Probably Not Ms Austen

Indeed, I must confess, I have been thoroughly enchanted by this drama from the very beginning. I have always held a fondness for tales that weave romance with a touch of the fantastical, and so it was perhaps inevitable that such a story would capture my affections. That said, I admit Seonchaek did, at first, test my patience. Her mannerisms were quite unbecoming of a young lady of decorum—though perhaps it is simply that she bore too stark a contrast to the essence of Ripley de Liverpool.

As for our prince, he has quite outshone even Duke Zeronis in my estimation. His presence is most compelling. And I must commend the principal actors, whose performances are truly commendable. No, we are not presented with the familiar trappings of castles, dukes, and counts, but instead with the enchanting vision of the Joseon dynasty—admittedly more fanciful than historical—reimagined through the lens of a traditional sageuk.

To the admirers of the original webtoon, I understand your dissatisfaction, truly I do. The portrayals differ; the setting has been quite altered. I felt much the same upon encountering certain adaptations like Bridgerton or Snow White. Your disappointment is not without merit. Yet I would urge, as I myself have endeavoured to do, that you approach this not as a faithful adaptation, but rather as a fresh tale, or even a sort of folkloric retelling.

And if, even still, your heart resists the charm of this rendition, that too is entirely acceptable. But I do believe it would be most respectful to those of us who are enjoying the drama, to refrain from expressing unkind or discourteous sentiments repeatedly. This relentless compulsion to assert one’s disapproval in such a vehement fashion speaks more, I daresay, to the nature of the speaker than to the quality of the work itself.

Let us, if we may, be civil—if not for the love of the drama, then at least for the sake of good breeding.

Some individuals exercise their minds through reading and possess sufficient knowledge to express themselves with simple words. If the act of putting one's own thoughts into words appears a burden to you, and the only plausible recourse you can find is a device to compensate for a lack of understanding, I am afraid I must express my sincere regret.

One recognises the skill of an actress in her noble craft when the character she embodies is capable of provoking in one the most profound vexation. Thus far, the narrative of the drama proves itself to be most agreeable and has successfully piqued my curiosity. Yet, I must confess, the character of Cha Seonchaek is wholly wanting in decorum. She delights in vulgarities, speaks falsehoods without remorse, and conducts herself with the sort of boisterousness that offends the sensibilities—so very ill-suited, I daresay, to the noble temperament of Prince Gyeongseong.

Furthermore, what disturbs me, beyond the heroine herself (whose manners, I repeat, are sorely lacking), is the manner in which the drama commenced: so hastily, so breathlessly, that we were denied the pleasure of proper introductions to the characters and their former lives. Cha Seonchaek appears to adapt with alarming ease to the whimsical reality of the fictional world she once adored, but what of her family in the real world? Are there none who mourn her absence? And is she herself entirely untroubled by the consequence of altering the narrative—adding chapters, rewriting lines? Surely, such interference might erase beloved figures or birth new ones altogether. It is a notion both fascinating and disquieting, and one which I often ponder.

For all these misgivings, I find myself thoroughly enjoying the programme. The Prince, with his resolute nature, reveals the promise of a kind and noble heart beneath his stern exterior. Indeed, it is the sort of tale in which one might wish oneself to be the heroine—imagine, if you will, the sublime experience of stepping into the very fabric of one's favourite novel, film, or drama! The fancy is most enchanting.

And so, with hopeful heart, I await the next instalments with eager anticipation.

I am presently viewing the fourth episode and remain quite at a loss as to the whereabouts of their parents. One presumes they were united in siblinghood by virtue of a parental marriage, yet—astonishingly—they have not been referenced, not even in the most cursory of telephone conversations. Such an omission is, I confess, exceedingly odd.

I truly endeavoured to persevere, but Gichan is quite revolting — as for his brother, he is but a wretched hanger-on, possessing neither sense nor purpose. I abandoned the endeavour by the third episode, upon his falsehood to the constables regarding poor Eunho’s captors. It was then I began to suspect his own hand in the affair. A most odious character. I could not, in good conscience, proceed.