Words by: Lois Boyle (she/her)
CW: domestic abuse and suicide
(Spoilers ahead)
If you’re interested in feminist literature or care about women in any capacity, then you, like me, will have been pleased to hear that Haruki Murakami did not win the Nobel Prize for Literature this year.
Instead, the coveted title of laureate was awarded to Han Kang for her ‘intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life’. Han is the first Asian woman ever to win this award. After hearing this news and finding myself in Waterstones, I picked up a copy of her 2007 novel, The Vegetarian. It only left my hands 2 days later, leaving me reeling from its distressing, disturbing, yet indisputably captivating contents.
The Vegetarian follows the story of Yeonghye, a young Korean housewife who decides to become a vegetarian after experiencing a series of traumatic dreams. The story is told through 3 perspectives: her husband Mr Cheong; her brother-in-law; and her sister Inhye.
The book opens with Mr Cheong’s belief that before Yeonghye became vegetarian, she was ‘completely unremarkable in every way’. The story begins to take shape as he critiques almost every aspect of Yeonghye’s existence: her physical appearance, her walk, her style.
This act (titled ‘The Vegetarian’) arguably has the most overt meaning in the entire work, detailing Yeonghye’s struggle to maintain bodily autonomy over her resentful husband – a personification of a patriarchal, capitalist society. Cheong strives to maintain complete control over his wife and is angered by even the smallest acts of resistance she shows: a prime example being her refusal to wear a bra. He reveals that he first interpreted this choice as purely sexual, but was bemused upon finding out that the opposite is true. Instead of attempting to understand his wife, Cheong harbours a deep resentment toward Yeonghye, eventually culminating in sexual violence.
Looking beyond this, Yeonghye’s decision to become a vegetarian should have come as no surprise. Her self-expression consistently indicated a closeness to nature and a desire to be free from constraints. Cheong’s ignorance of her dreams signals his resignation from her troubles, and he ultimately blows the harmless decision out of proportion by involving her family.
A highly traumatic family dinner brings Act I to a close. Yeonghye is humiliated, belittled, and force-fed meat, resulting in her attempted suicide.
In accordance with her mental condition, the novel rapidly descends into a surrealist nightmare. Act II, ‘Mongolian Mark’, explores themes of abuse and exploitation through the guise of so-called artistry.
Now living alone, Yeonghye faces the advances of her brother-in-law when he reveals that she is his muse, imploring her to model for his art. The “art” takes shape in the form of flowers painted directly onto the naked body, inspired by Yeonghye’s distinctive ‘Mongolian’ birthmark. The brother-in-law’s use of flowers in his art stems from a carnal, sexual desire for his sister-in-law, which he manipulates in an attempt to relate to her own experiences.
It is important to note the contrast between the 2 characters’ connections with nature. Yeonghye is depicted as adapting her body to be a vessel for nature, however, the brother-in-law desires to project an artificial nature directly onto the body, which is viewed as erotic. His ‘yearning’ is thinly veiled sexual exploitation.
The final act, ‘Flaming Trees’, is narrated by Yeonghye’s sister, Inhye. Revered as ‘perfect’ through the eyes of the male figures in the story, Inhye uncovers her own struggles on many different levels – as a mother, a wife, a daughter, a businesswoman and breadwinner, and now a sister-turned-caregiver.
Whilst her lifestyle was perceived as ideal, the strain Inhye experiences and its subsequent consequences are now illuminated. Whilst juggling endless responsibilities, and recently becoming the sole carer for both her child and sister, Inhye feels her only escape is death.
The experiences of the 2 sisters provide an interesting comparison. Each has been desired and limited in different ways, and both seek emancipation from their lives. However, whilst Inhye seeks freedom in death, Yeonghye finds it through a connection with the earth – through vegetarianism and later through becoming part of nature itself.
In a sense, both sisters yearn to return to the earth: one in death, and one in changed life.
In this final act, we must look beyond what we see on the page. Although Yeonghye is severely emaciated and verging on death, she is also in her freest state and close to her personal goal of connecting with nature through a near unconscious state. At this stage, she has defied all odds – from the disapproval and abuse of those around her, to the physical constraints of her health.
Within the confines of the story, Yeonghye is ultimately successful: she has begun to transcend the reality of her physical form. The uncertainty of her fate as she is rushed to hospital secures this. Will Yeonghye die and return to the earth, or will she continue as an entity more akin to the longevity of the nature surrounding her?
The ideas presented in Kang’s work ring true today more than ever. In South Korea women still fight for basic equalities, where institutions such as the Ministry of Gender have been abolished. Around the globe, women’s rights seem to be receding. As reproductive rights are reversed, the protection of transgender women and gender-diverse people is revoked, and femicide continues to rise, we must ask ourselves, as Han does: how can we resist?
Fantastic article Lois – I haven’t read Kang’s work but I want to after reading this. Keen to see more of your writing!