine bus," were enthusiastically lapping up the most outlandish rubbish.
"On your right please enjoy to feast your eyes on the wonderful statue of Admiral Yi Sun-shin, the internationally famous sailing captain of Korea," said the pretty young tour guide.
"Mmmm, so that's what Admiral Sunshine looks like," murmured a fat man who had never heard of him before.
"Now we are lucky to be approaching the world-renowned Lotte Department Store, featuring a wonderful selection of high quality imported and locally-made products," said the guide.
"Can we stop there. I want to buy some genuine Korean gifts to take home," asked the English lady who, the year before, had come back from Canada with a suitcase full of plastic Mounties.
"Unfortunately, that will be impossible, due to the time scheduling factor of our tour. But I am ecstatically pleased to tell you that we will luckily be stopping in Itaewon. Then you will understand why all the people of the world agree that Itaewon is a shoppers paradise," answered the tour guide.
"I've heard of that place! They say it's a shoppers paradise," exclaimed the woman in the front seat with the short-term memory problem.
The tour continued in much the same fashion as the bus inched its way through the noise and congestion of downtown Seoul.
When the guide mistook her left for her right in pointing out City Hall, forty-three expensive cameras zoomed, exposed, auto-focused and forever immortalized a perfectly ordinary subway station.
Later, the sight of the 1988 Olympic Park prompted shrieks of imagined recognition from two women who'd seen the same TV mini-series about Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding.
And when the Seoul Tower hove into view, everybody on the bus burst into a spontaneous chorus of "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever."
I wasn't singing. I wasn't talking about Nancy and Tonya like I knew them personally. And I wasn't taking pictures. I didn't even have a camera. All I had was a small notebook on which I had written "Seoul - Seeing is Leaving."