Book Review: The Vegetarian by Han Kang
Did I like this story?
Yes…no…maybe. More than a week later, I’m still not sure.
What I am sure of is that I’m still thinking about it and that doesn’t happen with all stories.
What Is This Book?
The Vegetarian is a three-part novella by Han Kang, set in modern-day South Korea against a backdrop of a traditional, patriarchal society.
Originally published in 2004 and 2005 as three separate short stories, the stories were combined and published in 2007 as one book.
The Vegetarian has been translated into twenty-three languages. The version I read was the English translation, by Deborah Smith, that won the 2016 Man Booker International Prize.
There is some controversy around this particular translation. Many people say this translation has embellished the story and is not completely true to the original.
As an outsider to South Korean culture and as someone who doesn’t speak Korean, I can only review the book I read. I’m not sure that the differences between the original and the translation are important to me.
What’s This Book About?
This is not simply a story about someone who decides to become a vegetarian, although that is the inciting incident.
On the surface, it seems to chart the deterioration of one woman’s mental health, as seen from the perspectives of three of her family members.
However, if you look deeper (and this story has definitely made me look deeper), there are so many layers and possible interpretations. It’s hard to pick just one and say definitively “this is what it’s about”.
Innocence, violence, beauty, mental illness, a feeling of powerlessness and lack of control, dreams, nature, human nature, identity, misogyny, patriarchy, abuse, are just some of the aspects that stood out to me.
**Be warned: If you’re considering reading The Vegetarian, please be aware that it includes violence, sex, and self-harm.**
1. The Vegetarian
The first story, The Vegetarian, is narrated by the woman’s husband.
One morning his normally-meek wife tells him she had a dream and she can no longer eat meat. He’s upset and tries to make her see sense. She quietly stands her ground, and he cannot, nor does he want to, understand what is happening to her.
Extremely self-centred, he only cares about how her behaviour affects him and reflects on him. He only married her because she was so unremarkable.
“The passive personality of this woman in whom I could detect neither freshness nor charm, or anything especially refined, suited me down to the ground.”
For most of this part of the story, this is a woman with no identity. He calls her “my wife” and we don’t learn her name — Yeong-hye — until near the end of this first story.
This first story is the only part of the book that offers any glimpse into Yeong-hye’s mind. There are a couple of short scenes of her thinking about the dreams and what happened just before the first one. Her vivid dreams set off the decline of her mental health and she begins to lose her grip on reality.
2. Mongolian Mark
The second story, Mongolian Mark, takes place two years later. It follows the thoughts and actions of Yeong-hye’s brother-in-law.
He is an artist who is supported financially by his wife, Yeong-hye’s sister. He becomes increasingly obsessed with the thought of painting his sister-in-law’s body with flowers and plants and videoing it. His obsession and his fantasies affect the already rocky relationship he has with his wife and son.
“He spent hours seemingly lost in a daydream, mulling over how to make the image become a reality.”
Here is another man who never sees Yeong-hye as a person or as someone who needs help. He never refers to her by name and he takes advantage of her submissiveness and mental illness for his own purposes.
There is a recurring image of dreams overpowering reality and rational thought that shows up in all three parts of the overall story.
3. Flaming Trees
The third story, Flaming Trees, takes place about a year later and is told from her sister’s perspective.
Yeong-hye’s mental illness has had a drastic effect on her physical health and she is hospitalised in an institution. Her sister, In-hye, pays for her medical care and is the only family member who continues to have contact with her.
In-hye tries to work through what has happened. Despite the betrayal in the second story, she tries hard to understand her sister. In-hye struggles with guilt, tiredness, and loneliness. She is now juggling her son, her business, and her sister on her own.
This part provides some backstory, hinting at events and childhood circumstances that might have contributed to Yeong-hye’s mental illness.
“Had they run away from home that evening, as Yeong-hye had suggested, would it all have been different?”
The recurring image of dreams overpowering reality appears again in this part. In-hye, however, has a tether to reality (her son), whereas Yeong-hye has nothing to keep her grounded.
What Do Other People Say?
Some people loved this book, some people hated it, others were just confused by it.
Like any book, it means different things to different people. We all bring our own baggage and beliefs to everything we read, and this one is no different.
In a 2016 interview, Han Kang said:
“I think this novel has some layers: questioning human violence and the (im)possibility of innocence; defining sanity and madness; the (im)possibility of understanding others, body as the last refuge or the last determination, and some more. It will be inevitable that different aspects are more focused on by different readers and cultural backgrounds. If I could say one thing, this novel isn’t a singular indictment of the Korean patriarchy. I wanted to deal with my long-lasting questions about the possibility/impossibility of innocence in this world, which is mingled with such violence and beauty. These were universal questions that occupied me as I wrote it.”
What Do I Really Think About This Book?
TBH, I’m still unsure.
The fact that I’m still thinking about this book means it had some effect on me. But, there are so many possible themes that I struggle to put my thoughts into words.
I see a struggle with identity, mental illness, powerlessness, and the feeling that your body is the last bastion of things you feel you have control over.
The theme that keeps bubbling to the top for me is the overpowering nature of dreams. Without some sort of tether to keep you grounded, dreams can distort reality until you lose yourself and the ability to know what’s real and what’s not.
Should You Read The Vegetarian?
If you like your stories to be wrapped up neatly, then you might want to give this book a miss. You’re definitely not getting that.
If you like stories that you’re still thinking about well after you finish, then sure, give this book a go.
**In case you missed my earlier warning: If you’re thinking about reading The Vegetarian, please be aware that it includes violence, sex, and self-harm.**
