A world-class mathematician who loves literature writes his first play

There is a mathematician who loves literature. He used to recite James Joyce's short story "Araby" from memory. "It's about 15 minutes' worth of text," the 73-year-old mathematician said. "I still have it memorized. I wanted to learn how to write."

Unable to become the literary young man he once dreamed of being, he chose the path of mathematics — leaving behind a world of variables to explore new dimensions in the realm of logic and proof.

"If literature is my first love, then mathematics is my beloved wife now," Choi Jae-kyung said with a laugh.

Even as he devoted himself to mathematics, he never let go of writing. His personal website is filled with essays on life and math.

His passion for literature never faded. His first foray into creative writing came during his tenure as the eighth president of the Korea Institute for Advanced Study (KIAS). Through "Chohakje," a KIAS collaboration program between artists and mathematicians, he wrote his first short story, "Sumissanggwan," in 2014.

Twelve years later, that story has become a play. "The original story had so much dialogue that people around me said it would work better as a script," Choi said. "So I taught myself playwriting and adapted it." The resulting production, titled "113," is the first play written by a mathematician and former KIAS president in Korea.

The production was proposed by director Kim Je-min, a professor at Seoul Institute of the Arts, whom Choi met through the Chohakje program. "When people hear that a mathematician wrote a play, they imagine something like a math problem," Kim said at a recent meeting in Seoul's Daehangno theater district. "But the script I actually read was a fully realized, high-quality work of literature in its own right. There are no complex formulas or lectures — it's a humanistic dialogue that draws on literature we all know to talk about life."

In mathematics, 1+1=2 is an absolute truth — yet life holds its own mysterious truth, where 1+1 can equal 3. The play "113" is built around that idea.

"When two people form a bond, it doesn't make 2 — it makes 3," Choi said. "The play tries to show the most beautiful moments in life that emerge when human connection enters a mathematical equation."

Rather than complex formulas, the play draws on poetry and sijo to carry its literary dialogue. What makes it particularly striking is that Choi interprets these literary works through the mathematical concept of "connected sum" and weaves that reading into the drama. Three works he loves — the sijo "Dongjitdal ginaneun bam" by Hwang Jini, "Ringwanderung" by Hwang Sun-won, and "Wings" by Yi Sang — are brought together to illuminate the lives of the play's three protagonists.

"Connected sum is a concept where you punch a hole in two spaces and join them with a tube, creating a new space of a higher dimension than either original," Choi explained. "I wanted to reinterpret literary works we all know through that concept." The process by which different lives meet and form a single new narrative is read through the lens of connected sum. Philosophically, he said, connected sum resembles Hegel's dialectic — thesis, antithesis and synthesis — in that an existing state meets its opposite and, through conflict, advances into a more developed form.

"In Hwang Jini's sijo, the 'long night' of waiting for a lover and the 'short night' when the lover arrives are each independent stretches of time — but join them together and a higher-dimensional night is born, one carrying deep history and connection," Choi said. "In Hwang Sun-won's story, the tragic life of a dying friend overlaps with the narrator's own life. And in Yi Sang's 'Wings,' the final scene ending with 'fly, fly' is an attempt to soar to a higher dimension."

The stage of "113" is designed to resemble a Möbius strip — a set built on topological metaphor. The narrative twists three times, with three characters at its center: a mathematician, an artist and a poet. The character who begins as a painter gradually shifts course to become a baker, and the story continues through the act of shaping doughnuts — the doughnut being a symbol of connected sum. Though these characters live in entirely different worlds, they ultimately connect organically to complete a single story.

Mathematics is widely misunderstood. It is the foundational language of both the real world and the world of AI, yet people question its usefulness. Choi cited American neuroscience research showing that reading a fine poem and encountering a beautiful mathematical idea activate similar regions of the brain on an fMRI scan.

"People think mathematics is a subject you solve, but in fact it's a subject where you create and discover," Choi said. "The real skill in mathematics is the ability to formulate good problems. And the ability to formulate a good problem and the ability to craft a great work of literature share the same essential root."

The moment of discovery, proof and — above all — creation is when a mathematician feels the greatest beauty. Yet Choi acknowledged that the greater the beauty, the deeper the emptiness. "When you discover a brilliant idea, write a paper, and then find an error just as you're finishing it, the despair is immense," he said with a laugh. "The beauty is great, and so is the void."

In South Korea, the term "supoja" — someone who has given up on mathematics — has become part of everyday language. Most people describe themselves as having voluntarily distanced themselves from the subject.

"Reading the script, I was surprised to find that even a mathematician can be a math quitter," Kim said. "Mathematics has always been close to our lives, yet we keep it at arm's length — and the script brought it to me from a completely different angle."

For Choi, the play is also a defense of mathematics and an attempt to clear up misconceptions about it. "So many people in South Korea live as math quitters, remembering mathematics only as a tool for exams or an object of fear," he said. "Through this play, I wanted to show that mathematics can enrich life and serve as a wonderful tool for reinterpreting beautiful literature."

Choi, making his debut as a playwright, also takes the stage himself for roughly two to three minutes as an actor. "The mathematician in the play is in fact a projection of Choi's own life," Kim said. "Even in a short appearance, I wanted to show on stage the genuine presence and gait of a real mathematician who has devoted his entire life to one field of research." It was a far cry from what they had discussed at the start of the project. "I've never been anywhere near theater, so I feel like I was tricked," Choi said with a laugh. "I can recite a short story from memory, but memorizing a script is not easy." Still, he looked forward to his acting debut with excitement. He recently wrote a poem titled "A Moment of Musical Inspiration" after attending a duo concert by violinist Joo-Mi Kang and pianist Kim Sun-wook.

"When I think about it, a mathematician presenting a paper at a podium and an actor taking the stage in a play seem similar — both must always introduce something new," Choi said. "After the recital, I wrote about how beautiful it is to live on a stage. I thought that leaving even a single moment on a stage is something meaningful, even if you're not particularly good."

"So many people in South Korea live as math quitters, remembering mathematics only as a tool for exams or an object of fear," Choi said. "Through this play, I want to show that mathematics can enrich life and serve as a wonderful tool for reinterpreting beautiful literature." Kim said he hoped audiences would feel "that even though mathematics and art seem far apart, they are ultimately connected as one — like a Möbius strip."