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We Do Not Part
Win a free print copy of this book!
6 days and 01:41:52
10 copies available
U.S. only
FROM HAN KANG, WINNER OF THE 2024 NOBEL PRIZE IN LITERATURE
“[Han Kang writes in] intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”—from the Nobel Prize citation
“Unforgettable . . . a disquietingly beautiful novel about the impossibility of waking up from the nightmare of history.”—Hernan Diaz
Han Kang’s most revelatory book since The Vegetarian, We Do Not Part tells the story of a friendship between two women while powerfully reckoning with a hidden chapter of Korean history.
One winter morning, Kyungha receives an urgent message from her friend Inseon to visit her at a hospital in Seoul. Inseon has injured herself in an accident, and she begs Kyungha to return to Jeju Island, where she lives, to save her beloved pet—a white bird called Ama.
A snowstorm hits the island when Kyungha arrives. She must reach Inseon’s house at all costs, but the icy wind and squalls slow her down as night begins to fall. She wonders if she will arrive in time to save the animal—or even survive the terrible cold that envelops her with every step. Lost in a world of snow, she doesn't yet suspect the vertiginous plunge into the darkness that awaits her at her friend's house.
Blurring the boundaries between dream and reality, We Do Not Part powerfully illuminates a forgotten chapter in Korean history, buried for decades—bringing to light the lost voices of the past to save them from oblivion. Both a hymn to an enduring friendship and an argument for remembering, it is the story of profound love in the face of unspeakable violence—and a celebration of life, however fragile it might be.
“[Han Kang writes in] intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”—from the Nobel Prize citation
“Unforgettable . . . a disquietingly beautiful novel about the impossibility of waking up from the nightmare of history.”—Hernan Diaz
Han Kang’s most revelatory book since The Vegetarian, We Do Not Part tells the story of a friendship between two women while powerfully reckoning with a hidden chapter of Korean history.
One winter morning, Kyungha receives an urgent message from her friend Inseon to visit her at a hospital in Seoul. Inseon has injured herself in an accident, and she begs Kyungha to return to Jeju Island, where she lives, to save her beloved pet—a white bird called Ama.
A snowstorm hits the island when Kyungha arrives. She must reach Inseon’s house at all costs, but the icy wind and squalls slow her down as night begins to fall. She wonders if she will arrive in time to save the animal—or even survive the terrible cold that envelops her with every step. Lost in a world of snow, she doesn't yet suspect the vertiginous plunge into the darkness that awaits her at her friend's house.
Blurring the boundaries between dream and reality, We Do Not Part powerfully illuminates a forgotten chapter in Korean history, buried for decades—bringing to light the lost voices of the past to save them from oblivion. Both a hymn to an enduring friendship and an argument for remembering, it is the story of profound love in the face of unspeakable violence—and a celebration of life, however fragile it might be.
272 pages, Hardcover
First published September 9, 2021
About the author
Han Kang
58 books6,622 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
소설가 한강
Han Kang was born in 1970 in South Korea. She is the author of The Vegetarian, winner of the International Booker Prize, as well as Human Acts, The White Book, Greek Lessons, and We Do Not Part. In 2024, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature “for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”
소설가 한강
Han Kang was born in 1970 in South Korea. She is the author of The Vegetarian, winner of the International Booker Prize, as well as Human Acts, The White Book, Greek Lessons, and We Do Not Part. In 2024, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature “for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 201 reviews
October 13, 2024
I remembered... everyone who's ever suffered similar fates regardless of place...
Hit with bullets.
Hit with cudgels.
Lives severed by blades.
How agonizing it must have been
What Han does in this book is articulate a harrowing story but to express it through a delicately lucid and austere prose. Strikingly, she allows this novel to take on the allusive techniques more usually found in poetry, and shows herself (again) as an exquisite craftsperson of this dense and sophisticated mode of storytelling.
The explicit story is an excavation of the Jeju 4.3 massacre of 1948 in South Korea and the trauma that has ensued on both a personal and national level. The story thematises issues of suffering, intergenerational pain and the unending nature of loss and absence, and attempts towards memorialisation as both a move towards some kind of partial healing as well as acknowledgement of history and the way the past always has a presence in our present.
But what really raises this book in my personal pantheon, is the craft. Han uses metaphors and symbolism to great effect without overloading the text. Snow, birds, trees contain a multiplicity of meanings, some of which also perform as intertexts to Han's other works. Strikingly, they also have shifting values: snow is white and pure and peaceful, even as it is a potential giveaway of a father and daughter's footsteps as they try to find refuge in a cave from the militias seeking their death. It acts as a symbol for the covering over of inconvenient history that governments seek to eradicate from memory; and it figures disappearance as material flakes hit the damp ground and dissolve, representing the absence of family relations and executed bodies thrown into the sea to be swept away. It is especially powerful as a figure for reiteration: the natural cycle of snow-water-mist and the way that reflects humanity's inability to get past violence, war and struggle: 'Who's to say the snow dusting my hands now isn't the same snow that had gathered on their faces?' This sense of haunting, of the intersection of time, is one which permeates the book.
The other system of imagery which worked so well for me is that of bloody fingers: Inseon cuts off her fingertips when working on an art installation as memorialisation piece; in the hospital a nurse has to stick needles into her open wounds in order to keep the nerves alive. But this also recalls moments of torture and also instances of love and desperation: Inseon's mother cut her own fingers to drop warm blood into her dying sister in an attempt to keep her alive, and would prick Inseon's finger with a needle and rub her belly when she had disturbed nightmares. These sorts of dualities of imagery give a gorgeous coherence to the book on a sub-textual level and involve the reader in the hermeneutics of the text.
The title, We Do Not Part in English, is both the title of the art project being contemplated within the story as a monument to the massacre but also refers to the way in which human connections endure: at the heart of the narrative is the friendship of the two women, Kyungha and Inseon, who tell this story as alternate voices with Kyungha as main narrator and Inseon as inserts, but there is also the implication of the lasting remembrance of the executed who do not disappear from personal or collective memories - and the book itself is, on one level an act of artistic recollection and memorialisation. While the immediate concern is with a specific incident in the history of Korea, there is a sense that Han is also thinking more widely of other histories of mass executions, atrocities and, possibly, genocide. Like Sebald, she widens the margins of her story to take a view on humanity's inescapable, apparently, inhumaneness - but does this through a consummate artistry that offers some kind of hope or, at least, doesn't end in complete despair.
I received an ARC of this (thank you, Penguin and Netgalley!) just days before Han was awarded the 2024 Nobel Prize for Literature and this is a fine book to introduce her to potentially new audiences.
June 29, 2024
Of beni -bir kez daha- mahvettin Han Kang. Güney Koreli yazar son kitabı Veda Etmiyorum'da tıpkı Çocuk Geliyor'daki gibi ülkesinin karanlık bir dönemine bakıyor, hatta bence bu kitabı Çocuk Geliyor'un üstüne okumalı zira metin, o kitabı yazdığı dönemde yaşadıklarını anlatmasıyla başlıyor.
İnsanı okurken tüketen, içinden canını çeken bu kitapları yazarken Kang ne hale geliyor acaba diye düşünüyordum, sorunun cevabını da alıyoruz bu kitapla. Yaşanmış onca vahşeti, dökülen onca kanı, ölen çocukları, katledilen insanları yazmak için araştırma yapar ve sonra onlardan edebiyat devşirirken sahiden sağlığından feragat ediyor, ruhunun bir kısmını teslim ediyormuş.
Bu kitapta da benzer bir şey yaşanmış olmalı, zira olağanüstü acıklı bir hikaye okuyoruz. Yazar bu kez bizi 1948'e, Jeju ayaklanmasına götürüyor. 14 ila 60 bin kişinin Komünist olmak suçlamasıyla öldürüldüğü bir ayaklanma bu, kitabı okuyana kadar bilmiyordum, öğrenmiş oldum.
Günümüzde başlayan hikaye, anlatıcımızın yakın arkadaşı İnson'un kendi anne ve babasının geçmişini araştırırken memleketi Jeju Adası'nın tarihini kazımaya başlaması ve bizzat kendi ebeveynlerinin bu kanlı katliamdan paylarına düşeni aldıklarını öğrenmesiyle geçmişe uzanıyor. Anlatıcımız, İnson ve onun annesinin, üç kadının gözünden bakıyoruz tarihe ve zamanın dibine, dibine, dibine doğru iniyoruz Han Kang'ın rehberliğinde. Geçmişle bugünü öyle bir birbirine ilmekliyor ki, üzerinden geçen 80 senede olayın dehşetinin bir gram azalmadığını iliklerinde hissediyor insan okurken. İlmeklediği şey sadece geçmişle bugün değil; rüyayla gerçek, hafızayla unutulma, travmayla sevgi. Bir arada var olabilen, birbirini yanlışlamayan aksine mümkün kılan şeyler. Ölü çocukların yerine inadına yaşatılan çocuklar. Zayıf, yenik gözüken insanların sabırlı mücadeleleri. Ne çok, ne çok şey var bu romanda.
Ve tabii kar… Bu romanı kışın karlar altında okumalıydım belki ama Han Kang öyle atmosferik yazıyor ki, nerede, ne koşulda okursanız okuyun içinde bulunduğunuz odaya zaten yağacak o kar, tenimde hissettim resmen o bitmeyen kar tanelerini.
Çok, çok, çok iyi bir roman Veda Etmiyorum. Han Kang da çağımızın en büyük yazarlarından biri bence.
İnsanı okurken tüketen, içinden canını çeken bu kitapları yazarken Kang ne hale geliyor acaba diye düşünüyordum, sorunun cevabını da alıyoruz bu kitapla. Yaşanmış onca vahşeti, dökülen onca kanı, ölen çocukları, katledilen insanları yazmak için araştırma yapar ve sonra onlardan edebiyat devşirirken sahiden sağlığından feragat ediyor, ruhunun bir kısmını teslim ediyormuş.
Bu kitapta da benzer bir şey yaşanmış olmalı, zira olağanüstü acıklı bir hikaye okuyoruz. Yazar bu kez bizi 1948'e, Jeju ayaklanmasına götürüyor. 14 ila 60 bin kişinin Komünist olmak suçlamasıyla öldürüldüğü bir ayaklanma bu, kitabı okuyana kadar bilmiyordum, öğrenmiş oldum.
Günümüzde başlayan hikaye, anlatıcımızın yakın arkadaşı İnson'un kendi anne ve babasının geçmişini araştırırken memleketi Jeju Adası'nın tarihini kazımaya başlaması ve bizzat kendi ebeveynlerinin bu kanlı katliamdan paylarına düşeni aldıklarını öğrenmesiyle geçmişe uzanıyor. Anlatıcımız, İnson ve onun annesinin, üç kadının gözünden bakıyoruz tarihe ve zamanın dibine, dibine, dibine doğru iniyoruz Han Kang'ın rehberliğinde. Geçmişle bugünü öyle bir birbirine ilmekliyor ki, üzerinden geçen 80 senede olayın dehşetinin bir gram azalmadığını iliklerinde hissediyor insan okurken. İlmeklediği şey sadece geçmişle bugün değil; rüyayla gerçek, hafızayla unutulma, travmayla sevgi. Bir arada var olabilen, birbirini yanlışlamayan aksine mümkün kılan şeyler. Ölü çocukların yerine inadına yaşatılan çocuklar. Zayıf, yenik gözüken insanların sabırlı mücadeleleri. Ne çok, ne çok şey var bu romanda.
Ve tabii kar… Bu romanı kışın karlar altında okumalıydım belki ama Han Kang öyle atmosferik yazıyor ki, nerede, ne koşulda okursanız okuyun içinde bulunduğunuz odaya zaten yağacak o kar, tenimde hissettim resmen o bitmeyen kar tanelerini.
Çok, çok, çok iyi bir roman Veda Etmiyorum. Han Kang da çağımızın en büyük yazarlarından biri bence.
October 3, 2024
Han Kang’s intense, intricate narrative has the feel of a ghost story, forged from unsettling encounters with the spectres of South Korea’s turbulent past. Han opens with an eerie sequence, taken from the dreams that partly inspired her to write this. Author Kyungha – a version of Han – is living in isolation, tormented by debilitating headaches and destabilising nightmares. Recurring nightmares she attributes to the disturbing content of research undertaken for a recent book about the Gwangju uprising – similar to Han’s Human Acts. Macabre fantasies dominate Kyungha’s sleeping and, increasingly, waking thoughts. She’s unable to move freely through surrounding streets, visualising soldiers poised to swoop, intent on capturing her and inflicting searing pain. But Kyungha’s attempts to retreat from the outside world are abruptly curtailed by a summons from old friend, Inseon.
Inseon’s settled in her childhood home on Jeju Island but a serious accident’s brought her to a specialist treatment centre in Seoul. Inseon needs a favour, alone in Jeju is her small bird Ama, likely to die if Kyungha can’t reach her in time. Through blustering winds and a seemingly-incessant snowstorm, Kyungha sets out on a gruelling trek to Inseon’s house. An existential journey leading her away from the desolation of Gwangju towards the traumascape of Inseon’s Jeju. Inseon’s experiences of Jeju are shaped by her mother’s. Jeongsim, Inseon’s mother, survived what’s known as Jeju 4:3 or “Sa-Sam.” But most of her family died and her brother was disappeared.
Jeju 4:3 points to massacres that took place in April, 1948. But the killings weren’t confined to April, Jeju 4:3 encompasses atrocities that stretched back into preceding months and continued in the months ahead. A political uprising sparked by developments involving the governing of South Korea, and the policies of the US administration then overseeing it, was brutally suppressed by a grouping of soldiers, police, and right-wing militias. Ostensibly a hunt for “left-wing” guerrilla units, the underlying goal was to eradicate “leftists.” Around 30,000 people were eventually slaughtered, roughly 10% of Jeju’s population – a place considered overrun by “commie” subversives and sympathisers. During this “scorched earth” campaign whole villages were razed to the ground. No form of terror was considered too extreme, from torture to gang-rape to mass murder - victims included children and new-born babies.
The legacy of Jeju 4:3 dominates the later stages of Han’s narrative. At Inseon’s house, Kyungha’s confronted with distressing documentation compiled by Jeongsim and later added to by Inseon. And Kyungha realises the devastating scenes invading her dreams originated on Jeju. When Kyungha comes face to face with Inseon, still in Seoul yet somehow simultaneously on Jeju, the boundary between real and imagined fractures. Han interweaves surreal episodes featuring Kyungha and Inseon with extracts from the testimonies of Jeju 4:3 survivors – building on existing oral histories. Haunted individuals, they’re tortured by the knowledge that somewhere, in mass graves yet to be discovered, lie the unclaimed bodies of family members from grandfathers to grandmothers, uncles, siblings or cousins.
Although it’s fine as a standalone, Han’s narrative’s shot through with traces of earlier work. Most obviously Kyungha’s writing, and Han’s subject matter, form a bridge to Human Acts; while the symbolic use of trees and plants echoes aspects of The Vegetarian. Snow and snow-related imagery surfaces throughout – so much so it feels a little overworked at times. Han’s use of snow recalls passages from The White Book - as well as untranslated pieces set in snowy landscapes – conjuring notions of mortality and loss. But here, for Han, snow’s also intended to represent “softness and light,” tempering the “darkness” of her meditations on genocide and mass killing.
Although Han’s exploration of these topics stems from Jeju 4:3, she also references the extermination of suspected “reds” on the mainland in Busan and Daegu. But she goes beyond these too, invested in questions of what might drive humans in do barbaric things, and what distinguishes those who do from those who don’t or won’t. She’s equally interested in potential methods for addressing the past: how to heal history’s wounds: the transformation of individual mourning into a collective response possessing active political force; opportunities for solidarity and the co-creation of rituals which open up possibilities for remembrance that goes beyond gesture. Han’s comments about the novel, together with its conclusion, suggest cautious optimism. Unlike Human Acts which steered her towards despair, she found writing this cathartic.
The translation reads smoothly, although there’s not always a marked distinction between sections in Jeju dialect and those in standard Korean, the incorporation of terms of address used on Jeju offers some clues – for instance “abang” for father instead of “abeoji.” The structure and texture of the novel sometimes reminded me of Greek Lessons although it’s more collage-like. Austere, understated prose is interrupted by bursts of arresting lyricism, oneiric sequences are juxtaposed with sharply-focused, docu-style accounts. Although it wasn’t a problem for me, I think the pacing might be an issue for some. The novel took Han several years to complete. The first half initially appeared in serial form in a quarterly magazine, as a result some elements may seem slightly repetitive, excessively detailed, and/or drawn-out compared to the rest of the book. Personally, I found the rhythm of the earlier sections hypnotic. I liked Han’s willingness to experiment, even when I didn’t think it quite paid off. But overall, I found this immensely powerful and incredibly compelling. Translated by e. yaewon & Paige Aniyah Morris.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Hamish Hamilton for the ARC
Inseon’s settled in her childhood home on Jeju Island but a serious accident’s brought her to a specialist treatment centre in Seoul. Inseon needs a favour, alone in Jeju is her small bird Ama, likely to die if Kyungha can’t reach her in time. Through blustering winds and a seemingly-incessant snowstorm, Kyungha sets out on a gruelling trek to Inseon’s house. An existential journey leading her away from the desolation of Gwangju towards the traumascape of Inseon’s Jeju. Inseon’s experiences of Jeju are shaped by her mother’s. Jeongsim, Inseon’s mother, survived what’s known as Jeju 4:3 or “Sa-Sam.” But most of her family died and her brother was disappeared.
Jeju 4:3 points to massacres that took place in April, 1948. But the killings weren’t confined to April, Jeju 4:3 encompasses atrocities that stretched back into preceding months and continued in the months ahead. A political uprising sparked by developments involving the governing of South Korea, and the policies of the US administration then overseeing it, was brutally suppressed by a grouping of soldiers, police, and right-wing militias. Ostensibly a hunt for “left-wing” guerrilla units, the underlying goal was to eradicate “leftists.” Around 30,000 people were eventually slaughtered, roughly 10% of Jeju’s population – a place considered overrun by “commie” subversives and sympathisers. During this “scorched earth” campaign whole villages were razed to the ground. No form of terror was considered too extreme, from torture to gang-rape to mass murder - victims included children and new-born babies.
The legacy of Jeju 4:3 dominates the later stages of Han’s narrative. At Inseon’s house, Kyungha’s confronted with distressing documentation compiled by Jeongsim and later added to by Inseon. And Kyungha realises the devastating scenes invading her dreams originated on Jeju. When Kyungha comes face to face with Inseon, still in Seoul yet somehow simultaneously on Jeju, the boundary between real and imagined fractures. Han interweaves surreal episodes featuring Kyungha and Inseon with extracts from the testimonies of Jeju 4:3 survivors – building on existing oral histories. Haunted individuals, they’re tortured by the knowledge that somewhere, in mass graves yet to be discovered, lie the unclaimed bodies of family members from grandfathers to grandmothers, uncles, siblings or cousins.
Although it’s fine as a standalone, Han’s narrative’s shot through with traces of earlier work. Most obviously Kyungha’s writing, and Han’s subject matter, form a bridge to Human Acts; while the symbolic use of trees and plants echoes aspects of The Vegetarian. Snow and snow-related imagery surfaces throughout – so much so it feels a little overworked at times. Han’s use of snow recalls passages from The White Book - as well as untranslated pieces set in snowy landscapes – conjuring notions of mortality and loss. But here, for Han, snow’s also intended to represent “softness and light,” tempering the “darkness” of her meditations on genocide and mass killing.
Although Han’s exploration of these topics stems from Jeju 4:3, she also references the extermination of suspected “reds” on the mainland in Busan and Daegu. But she goes beyond these too, invested in questions of what might drive humans in do barbaric things, and what distinguishes those who do from those who don’t or won’t. She’s equally interested in potential methods for addressing the past: how to heal history’s wounds: the transformation of individual mourning into a collective response possessing active political force; opportunities for solidarity and the co-creation of rituals which open up possibilities for remembrance that goes beyond gesture. Han’s comments about the novel, together with its conclusion, suggest cautious optimism. Unlike Human Acts which steered her towards despair, she found writing this cathartic.
The translation reads smoothly, although there’s not always a marked distinction between sections in Jeju dialect and those in standard Korean, the incorporation of terms of address used on Jeju offers some clues – for instance “abang” for father instead of “abeoji.” The structure and texture of the novel sometimes reminded me of Greek Lessons although it’s more collage-like. Austere, understated prose is interrupted by bursts of arresting lyricism, oneiric sequences are juxtaposed with sharply-focused, docu-style accounts. Although it wasn’t a problem for me, I think the pacing might be an issue for some. The novel took Han several years to complete. The first half initially appeared in serial form in a quarterly magazine, as a result some elements may seem slightly repetitive, excessively detailed, and/or drawn-out compared to the rest of the book. Personally, I found the rhythm of the earlier sections hypnotic. I liked Han’s willingness to experiment, even when I didn’t think it quite paid off. But overall, I found this immensely powerful and incredibly compelling. Translated by e. yaewon & Paige Aniyah Morris.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Hamish Hamilton for the ARC
Want to read
June 12, 2024han kang hive...it's our time
November 2, 2024
‘That is how death avoided me. Like an asteroid thought to be on a collision course avoids Earth by a hair’s breadth, hurtling past at a furious velocity that knows neither regret nor hesitation. I had not reconciled with life, but I had to resume living.’
Update : Sept/Oct 2024
Read the English translation finally, and have to bump this one up to a 5*. I was ready for the text to be somewhat 'simplified' (which to me, would compromise some of its 'beauty'), but the translator(s) was so incredibly sensitive in the handling of the text, and ever so meticulous and careful with the syntax, style and diction. It didn’t feel ‘reduced’; it felt ‘elevated’. It demands future re-readings.
‘It was early November and the tall maple trees were ablaze and glimmering in the sunlight. Beauty—but the wiring inside me that would sense beauty was dead or failing. One morning, the first frost of the season covered the half-frozen earth—Brittle autumn leaves as big as young faces tumbled past me, and the limbs of the suddenly denuded plane trees, as their Korean name of buhzeum—flaking skin—suggests, resembled grey-white flesh stripped raw.’
‘—in the areas where the conifers and subtropical broadleaf trees grew together, the wind created an indescribable harmony as it passed through the branches and leaves, its speed and rhythm varying by the type of tree. Sunlight reflected off the lustrous camellia leaves, whose angles shifted from moment to moment. Vines of maple-leaf mountain yam wound around the cryptomeria trunks and climbed them to distant heights, swaying like swing ropes.’
As I was reading this I was also 'reunited' with a friend that I lost touch with for more/less a couple of years which felt like an eternity considering how close we are. The uncanny lies in the moment I (I meant the plane) 'landed' in the country she was in (a fact I wasn't aware of at the time), she instantly reached out to me even though I've not been responding to her texts. When we finally met up (on a later visit), I said I didn't keep in touch because '(adj.) hurt people (verb) hurt', and I didn't like the idea of being a negative presence in her life. Among other lovely things, she replied with something so tender, 'my love for you is unconditional, you know’ (debatably a cliché, but from the right person, it truly hits different). At first I fail to find resonance in Han Kang's portrayal of 'friendship' but the more I read the text, the more things change (or rather, I am the one who is changed).
‘Since that evening, Inseon and I have been friends. We went through all our life milestones together, right up until she moved back to the island—messaging me at odd moments to tell me she was dropping by. Just do one thing for me? Let me in. And when I did, she would bring her arms around my shoulders, along with a rush of cold wind and the smell of cigarettes—It feels as though invisible snowflakes fill the space between us. As though the words we’ve swallowed are being sealed in between their myriad melded arms.’
‘On the black screen, sporadic points of radiance appeared like ghosts and briefly shimmered: flashes emitted by distant ocean creatures. Occasionally these bioluminescent organisms came into full view on camera, only to emerge back into obscurity. The vertical stretch of sea where the points of light gleamed grew increasingly short. The solid opaque expanse that intersected with it grew overwhelmingly vast. After a while I wondered if the dark was all that remained, but then the camera captured the translucent glow of a giant phantom jellyfish amid what looked like.'
Throughout this year, I was unserious-ly reading books about death and alike without even realising that someone hold dear to heart would have to become so unreachable so suddenly. It's strange to phrase it like so, but I recall strolling the city streets hazy-mindedly in the quiet, too-early mornings (a place I've never been to properly except for when 'transiting flights' which counts for nought in terms of being familiar with it) with another friend who I too hold very close to heart. And he said something to me like 'no offence to the people before, but no 'death' would feel as much or mean as much as this one'. I told him my sentiments echoed his.
One day I'm making another (mutual) friend tear up from guilt from having kept an important secret/info from me (even though he was being a perfectly good friend to another by having done so), the next made him laugh madly when he tells me about how someone we knew from back in school was being inappropriate about a certain matter. I (for a lack of a better phrase) 'understood the mission', and was like don't worry I felt it coming and have very recently asked some to sort it/her out. And I wondered if I was being too 'petty'? But he told me I have every right to be 'petty'. But what does it mean to be ‘petty’ or over-sensitive? Why are we made to think that being sterile, deliberately ignorant, and the ‘no fucks given’ mask is better? Sure I’m being biased and subjective about this, but maybe Han Kang’s ‘novel’ already contains those sentiments in the narrative — tucked in the waves of reverberating tones of histories, memories and raw human feelings. But I was blinded to it, not sensitive to it before because I didn’t carry the same heart I have during my earlier readings of the text.
Neither I nor my previously mentioned friends have headbutted a tree so far, so at least none of us has gone full-Heathcliff. Heathcliff is not just a character, but an entire vibe. In the second half of Brönte’s novel, he is truly ‘grief’ personified. I don’t think anyone who has a similarly ‘dark’ humour can appreciate the magnum opus (or rather just Heathcliff) fully. Another reason her work came to mind was because of how the setting sort of paralleled Han Kang's in terms of isolation, oppression, violence, and among other/more similarities, surely the winter landscapes. Anton Hur said something once along the lines of how some books ‘choose’ you at the right time. While I think ‘timing’ is a sadistic fuck far too often, I would like to believe Han Kang’s book did somehow chose me (for better or worse; but I think for ‘better’ whatever better entails/means) in a similar way that Brönte’s did when I was a clueless child of nine or ten. And in a similar way — I feel Han Kang feels the same way about W.G. Sebald softly altering her trajectory of life as a writer and as a person.
‘—pine-nut juk—I took my time with the unduly hot bowl of rice porridge—people walked past the window in bodies that looked fragile enough to shatter. Life was exceedingly vulnerable, I realised. The flesh, organs, bones, breaths passing before my eyes all held within them the potential to snap, to cease—.’
‘The twilight pouring into the woods—darkness grew, the more vividly the vents in the wood-burning stove glowed red. I don’t know why he hid his illness from me—Inseon started at the bright holes, as if staring hard enough at those gleaming eyes would make words flow out of the stove like molten iron.
We haven’t parted ways, not yet.’
—————————————————————————
If one can look at a work of literary translation as a transportation of vibes as playfully(?) preached (and also accomplished) by the wonderful Jeremy Tiang (Beijing Sprawl), then I would like for my review to be mostly about vibes (if I can manage that). So I’m starting it all off with this mini playlist below— a little sonic curation to go with my reviews, why not? In any case, reading this has been the most desperate and chaotic way I’ve ever ‘tried’ to read a book/novel, so it would only be appropriate to explain my experience of it all with something as closely desperate and chaotic as possible.
Old Town - Say Sue Me
Pearl Diver - Mitski
Iota - Angel Olsen
Han Kang’s historical fiction (I dislike this term, but will have to settle for the low-hanging fruit for now; you’ll know why I’m not a fan of the term if you like Labatut too) depicts the aftermath/fallout of the Jeju uprising, or rather and simply, the Jeju massacre. About 10% (30,000) of Jeju’s population was killed, and approximately 15% of the survivors left to find refuge in Japan. Without a doubt a difficult thing to write about, and who else better to write it in the most respectful way than Han Kang? After all, she did Human Acts brilliantly. That was and still is my favourite Han Kang novel/book. It’s either that or this. Han Kang's highly sensitive, meticulous way of composing her work/writing is almost unrivalled (or at least a tough contender).
Not a spoiler per say, but the haunting yet silent, cold ‘image’ of the sawed off fingers of one of the characters — saturated the entire ‘mood’ of the novel for me. To me it didn’t feel like it was just being introduced early/used as something to increase ‘shock value’, but I think there is more to it than that. It was so carefully and cleverly done. I thought it suitable to bring that one up because I thought it one of the highest forms of literary ‘art’ ever crafted. That, juxtaposed with the paragraph about the falling, red camellia petals on snow. Without discounting or disrespecting the beauty of the writing, my personal experience of reading this book, I feel, is almost like walking through an art installation, a living/breathing museum of some kind. This is because it depicts a time in history that I have no connection to, and only know of vaguely. When I think of Jeju, this is definitely not what comes to mind. In fact, (other than it being a go-to 'travel destination', and the legendary women divers) I would actually be reminded of my least distant memory linked to the word and place itself. And that was a very mundane scene of (having just shared a Jeju-grown (allegedly) orange with my mother, and then being vaguely orange-scented entering a shop to quickly buy something) almost bumping into a wavy-haired child in there screaming ‘I hate you’ (in Korean) repeatedly at a man who is probably his dad; and then the dad and I made meaningless, exhausted eye contact before we went opposite directions and went on with our lives. It all just reminds me of the importance of context; and how each one of us are essentially weavers of our collective memory — interconnected, interwoven, everlasting ‘fabric’ of life.
Surely not a book I’ll read only once. For one, the obvious reason — a brilliant piece of literature, but then also because one of my favourite translators (Emily Yae Won, I'll Go On) has already gone and translated this particular Han Kang book into English. The publication date is some time in the next year I believe? Call it a lack of patience if you will, but I had to read this. I started with the original Korean text but Han Kang is especially difficult to read (in my opinion, with my deficient familiarity with the Korean language, because for a lack of a better phrase, her writing is akin to something like poetic prose which is something I would adore and appreciate fully in my ‘dominant’ language that is English (for better or worse, it just is)). I got the one in Chinese translation because I thought the cover was especially gorgeous. But mostly I read it in French, which should have been my first option anyway if I had been sensible about it. But evidently chaos and desperation dominated my reading experience.
The French translation is by no means a subpar one. It’s so brilliantly done that it ended up being the finalist for the Prix Femina Etranger 2023; and the winner for the Prix Médicis Etranger 2023. The core of the novel, the way I read it/think of it, is an advocate to go against ‘forgetting’. To not stand with the erasure of history (but essentially memory both personal and collective). Because to conveniently/comfortably lean on that and to act on that would be an act of violence (the second act of violence to the first act of violence if there is already one to begin with). Can’t remember which writer had said this, but the ones who remember more hurt more (and I’m sure there are many other variations of this said by others). But Han Kang heads on in stronger and illuminates the fact that actually the one who forgets more is the one who hurts others more. The one who is alright with ‘forgetting’ is essentially the one who is more tolerant of violence, therefore being the one who sustains the continuance of violence upon others. Nothing to do with amnesia or Alzheimer’s here, but that should go without saying, but common sense is not so common, or however the cliché goes!
Han Kang always makes the focal point of her writing the complexities and beauty of human relationships no matter what it is she writes about or around. Surely someone else must have made the connection, and I’m not the first one indulging in this revelation, but there is something Sebaldian about Han Kang’s writing. I’m thinking of The Emigrants (which I did like, but forgot to catalogue/review, read some time last year) in particular. The emotional and mental fallout of a traumatic event, essentially. So with that lingering thought in mind, I Google-ed ‘Han Kang Sebald’, and was led to an article by The Guardian, written by Han Kang, about the books of her life — unsurprisingly, she calls Sebald a writer ‘who changed her mind’ (on what I do not know, perhaps simply in a generally transformative way) — and she also considers ‘The Emigrants’ in particular to be the one she ‘cherish(es)’ (most of all?). The entire article, I thought to be a thought-provoking and interesting disclosure of her personal thoughts and ‘journey’ as a reader as well as a writer.
If she’s not the most read one, then Han Kang is surely one of the more often read (South Korean) writers in the Anglosphere (I may have even read somewhere that she’s more popular or at least read more ‘abroad’, or rather ‘in translation’ than she is in South Korea), but just imagine how enticing her books will be to fans of Sebald? I do not mean this in a derogatory way (because I, too, am a fan of Sebald). If anything, I only feel a strange and isolated excitement in relation to that. I hope any reader who adores Sebald will give Han Kang a read if they haven’t already done it. More likely than not that they will appreciate (and even find resonance in) Han Kang’s work the way I did. But I do specifically mean this one in particular, and also ‘Human Acts’ (this, in hindsight, I believe I have under-rated, and should give it another read; I have heard from friends that it is also significantly more ‘profound’ and ‘nuanced’ in its original, Korean text (but ultimately one can argue that this has to do with an individual preference/taste of literary translation style), but alas I am not so incline towards such acts of biblio-masochism — to read an entire untranslated Han Kang novel).
And lastly, what strikes me as interesting is how the title of the book is translated slightly differently in every language it has been and will be translated into (which isn’t anything too extraordinary, but it interests me nonetheless). In English, I believe it has been decided, and will be titled, ‘We Do Not Part’. In Swedish, (to my own understanding) ‘I Do Not Say Goodbye’. In Chinese, (again my own ‘direct’ understanding of it), ‘(To) Forever Not Bid Farewell’. In French, of course, is ‘Impossible Goodbyes’, which I feel is the most beautiful translation out of all (and the English one being my least favourite of all — bit too colloquial to grab a reader’s attention I would think).
The core ‘note(s)’ of the book (at least the way I read/understand it) is to highlight the importance of the preservation of ‘memories’ of violent histories caused by humans upon humans, such as in this case, mass-killings/ a massacre. Some would argue that through this, we would all (as human beings) ‘learn’ and refrain from repetition. But evidently, even as I read the book/write my thoughts about it at this moment in time (in different parts of the world) war, massacres and genocides persist. Surely, it makes one think. And perhaps thinking, or rather the persistence of ‘human thoughts’ are those that keep our humanity intact/alive. And this spills over to the ‘philosophies’ of AI (progression/future) in relation to ‘consciousness’ — about how essentially human ‘imagination’ is the most ‘human’ thing about being a human.
Not clever enough to go any deeper into that, but I’m reading AI 2041: Ten Visions for Our Future by Chen Qiu Fan (who also goes by Stanley Chen) on the side — and all of that is being touched on/explored brilliantly. Without going on a full-blown tangent here, what I am essentially trying to say is that it is all relevant and related. Not a lack of ‘conscience’ (a vague concept that varies slightly/drastically from one person to another) but (more importantly) a lack of ‘consciousness’ is what makes room/a fertile bed for violence (and ultimately poses the largest risk to ‘humanity’ especially when including matters such as climate issues as well). And the abundance of evidence makes it all hard to deny. There is also an underlying whiff of ‘Tao’ (which again I am not clever to go further into but can recommend Ken Liu’s translation of the text, Laozi's Dao De Jing). It is a difficult text (at least for me), but luckily there is no shortage of options when it comes to the text in ‘translation’. I may be wrong (could’ve easily been another writer) but I am quite sure in one interview, Chen has mentioned that one of the translated texts resonates with him more than the original text (although ‘Chinese’ is his ‘dominant’ language) which I thought was really interesting (bringing it back to the first line of this review, Tiang’s view on literary translation — being largely about ‘vibes’ — which is also applicable here). And perhaps if we assume the interchangeability of the word ‘resonate’ with ‘vibes’ here, then it just means that instead of reading in a single, straightforward manner, to ‘vibe’ with a piece of text would be to read with one’s entire being. And that is not unlike my experience of Han Kang’s narrative (her historically-leaning ones at least).
October 13, 2024
People say 'light as snow'. But snow has its own heft, which is the weight of this drop of water.
People say 'light as a bird'. But birds too have their weight.
눈처럼 가볍다고 사람들은 말한다. 그러나 눈에도 무게가 있다, 이 물방울만큼.
새처럼 가볍다고도 말한다. 하지만 그것들에게도 무게가 있다.
Forthcoming in 2025, from the deserving winner of the 2024 Nobel Prize in Literature for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.
We Do Not Part (2025) is the translation by e. yaewon and Paige Aniyah Morris of 작별하지 않는다 by 한강 (Han Kang), and a book that epitomises the prose and themes that led the Nobel Committee to choose here as the new Nobel lauraete (see below for their more detailed take).
This novel won the Prix Médicis étranger for its French translation and the English version must be a strong contender for a double-win for Han Kang in the International Booker.
The novel can be thought of as part of a trilogy linked by trauma, and by images of snow, with the powerful 소년이 온다 (2014), translated as Human Acts (2016) by Deborah Smith and the exquisitely poetic 흰 (2016), translated by Smith as The White Book (2017). I also believe this novel was originally going to be a short-story, the third of a a 'Snow Trilogy' with the two short stories, yet to appear in English, 눈 한 송이가 녹는 동안 (2015) ['While A Snowflake Melts'] and 작별 (2018) ['Farewell'], as the narrator of this novel comments:
I'd written a story titled 'Farewell', a story about a woman of snow who melts away under sleet. But that can't be my actual, final farewell.
Han Kang herself has described this book as 지극한 사랑에 대한 소설 - a novel about profound love, and one that followed on from her experience after writing 소년이 온다 (Human Acts) as explained in the autobiographical opening to We Do Not Part.
We Do Not Part is narrated by Kyungha (경하), a novelist, and the initial sections follow the author's own biography. Kyungha, like the author, completed a novel in 2014 based on the massacre that followed the May 18, 1980 Gwangju uprising ('오일팔' as the events are simply known in Korea, i.e. May 18), in 한강's case 소년이 온다 / Human Acts. But far from purging each of visions of violence they were haunted by further dreams:
Having decided to write about mass killings and torture, how could I have so naively - brazenly - hoped to soon shirk off the agony of it, to so easily be bereft of its traces?
학살과 고문에 대해 쓰기로 마음먹었으면서, 언젠가 고통을 뿌리칠 수 있을 거라고, 모든 흔적들을 손쉽게 여읠 수 있을 거라고, 어떻게 나는 그토록 순진하게-뻔뻔스럽게-바라고 있었던 것일까?
For both Kyungha, and 한강, this took the form of a very specific visual image, which opens the novel:
Sparse snow was falling.
I stood on flat land that edged up a low hill. Along the brow of this hill and down its visible face to the seam of the plain, thousands of black tree trunks jutted from the earth. They varied in height, like a crowd of people ranging in age, and were about as thick as railway sleepers, though nowhere near as straight. Stooped and listing, they gave the impression of a thousand men, women and haggard children huddling in the snow.
Was this a graveyard? I wondered. Are these gravestones?
I walked past the torsos – treetops lopped off, exposed cross sections stippled with snowflakes that resembled salt crystals; I passed the prostrating barrows behind them. My feet stilled as I noticed the sensation of water underfoot. That’s strange, I thought. Within moments the water was up to my ankles. I looked back. What I saw astonished me: the far horizon turned out to be the shoreline. And the sea was crashing in.
The words tumbled from my lips: Who would bury people in such a place?
She realises that this image isn't of Gwangju, and over time it leads her to another infamous massacre earlier in Korea's post World War II history, in the aftermath of the Jeju uprising on April 3, 1940 (제주 4·3 사건), with up to 30,000, men, women and children, slaughtered by the US-backed mainland government forces, around 10% of the population, and a similar number fleeing to Japan.
In Korea this story was largely supressed during the military dictatorship, and the first literary treatment was in the 1978 novel 순이삼촌 by 현기영 (Hyun Ki-youn) - Aunt Suni or Sun-i Samch'on in its English translations - which at the time it was published led to censorship and punishment of the author. There is, I think, a neat nod to this work when Kyungha's friend Inseon (인선) explains how to converse with Jeju people:
Inseon had told me to address older people here as samchun. Only outsiders say ajossi or ajumoni, halmoni or haraboji, she said. If you start off by calling them samchun, even if you can't string together a sentence in Jeju-mal, they're likely to be less guarded, thinking you've lived on the island for a good while.
The other key character in the story is Inseon, a colleague from Kyungha's first job, like the author as a reporter at a magazine, over time a close friend, and an artist and film maker.
The novel rather jumps around in time but we learn than Inseon and Kyungha had conceived of an art-project which would be hosted on some land in the mountains of Jeju which Inseon had inherited, where they would replicate Kyungha's vision by planting one hundred black logs to resemble, and remember, those who lost their lives in 1948:
I wanted to ask you – what if we did something about it together? I asked Inseon. What if you and I were to plant logs in a field, dress them in black ink and film them under falling snow?
Well, we’d have to get started before autumn ends, Inseon answered after listening to all I had to say. She was dressed in the black hanbok of mourning, her chin-length hair tied back with a white rubber band and her face earnest and composed. She said to plant ninety-nine logs in a field, we had to be sure the ground wasn’t frozen. She suggested we gather people to help with the planting by mid November at the latest, and said we could use the abandoned tract of land she’d inherited from her father, which no one used. Does the ground freeze here too? I asked. Of course, the uplands are frozen throughout the winter, she said.
An actual memorial in the village of Bukchon, where the events of 순이삼촌 / Sun-i Samch'on are set.
https://english.hani.co.kr/arti/engli...
Crucially Inseon's family home is away from the coast, as during October 1948 the government/mainland authorities decreed: “We impose quarantine on the area further inland than 5km from the coastline of Jeju Island and in the mountainous area from October 20 to the end of military action to sweep the unpatriotic extremists who committed unpardonable atrocities hiding in Mt. Halla”, with those in the interior subject to military action and execution. As explained here, "of the 82 mid-mountain villages that existed at the time of Jeju 4·3, 35 had 100 or more residents killed."
But the right time to complete the project never quite comes, and Kyungha decides to abandon it, the two friends drifting apart. However, one December day she receives a simple text message from Inseon that simply reads Kyunghaya (경하야), the 'ya' a suffix used with close acquaintances. Inseon is in a hospital in Seoul, having severed her fingers in an accident in her Jeju studio, and asks Kyungha to visit her urgently.
It transpires that Inseon had been continuing with the project, indeed the accident came while working on the wood. She was rushed to hospital on the mainland for an operation to reattach her fingers, and she is desparate for Kyungha to go, that very day, to Inseon's Jeju home to feed the remaining one of her two pet birds, who she is convinced will not last another day without water and food.
Travelling to Jeju, Kyungha is caught in a snowstorm, which, give the journey involves the airport bus around the island to, what I think is the south-east of the island near to Pyoseon Beach, followed by a local bus inland to the mid-slopes of Hallasan, and then a further trek which would take 30 minutes at the best of times, places her trip in some jeopardy, and indeed during the final leg of the journey she falls down a slope, losing consciousness briefly:
This path I’ve landed on and slipped down by accident, this bed of earth in which I am lying, is most likely the dried-up stream. A thin layer of ice must have set over its channel, a pile of snow heaped up over that. There are hardly any rivers or creeks on this volcanic island, and only occasionally during heavy rains or heavy snow do flowing streams appear. The village used to be divided along the border of this ephemeral stream, Inseon once told me on a walk. A cluster of forty houses, give or take, had stood on the other side, and when the evacuation orders went out in 1948, they were all set on fire, the people in them slaughtered, the village incinerated.
She eventually recovers (or at least the novel narrates that she does) and finds Inseon's home, only to find that the bird she has come to save has already passed away, and she buries it, with the snow still falling heavily in the garden.
But the next day, when she awakens late in the afternoon, the bird seems to be back - and then she is also visited by Inseon, who she factually knows can not be there as she is still in the hospital. The second half of the novel takes on a dream-like quality as Kyung-ha is led by Inseon through various memories and archives of her family's history and the events in Jeju, which took place when Inseon's mother was 13:
She told me about how, when she was young, soldiers and police had murdered everyone in her village. My mum had been in her last year of elementary school and my aunt was seventeen. The two of them had been away on an errand at a distant cousin’s house, which was how they managed to avoid the same fate. The next day, having heard the news, the sisters returned to the village and wandered the grounds of the elementary school all afternoon. Searching for the bodies of their father and mother, their older brother and eight year old sister. They looked over the bodies that had fallen every which way on top of one another and found that, overnight, a thin layer of snow had covered and frozen upon each face. They couldn’t tell anyone apart because of the snow, and since my aunt couldn’t bring herself to brush it away with her bare hands, she used a handkerchief to wipe each face clean. [...] That day, she came to understand something clearly. That when people died, their bodies went cold. Snow remained on their cheeks, and a thin layer of bloody ice set over their faces.
Inseon's great-uncle was arrested and then lost in the prison system, likely executed at the Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine (경산 코발트광산 학살 사건) although rumours persisted of escapees, and Inseon's mother went on to marry someone who did survive imprisonment. Inseon's mother also led a campaign to discover what happened to those caught up in the events, and her archives, which we explore with Kyungha and Inseon, also speak to events such as the 1950 Bodo League massacre (보도연맹 학살), with Inseon's own films covering other atrocities, including those inflicted by Korean troops in Vietnam.
But at the heart of the story is the profound love which the author highlights of Inseon's mother for her family and between the two friends. And the symbolism of the snow:
The snow that fell over this island and also in other ancient, faraway places could all have condensed together inside those clouds. When, at five years old, I reached out to touch my first snow in G—, and when, at thirty, I was caught in a sudden rain shower that left me drenched as I biked along the riverside in Seoul, when the snow obscured the faces of the hundreds of children, women and elders on the schoolyard here on Jeju seventy years ago, when muddy water flooded the chicken coop as hens and baby chicks flapped their wings and rain ricocheted off the gleaming brass pump — who's to say those raindrops and crumbling snow crystals and thin layers of bloodied ice are not one and the same, that the snow settling over me now isn't that very water?
Another powerful work from an author now recognised, via the Nobel, as one of the world's finest living writers.
Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC
From the Nobel Committee's bio-bibliography
Another highlight is the late work, 작별하지 않는다 (“We Do Not Part”) from 2021, which in terms of its imagery of pain is closely connected to The White Book. The story unfolds in the shadow of a massacre that took place in the late 1940s on South Korea’s Jeju Island, where tens of thousands of people, among them children and the elderly, were shot on suspicion of being collaborators. The book portrays the shared mourning process undertaken by the narrator and her friend Inseon, who both, long after the event, bear with them the trauma associated with the disaster that has befallen their relatives. With imagery that is as precise as it is condensed, Han Kang not only conveys the power of the past over the present, but also, equally powerfully, traces the friends’ unyielding attempts to bring to light what has fallen into collective oblivion and transform their trauma into a joint art project, which lends the book its title. As much about the deepest form of friendship as it is about inherited pain, the book moves with great originality between the nightmarish images of the dream and the inclination of witness literature to speak the truth.
People say 'light as a bird'. But birds too have their weight.
눈처럼 가볍다고 사람들은 말한다. 그러나 눈에도 무게가 있다, 이 물방울만큼.
새처럼 가볍다고도 말한다. 하지만 그것들에게도 무게가 있다.
Forthcoming in 2025, from the deserving winner of the 2024 Nobel Prize in Literature for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.
We Do Not Part (2025) is the translation by e. yaewon and Paige Aniyah Morris of 작별하지 않는다 by 한강 (Han Kang), and a book that epitomises the prose and themes that led the Nobel Committee to choose here as the new Nobel lauraete (see below for their more detailed take).
This novel won the Prix Médicis étranger for its French translation and the English version must be a strong contender for a double-win for Han Kang in the International Booker.
The novel can be thought of as part of a trilogy linked by trauma, and by images of snow, with the powerful 소년이 온다 (2014), translated as Human Acts (2016) by Deborah Smith and the exquisitely poetic 흰 (2016), translated by Smith as The White Book (2017). I also believe this novel was originally going to be a short-story, the third of a a 'Snow Trilogy' with the two short stories, yet to appear in English, 눈 한 송이가 녹는 동안 (2015) ['While A Snowflake Melts'] and 작별 (2018) ['Farewell'], as the narrator of this novel comments:
I'd written a story titled 'Farewell', a story about a woman of snow who melts away under sleet. But that can't be my actual, final farewell.
Han Kang herself has described this book as 지극한 사랑에 대한 소설 - a novel about profound love, and one that followed on from her experience after writing 소년이 온다 (Human Acts) as explained in the autobiographical opening to We Do Not Part.
We Do Not Part is narrated by Kyungha (경하), a novelist, and the initial sections follow the author's own biography. Kyungha, like the author, completed a novel in 2014 based on the massacre that followed the May 18, 1980 Gwangju uprising ('오일팔' as the events are simply known in Korea, i.e. May 18), in 한강's case 소년이 온다 / Human Acts. But far from purging each of visions of violence they were haunted by further dreams:
Having decided to write about mass killings and torture, how could I have so naively - brazenly - hoped to soon shirk off the agony of it, to so easily be bereft of its traces?
학살과 고문에 대해 쓰기로 마음먹었으면서, 언젠가 고통을 뿌리칠 수 있을 거라고, 모든 흔적들을 손쉽게 여읠 수 있을 거라고, 어떻게 나는 그토록 순진하게-뻔뻔스럽게-바라고 있었던 것일까?
For both Kyungha, and 한강, this took the form of a very specific visual image, which opens the novel:
Sparse snow was falling.
I stood on flat land that edged up a low hill. Along the brow of this hill and down its visible face to the seam of the plain, thousands of black tree trunks jutted from the earth. They varied in height, like a crowd of people ranging in age, and were about as thick as railway sleepers, though nowhere near as straight. Stooped and listing, they gave the impression of a thousand men, women and haggard children huddling in the snow.
Was this a graveyard? I wondered. Are these gravestones?
I walked past the torsos – treetops lopped off, exposed cross sections stippled with snowflakes that resembled salt crystals; I passed the prostrating barrows behind them. My feet stilled as I noticed the sensation of water underfoot. That’s strange, I thought. Within moments the water was up to my ankles. I looked back. What I saw astonished me: the far horizon turned out to be the shoreline. And the sea was crashing in.
The words tumbled from my lips: Who would bury people in such a place?
She realises that this image isn't of Gwangju, and over time it leads her to another infamous massacre earlier in Korea's post World War II history, in the aftermath of the Jeju uprising on April 3, 1940 (제주 4·3 사건), with up to 30,000, men, women and children, slaughtered by the US-backed mainland government forces, around 10% of the population, and a similar number fleeing to Japan.
In Korea this story was largely supressed during the military dictatorship, and the first literary treatment was in the 1978 novel 순이삼촌 by 현기영 (Hyun Ki-youn) - Aunt Suni or Sun-i Samch'on in its English translations - which at the time it was published led to censorship and punishment of the author. There is, I think, a neat nod to this work when Kyungha's friend Inseon (인선) explains how to converse with Jeju people:
Inseon had told me to address older people here as samchun. Only outsiders say ajossi or ajumoni, halmoni or haraboji, she said. If you start off by calling them samchun, even if you can't string together a sentence in Jeju-mal, they're likely to be less guarded, thinking you've lived on the island for a good while.
The other key character in the story is Inseon, a colleague from Kyungha's first job, like the author as a reporter at a magazine, over time a close friend, and an artist and film maker.
The novel rather jumps around in time but we learn than Inseon and Kyungha had conceived of an art-project which would be hosted on some land in the mountains of Jeju which Inseon had inherited, where they would replicate Kyungha's vision by planting one hundred black logs to resemble, and remember, those who lost their lives in 1948:
I wanted to ask you – what if we did something about it together? I asked Inseon. What if you and I were to plant logs in a field, dress them in black ink and film them under falling snow?
Well, we’d have to get started before autumn ends, Inseon answered after listening to all I had to say. She was dressed in the black hanbok of mourning, her chin-length hair tied back with a white rubber band and her face earnest and composed. She said to plant ninety-nine logs in a field, we had to be sure the ground wasn’t frozen. She suggested we gather people to help with the planting by mid November at the latest, and said we could use the abandoned tract of land she’d inherited from her father, which no one used. Does the ground freeze here too? I asked. Of course, the uplands are frozen throughout the winter, she said.
An actual memorial in the village of Bukchon, where the events of 순이삼촌 / Sun-i Samch'on are set.
https://english.hani.co.kr/arti/engli...
Crucially Inseon's family home is away from the coast, as during October 1948 the government/mainland authorities decreed: “We impose quarantine on the area further inland than 5km from the coastline of Jeju Island and in the mountainous area from October 20 to the end of military action to sweep the unpatriotic extremists who committed unpardonable atrocities hiding in Mt. Halla”, with those in the interior subject to military action and execution. As explained here, "of the 82 mid-mountain villages that existed at the time of Jeju 4·3, 35 had 100 or more residents killed."
But the right time to complete the project never quite comes, and Kyungha decides to abandon it, the two friends drifting apart. However, one December day she receives a simple text message from Inseon that simply reads Kyunghaya (경하야), the 'ya' a suffix used with close acquaintances. Inseon is in a hospital in Seoul, having severed her fingers in an accident in her Jeju studio, and asks Kyungha to visit her urgently.
It transpires that Inseon had been continuing with the project, indeed the accident came while working on the wood. She was rushed to hospital on the mainland for an operation to reattach her fingers, and she is desparate for Kyungha to go, that very day, to Inseon's Jeju home to feed the remaining one of her two pet birds, who she is convinced will not last another day without water and food.
Travelling to Jeju, Kyungha is caught in a snowstorm, which, give the journey involves the airport bus around the island to, what I think is the south-east of the island near to Pyoseon Beach, followed by a local bus inland to the mid-slopes of Hallasan, and then a further trek which would take 30 minutes at the best of times, places her trip in some jeopardy, and indeed during the final leg of the journey she falls down a slope, losing consciousness briefly:
This path I’ve landed on and slipped down by accident, this bed of earth in which I am lying, is most likely the dried-up stream. A thin layer of ice must have set over its channel, a pile of snow heaped up over that. There are hardly any rivers or creeks on this volcanic island, and only occasionally during heavy rains or heavy snow do flowing streams appear. The village used to be divided along the border of this ephemeral stream, Inseon once told me on a walk. A cluster of forty houses, give or take, had stood on the other side, and when the evacuation orders went out in 1948, they were all set on fire, the people in them slaughtered, the village incinerated.
She eventually recovers (or at least the novel narrates that she does) and finds Inseon's home, only to find that the bird she has come to save has already passed away, and she buries it, with the snow still falling heavily in the garden.
But the next day, when she awakens late in the afternoon, the bird seems to be back - and then she is also visited by Inseon, who she factually knows can not be there as she is still in the hospital. The second half of the novel takes on a dream-like quality as Kyung-ha is led by Inseon through various memories and archives of her family's history and the events in Jeju, which took place when Inseon's mother was 13:
She told me about how, when she was young, soldiers and police had murdered everyone in her village. My mum had been in her last year of elementary school and my aunt was seventeen. The two of them had been away on an errand at a distant cousin’s house, which was how they managed to avoid the same fate. The next day, having heard the news, the sisters returned to the village and wandered the grounds of the elementary school all afternoon. Searching for the bodies of their father and mother, their older brother and eight year old sister. They looked over the bodies that had fallen every which way on top of one another and found that, overnight, a thin layer of snow had covered and frozen upon each face. They couldn’t tell anyone apart because of the snow, and since my aunt couldn’t bring herself to brush it away with her bare hands, she used a handkerchief to wipe each face clean. [...] That day, she came to understand something clearly. That when people died, their bodies went cold. Snow remained on their cheeks, and a thin layer of bloody ice set over their faces.
Inseon's great-uncle was arrested and then lost in the prison system, likely executed at the Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine (경산 코발트광산 학살 사건) although rumours persisted of escapees, and Inseon's mother went on to marry someone who did survive imprisonment. Inseon's mother also led a campaign to discover what happened to those caught up in the events, and her archives, which we explore with Kyungha and Inseon, also speak to events such as the 1950 Bodo League massacre (보도연맹 학살), with Inseon's own films covering other atrocities, including those inflicted by Korean troops in Vietnam.
But at the heart of the story is the profound love which the author highlights of Inseon's mother for her family and between the two friends. And the symbolism of the snow:
The snow that fell over this island and also in other ancient, faraway places could all have condensed together inside those clouds. When, at five years old, I reached out to touch my first snow in G—, and when, at thirty, I was caught in a sudden rain shower that left me drenched as I biked along the riverside in Seoul, when the snow obscured the faces of the hundreds of children, women and elders on the schoolyard here on Jeju seventy years ago, when muddy water flooded the chicken coop as hens and baby chicks flapped their wings and rain ricocheted off the gleaming brass pump — who's to say those raindrops and crumbling snow crystals and thin layers of bloodied ice are not one and the same, that the snow settling over me now isn't that very water?
Another powerful work from an author now recognised, via the Nobel, as one of the world's finest living writers.
Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC
From the Nobel Committee's bio-bibliography
Another highlight is the late work, 작별하지 않는다 (“We Do Not Part”) from 2021, which in terms of its imagery of pain is closely connected to The White Book. The story unfolds in the shadow of a massacre that took place in the late 1940s on South Korea’s Jeju Island, where tens of thousands of people, among them children and the elderly, were shot on suspicion of being collaborators. The book portrays the shared mourning process undertaken by the narrator and her friend Inseon, who both, long after the event, bear with them the trauma associated with the disaster that has befallen their relatives. With imagery that is as precise as it is condensed, Han Kang not only conveys the power of the past over the present, but also, equally powerfully, traces the friends’ unyielding attempts to bring to light what has fallen into collective oblivion and transform their trauma into a joint art project, which lends the book its title. As much about the deepest form of friendship as it is about inherited pain, the book moves with great originality between the nightmarish images of the dream and the inclination of witness literature to speak the truth.
February 27, 2024
Moje pierwsze spotkanie z twórczością Han Kang wspominam jako średnio udane. „Biała elegia” kojarzyła mi się ze zbiorem impresji przesiąkniętych poetyckością, co sprawiło, że jej odbiór opierał się głównie na odczuwanych emocjach, których u mnie niestety zabrakło. W przypadku „Nie mówię żegnaj” widzę sporo podobieństw, jednak tym razem wątek straty i żałoby zostaje rozciągnięty szerzej, gdyż na tapet autorka bierze ludobójstwo na wyspie Czedżu, ubierając tę tragiczną historię w warstwę symboliczną.
Nie chcę tutaj pisać o zarysie fabuły, bo mam wrażenie, że jest ona tylko pretekstem do opowiedzenia o czymś zupełnie innym, a odkrywanie kolejnych wątków opowieści sprawiło mi największą satysfakcję podczas lektury. Równie ważną, a może wręcz najważniejszą częścią powieści jest jej język oraz wykorzystywane przez Han Kang symbole i alegorie. Tutaj zaznaczyć trzeba, że o ile niektóre z nich są oczywiste i łatwe do odszyfrowania, tak niektóre wymagają znajomości kultury oraz wierzeń koreańskich, co może utrudniać odbiór.
Niestety, dla mnie książka okazała się zbyt oniryczna, balansująca na krawędzi jawy i snu, skupiająca się zbyt mocno na symbolach. Już sam początek mnie znużył i odniosłem wrażenie, że gdybym przestał czytać w tamtym momencie, to nie straciłbym zbyt wiele. Zaznaczam jednak, że jest to wyłącznie moja preferencja w stosunku do motywów, za którymi nie przepadam i być może inni czytelnicy są w stanie odkryć coś, czego ja nie dostrzegłem. Poza tym jest to historia o pamięci zbiorowej na temat tragedii, która jątrzy się jak otwarta rana, podrażniana wciąż tak samo, jak nakłuwane są palce jednej z bohaterek. Proces gojenia jest być może trudny i bolesny, jednak konieczny do tego, aby rana się zagoiła.
Nie chcę tutaj pisać o zarysie fabuły, bo mam wrażenie, że jest ona tylko pretekstem do opowiedzenia o czymś zupełnie innym, a odkrywanie kolejnych wątków opowieści sprawiło mi największą satysfakcję podczas lektury. Równie ważną, a może wręcz najważniejszą częścią powieści jest jej język oraz wykorzystywane przez Han Kang symbole i alegorie. Tutaj zaznaczyć trzeba, że o ile niektóre z nich są oczywiste i łatwe do odszyfrowania, tak niektóre wymagają znajomości kultury oraz wierzeń koreańskich, co może utrudniać odbiór.
Niestety, dla mnie książka okazała się zbyt oniryczna, balansująca na krawędzi jawy i snu, skupiająca się zbyt mocno na symbolach. Już sam początek mnie znużył i odniosłem wrażenie, że gdybym przestał czytać w tamtym momencie, to nie straciłbym zbyt wiele. Zaznaczam jednak, że jest to wyłącznie moja preferencja w stosunku do motywów, za którymi nie przepadam i być może inni czytelnicy są w stanie odkryć coś, czego ja nie dostrzegłem. Poza tym jest to historia o pamięci zbiorowej na temat tragedii, która jątrzy się jak otwarta rana, podrażniana wciąż tak samo, jak nakłuwane są palce jednej z bohaterek. Proces gojenia jest być może trudny i bolesny, jednak konieczny do tego, aby rana się zagoiła.
November 1, 2024
Here is another one of Han Kang's books that inspires a passionate review and recommendation, but leaves me gripped with mournful introspection.
We Do Not Part is an ode to friendship, sisterhood, motherhood, and the circular remembrances that connect us to both suffering and survival. The book is divided into three parts, detailing (on the surface) the story of a troubled young woman who travels to Jeju Island to save her injured friend's beloved pet bird, and ends up unpacking the gruesome circumstances of the Jeju 4.3 Massacre of 1948. Han Kang is well-versed in recounting tragedies and massacres that are forgotten by history (at least outside Korea) in beautiful, poetic, evocative prose. Her writing goes beyond evocative to hypnotic in this work, with the veil between reality and dreams drawn back in an experimental narrative that could have become nonsensical quickly but ended up poignant as it tied together all the threads of the story. Ultimately, the story pierced through my heart, and I know this is one I would go beyond recommending to others. I know I will reread this someday and try to divine meaning through its superbly translated text again.
4.5/5 stars rounded up. A compelling read, repetitive at times, hard-hitting at times. I might like this better than Human Acts, and both can be read as companion novels. No wonder these novels resulted in a Nobel for the author.
Thanks to Netgalley and Random House Publishing Group for a copy of the ARC in exchange for an honest review! We Do Not Part is being published in the US on Jan 21, 2025.
We Do Not Part is an ode to friendship, sisterhood, motherhood, and the circular remembrances that connect us to both suffering and survival. The book is divided into three parts, detailing (on the surface) the story of a troubled young woman who travels to Jeju Island to save her injured friend's beloved pet bird, and ends up unpacking the gruesome circumstances of the Jeju 4.3 Massacre of 1948. Han Kang is well-versed in recounting tragedies and massacres that are forgotten by history (at least outside Korea) in beautiful, poetic, evocative prose. Her writing goes beyond evocative to hypnotic in this work, with the veil between reality and dreams drawn back in an experimental narrative that could have become nonsensical quickly but ended up poignant as it tied together all the threads of the story. Ultimately, the story pierced through my heart, and I know this is one I would go beyond recommending to others. I know I will reread this someday and try to divine meaning through its superbly translated text again.
4.5/5 stars rounded up. A compelling read, repetitive at times, hard-hitting at times. I might like this better than Human Acts, and both can be read as companion novels. No wonder these novels resulted in a Nobel for the author.
Thanks to Netgalley and Random House Publishing Group for a copy of the ARC in exchange for an honest review! We Do Not Part is being published in the US on Jan 21, 2025.
July 7, 2024
Devletlerin utançlarının faturasını dünyanın neresinde olursa olsun hep bireyler ödüyor. Üstelik kuşaklar boyu aktarılan bir travmayla. “Şu karanlığı delip geçmek mümkün müdür ki?” Hala her gün tüm dünyanın gözü önünde yapılan işkencelere, kıyımlara şahit olurken ve günün sonunda kaybedenin sadece sivil halk olduğunu bile bile yaşamaya nasıl devam eder insan? Han Kang’ın çabasını bu anlamda çok kıymetli buluyorum. Her kitabı bir tokat, her kitabı ayrı bir saygı duruşu. Ne yazsa kalbimden vuruyor zaten istisnasız.
Şimdilerde bir tatil adası olarak bilinen Jeju Adası’na gidiyoruz bu sefer. Adanın çok değil yetmiş yıl önce büyük bir toplu katliama ev sahipliği yapmış olması ne tuhaf. Tuhaf kelimesi tabii sakil kalıyor yaşananları ve rakamları düşününce. Böyle yazarken yalnızca bir rakamdan ibaret olan kişilerin çoluk çocuk, kadın erkek yaklaşık otuz bin kişi olması da öyle sakil işte. Adanın nüfusunun yüzde onundan bahsediyoruz. Düşünebiliyor musunuz? Suçları komünist olmak. Sanki hiçbir şey olmamış gibi insanları gruplar halinde öldürüp denizde gel gite bırakmışlar, maden oyuklarına itmişler.
“İnsan insana ne yaparsa yapsın artık daha fazla şaşırmayacakmışım gibi gelen bir durum… Kalbimin derinliklerinden bir şeylerin çoktan sökülüp atıldığı, açılan boşluğu ıslatarak çıkan kanın artık kırmızı olmadığı, daha fazla şiddetle fışkırmadığı ve paramparça kesikte ancak teslimiyetin durdurabileceği bir acının titreştiği bir durum….”
Bu ayıp sonsuza kadar sürebilirmiş gibi diriyken rahat vermedikleri insanların ölülerine de rahat vermemişler. Ada halkının ölülerini anmak için diktiği anıtı 60’larda yıkmışlar, 78’de katliamı anlatan bir romanı yasaklayıp yazarını da hapse atmışlar. Şüphesiz hakkında yazması birçok yönüyle zor bir konu. Fakat bunu bu kadından başka böyle dokunaklı, kimseyi incitmeden tokatlayarak kim anlatabilirdi bilmiyorum. Hem kişisel hem kolektif hafızamıza bir çivi gibi çakıyor tüm satırları. Günlerdir kafamın içinde sayıklamalar halinde dönüp dolanıyor yazdıkları. Bu kadar acı, bunca ahla nasıl dönüyor bu dünya. Tam da benim sık sık kendi kendime kurduğum şu cümleyi kuruyor kitabın bir yerinde: “İnanılmaz olan, güneşin her gün yeniden doğmasıydı.”
En etkilendiğim yanlarından biri de hep olduğu gibi karakterin aklı karıştıka benim de kafamın bulanması, yazarın bir şekilde tüm o acıları okura da hissettiriyor olması. Kitabın ilginç yanlarından biri de tekrar okunmak için adeta okuru çağırması. Bitireli birkaç gün olmasına rağmen elime aldığım her farklı kitapta tekrar beni çağırıyor sanki. Orman aklıma düşüyor, ağaçlar, karakterler, acılar. Kitaptaki ormanın Gyongha’yı çağırması gibi… Han Kang ne yazarsa yazsın insanın karmaşıklıklarını, travmalarını ve yaralarını çok sağlam anlatıyor. Dilerim yaşayanlarının da ölenlerinin de ruhu huzur bulur bu toprakların.
Temmuzun bu çılgın sıcağında sizi sanki karlar altında kalmış gibi üşütecek, zihninizin bir an bile susmasına izin vermeden okuyacağınız bu romanı kaçırmamanızı öneririm.
Şimdilerde bir tatil adası olarak bilinen Jeju Adası’na gidiyoruz bu sefer. Adanın çok değil yetmiş yıl önce büyük bir toplu katliama ev sahipliği yapmış olması ne tuhaf. Tuhaf kelimesi tabii sakil kalıyor yaşananları ve rakamları düşününce. Böyle yazarken yalnızca bir rakamdan ibaret olan kişilerin çoluk çocuk, kadın erkek yaklaşık otuz bin kişi olması da öyle sakil işte. Adanın nüfusunun yüzde onundan bahsediyoruz. Düşünebiliyor musunuz? Suçları komünist olmak. Sanki hiçbir şey olmamış gibi insanları gruplar halinde öldürüp denizde gel gite bırakmışlar, maden oyuklarına itmişler.
“İnsan insana ne yaparsa yapsın artık daha fazla şaşırmayacakmışım gibi gelen bir durum… Kalbimin derinliklerinden bir şeylerin çoktan sökülüp atıldığı, açılan boşluğu ıslatarak çıkan kanın artık kırmızı olmadığı, daha fazla şiddetle fışkırmadığı ve paramparça kesikte ancak teslimiyetin durdurabileceği bir acının titreştiği bir durum….”
Bu ayıp sonsuza kadar sürebilirmiş gibi diriyken rahat vermedikleri insanların ölülerine de rahat vermemişler. Ada halkının ölülerini anmak için diktiği anıtı 60’larda yıkmışlar, 78’de katliamı anlatan bir romanı yasaklayıp yazarını da hapse atmışlar. Şüphesiz hakkında yazması birçok yönüyle zor bir konu. Fakat bunu bu kadından başka böyle dokunaklı, kimseyi incitmeden tokatlayarak kim anlatabilirdi bilmiyorum. Hem kişisel hem kolektif hafızamıza bir çivi gibi çakıyor tüm satırları. Günlerdir kafamın içinde sayıklamalar halinde dönüp dolanıyor yazdıkları. Bu kadar acı, bunca ahla nasıl dönüyor bu dünya. Tam da benim sık sık kendi kendime kurduğum şu cümleyi kuruyor kitabın bir yerinde: “İnanılmaz olan, güneşin her gün yeniden doğmasıydı.”
En etkilendiğim yanlarından biri de hep olduğu gibi karakterin aklı karıştıka benim de kafamın bulanması, yazarın bir şekilde tüm o acıları okura da hissettiriyor olması. Kitabın ilginç yanlarından biri de tekrar okunmak için adeta okuru çağırması. Bitireli birkaç gün olmasına rağmen elime aldığım her farklı kitapta tekrar beni çağırıyor sanki. Orman aklıma düşüyor, ağaçlar, karakterler, acılar. Kitaptaki ormanın Gyongha’yı çağırması gibi… Han Kang ne yazarsa yazsın insanın karmaşıklıklarını, travmalarını ve yaralarını çok sağlam anlatıyor. Dilerim yaşayanlarının da ölenlerinin de ruhu huzur bulur bu toprakların.
Temmuzun bu çılgın sıcağında sizi sanki karlar altında kalmış gibi üşütecek, zihninizin bir an bile susmasına izin vermeden okuyacağınız bu romanı kaçırmamanızı öneririm.
July 10, 2024
4.5/5
Veda Etmiyorum, 1948 yılında yaşanan (aslında bir on yıl daha devam eden) Jeju Adası Katliamı (kısaca özetlemek gerekirse; komünizmden kopmak istemeyen halkın isyan başlatması, devletin orantısız güçle bu isyana karşılık vermesi ve sistematik şiddetin yıllar boyu sürmesi) üzerinden bireysel hafızayla kolektif hafızayı ele alan, iyi tasarlanmış, iyi yazılmış bir roman. Hatta bir adım ileri götürerek okuduklarım içinde en sevdiğim Han Kang romanı olduğunu da rahatlıkla söyleyebilirim. Yazarın rüya-geçmiş-şimdiki zaman arasındaki geçişkenliği belirsizleştirme çabası ve bunun içerikle uyumu o kadar iyi ki hayran olmamak elde değil. Kitabın ikinci yarısında bu belirsizliğin fazlalaştığını hissedip, yer yer yolumu kaybettiğim sayfalar oldu ama evrene çoktan dahil olduğum için büyük bir sorun oluşturmadı. Keşke kışın okusaydım dedim, sebebi de roman boyunca kar yağması.
Veda Etmiyorum, 1948 yılında yaşanan (aslında bir on yıl daha devam eden) Jeju Adası Katliamı (kısaca özetlemek gerekirse; komünizmden kopmak istemeyen halkın isyan başlatması, devletin orantısız güçle bu isyana karşılık vermesi ve sistematik şiddetin yıllar boyu sürmesi) üzerinden bireysel hafızayla kolektif hafızayı ele alan, iyi tasarlanmış, iyi yazılmış bir roman. Hatta bir adım ileri götürerek okuduklarım içinde en sevdiğim Han Kang romanı olduğunu da rahatlıkla söyleyebilirim. Yazarın rüya-geçmiş-şimdiki zaman arasındaki geçişkenliği belirsizleştirme çabası ve bunun içerikle uyumu o kadar iyi ki hayran olmamak elde değil. Kitabın ikinci yarısında bu belirsizliğin fazlalaştığını hissedip, yer yer yolumu kaybettiğim sayfalar oldu ama evrene çoktan dahil olduğum için büyük bir sorun oluşturmadı. Keşke kışın okusaydım dedim, sebebi de roman boyunca kar yağması.
June 21, 2024
Han Kang yine insanların yaşadıkları durumları psikolojik bir anlatıyla okuyucuya aktarmış. Kitapta baştan sona bir kar yağışı mevcut. Durmadan kar yağıyor fakat bu insana huzur veren bir atmosferin yansıması değil gibi. Daha çok, romana bir belirsizlik ve ağırlık katmış diyebilirim. Öte yandan güneşin yokluğu da tabii ki birçok şeyi ifade edebilir. Karakterlerimiz üç kadın. Bunların ikisi iyi arkadaş ve biraz geçmişe giderek hem kendi aralarındaki yakınlığı görüyoruz hem de karakterlerden bir tanesi olan İnson’un annesi ile olan iletişime şahit oluyoruz. Yazar kısa kısa geçmişe giderek Güney Kore tarihinin faili meçhul cinayetlerini ve aynı zamanda sivil katliamlarını bizlere aktarıyor. Yine bireysel ve toplumsal travmalar ön planda. Ölüm, yaşam, geçmiş, bellek, ışık sık kullanılan sembolik kavramlar. Han Kang’ın daha önce Booker ödülü kazanan Vejetaryen romanını okuyup çok sevmiştim. Özgün bir konu, kolay okunan bir üslup ile aktarılmıştı. “Veda Etmiyorum” kitabı ise “Vejetaryen” kadar özgün bir konuya sahip olmasa da karakterlerin içinde bulundukları psikolojiler aynı etkileyicilik ile anlatılmış. Yazarın kendine has karamsar, distopik bir tarafı var. Kitapların atmosferlerini de bunlar ile oluşturmayı seviyor.
July 11, 2024
''Veda Etmiyorum'' Han Kang'ın aynı ''Çocuk Geliyor'' daki gibi üzeri zorla örtülen bir gerçeği gün yüzüne çıkarıp gündeme taşıdığı muhteşem bir eser. Kitabı daha iyi anlamak için tarihi arka planı anlatacağım öncelikle. o zaman başlayalım!
3 Nisan 2018 tarihinde, 3 Nisan Jeju Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın 70. yıldönümü kutlandı. Nisan 1948'de güneydeki Jeju adasındaki gerilla savaşçıları, ABD destekli Kore polisine ve sağcı paramiliter gruplara karşı silahlı bir mücadele başlattı. 30.000'den fazla Jeju sakini (o dönemde adanın nüfusunun yüzde 10'u) iki yıl boyunca hükümet güçleri ve sağcı paramiliter grupların elinde öldü. O zamanlar ABD ordusu Kore Yarımadası'nın güney yarısını işgal ediyordu ve güneydeki tüm polis, ordu ve hükümet güçlerini kontrol ediyordu.
Tarihi Arka Plan
3 Nisan Jeju Ayaklanmasının kökleri, Kore'nin Japon sömürgeciliğinden kurtuluşuna kadar uzanabilir. Onlarca yıl süren mücadele ve direnişin ardından Kore halkı, Ağustos 1945'te kendilerini Japon sömürge yönetiminden kurtardı, ancak yeniden yabancı (ABD) güçler tarafından işgal edildi. ABD, güney kısmının kontrolünü ele geçirdi. Kendi adayı Syngman Rhee'yi, başkan olarak belirlemek için güney kısmında ayrı bir seçim yapılmasına karar verildi.
ABD, “demokrasi” adına bölgede nüfuzunu artırabileceği bir diktatörlük kurmak istiyordu. Halkın birrçoğu ABD müdahalesini ononaylamadı. 35 yıl kendilerini sömüren Japonya'ya karşı yürütülen kurtuluş hareketinin ruhunu taşıyan protestolar vardı ve ABD'nin Mayıs 1948'de ayrı bir seçim yapılmasını zorunlu kılma planına karşı çıktılar.
(1 Mart 1947 olayları) Japon sömürgeciliğine direnme hareketinin (1 Mart 1919 Bağımsızlık Hareketi) yıldönümünde, Jeju Adası sakinleri ABD'nin planladığı seçimleri kınamak için bir miting düzenlediler. Polis, muhalifleri kontrol altına almak amacıyla kalabalığa ayrım gözetmeksizin ateş açtı ve aralarında küçük bir çocuk, bir anne ve bebeğinin de bulunduğu altı sivili öldürdü. ABD askeri kontrolündeki hükümetin uyguladığı şiddete yanıt olarak Güney Kore İşçi Partisi'nin (SKLP) Jeju Şubesi silahlı protestolar düzenledi, oy verme merkezlerini yaktı ve polis karakollarına saldırdı. Jeju sakinleri ayrıca hem özel hem de devlete ait şirketleri hedef alan genel grevler düzenledi. Sonraki yıl, ABD ordusu komünist olduklarından şüphelenilen 2.500'den fazla Jeju sakininin tutuklanması emrini verdi.
(ABD anti-komünizmi ve aşırı sağcılık) ABD, Jeju'daki muhaliflerin bastırılmasını, bunu "demokrasi ile komünizm arasındaki savaşın" bir parçası olarak kabul edip meşrulaştırdı. Aynı zamanda Kuzeybatı Gençlik Birliği adı verilen şiddet yanlısı, sağcı Koreli paramiliter bir grubun da yardımına başvuruldu. ABD askeri danışmanları, isyanların bastırılması için eğitim ve lojistik destek sağladı.
1947'nin sonlarında, Amerikan Karşı İstihbarat Teşkilatı'nın tavsiyesi üzerine, solcu olarak tanımlanan veya komünizme sempati duyan herkes, Jeju Adası valisi ve Kuzeybatı Gençlik Birliği tarafından "terörist" olarak ilan edildi. Adı açıklanmayan eski bir ABD askeri danışmanının “Benim görevim isyanı bastırmak ve komünistleri yok etmekti. Jeju Adası'nda birkaç temizlik operasyonu gerçekleştirdik." dediği aktarıldı.
3 Nisan 1948 ve sonrası
Jeju sakinlerinin mücadelesi 3 Nisan 1948'de kitlesel bir isyanla sonuçlandı. SKLP'nin gerilla savaşçıları, polise ve sağcı paramiliter güçlere karşı ayaklanmaya öncülük etti. Seçimi engellemek ve ABD kontrolündeki Syngman Rhee hükümetini kınamak için polis karakollarına saldırdılar ve oy verme merkezlerini yaktılar. SKLP Kadınlar Birliği, seçimlerde oy kullanmaları için hükümet güçleri tarafından fiziksel olarak tehdit edilmelerini önlemek amacıyla bölge sakinlerini dağlara götürd��.
3 Nisan'ın erken saatlerinde 350 gerilla savaşçısı Jeju Adası'ndaki 24 polis karakolundan 12'sine saldırdı. 10 Mayıs seçimlerine giden haftalarda gerillalar seçim bürolarını dağıttı ve telefon hatlarını keserek, yol ve köprülere erişimi engelleyerek seçimle ilgili tüm iletişimi kesintiye uğrattı. Onların dirençli çabaları nedeniyle Jeju'daki seçim sonucu geçersiz sayıldı. Ancak aylar sonra, Temmuz 1948'de Syngman Rhee, Güney Kore'nin cumhurbaşkanı olarak atandı.
Gerilla muhalefetine yanıt olarak ABD, Jeju'yu resmen "Kızıl Ada" ilan etti ve komünistlerle bağlantılı olduğu belirlenen tüm sakinlerin yakalanmasını emretti. Bu düzene "Kızıl Av" adı verildi. Sözde ''Kızıl Av”a karşı mücadele bir günlük bir süreç değildi. Polisin ve sağcı paramiliter güçlerin on binlerce cana mal olduğu bu çatışma yedi yıldan fazla sürdü.
17 Kasım'da, göreve başladıktan sadece dört ay sonra Rhee, Jeju Adası'nda sıkıyönetim ilan etti. Daha sonra Güney Kore ordusuna, yeni kurulan Güney Kore hükümetinin otoritesine hâlâ direnen gerilla savaşçılarına karşı "Kavurulmuş Toprak" stratejisini uygulamaya koyma emrini verdi. Rhee hükümeti sıkıyönetim ordusunu konuşlandırdı ve Jeju sakinlerine Chungsangan bölgesinde yakalanan herkesin "İsyancı" olarak tanımlanıp derhal öldürüleceğini bildiren bir duyuru yaptı. Beş aylık sürede Chungsangan Köyü'nün yüzde 95'i yakılırken, hayatta kalmayı başarabilen ve kaçabilen köylüler dağlara sığınmak zorunda kaldı.
ABD, Jeju Adası'ndaki kitlesel baskıyı ve soykırımı meşrulaştırmak için anti-komünist propagandayı kullandı. Medyası, Kore'nin ABD askeri varlığına karşı ayaklanmasının ardındaki Sovyet etkisine dair temelsiz hikayeler uydurdu. Ocak 1949'da New York Times, Sovyet denizaltılarının sözde sol isyana yardım etmek için Jeju Adası yakınlarında olduğunu iddia eden bir makale yayınladı. 9 Nisan 1949'da ABD'nin Güney Kore Büyükelçisi John Muccio, Sovyetlerin "Terörist Saldırılar" düzenlemek için Jeju'ya sızdığını iddia etti. Ancak böyle bir iddiayı destekleyecek kesin bir kanıt yoktu.
50 yıllık sessizliği bozdu
On yıllar boyunca Jeju Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın tarihi kaydı, ABD destekli sağcı Güney Kore polisinin elinde öldürülen binlerce insanın hikayeleriyle birlikte derinlere gömüldü. 50 yılı aşkın bir süre sonra Güney Kore, hükümete ayaklanmanın/katliamın ardındaki gerçeği araştırma yetkisi veren özel bir yasa çıkardı. 2003 yılında eski Başkan Moo-hyun Roh, Jeju halkından resmi bir özür yayınladı: "Hükümetin yanlış kararları nedeniyle, Jeju'daki birçok masum insan birçok kayıp verdi ve evleri yıkıldı."
Ancak özrün ardından, ölen mağdurların aileleri ve destekçilerinin taleplerini karşılayan herhangi bir somut adım atılmadı. 3 Nisan Kurbanlarının Yaslı Aileleri Derneği, Jeju 3 Nisan Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın 70. Yıldönümü Pan-Ulusal Komitesi ve Jeju Konseyi gibi kuruluşlar, sorumlu taraflardan adalet ve uygun tazminat talebinde ön saflarda yer aldılar. Ekim 2017'de, ABD'yi Jeju halkına yönelik şiddetli askeri baskıdaki rolünün sorumluluğunu üstlenmeye çağırmak için 100.000 imza toplamak amacıyla bir imza kampanyası başlattılar.
The Hankyoreh gazetesine göre, Jeju 3 Nisan Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın 70. Yıldönümü Pan-Kore Komitesi 10 talepte bulundu; bunlar arasında; katliama ilişkin hükümet soruşturması ve ABD'nin bu konudaki sorumluluğu; mağdurlar, hayatta kalan aileler ve topluluklar için tazminatlar; yasadışı yargılamalar sonucunda hapsedilen kişilerin belirlenmesi ve onurlarının yeniden sağlanmasına yönelik bir yasa; Jeju ayaklanmasıyla ilgili tarihi mekanların korunması ve bakımı için finansman; mağdurlar ve hayatta kalan aileler hakkında rapor toplayacak bir sistemin finansmanı ve desteği; misyonun kalıntılarının keşfedilmesi ve kazılması için hükümet desteği; hayatta kalanların ve ailelerin katliamla bağlantılı travmadan iyileşmelerine yardımcı olacak bir kurumun finansmanı; ayaklanmanın karalanmasını ve yanlış tanıtılmasını önleyecek bir yasa; ve ayaklanmaya uygun bir ismin belirlenmesi yer aldı. (Kaynak Korean Quarterly)
Jeju Olayı mağdurlarının sayısının 25.000 ila 30.000 arasında olduğu tahmin ediliyor. Bunların yaklaşık %80'i sivil, yaklaşık %20'si ise militandı. Bu olay, Modern Kore tarihinin en trajik olaylarından biridir. Bu, hükümet diktatörlüğünü, acımasız baskıyı ve halk direnişini birleştiren karmaşık bir olaydır. Hala tam anlamıyla çözülmemiş bir sorun olmaya devam ediyor. Mağdurların onurunun iade edilmesi, gerçeğin araştırılması ve mağdurlara tazminat verilmesi gerektiği gibi gerçekleştirilmiyor. Ayrıca Jeju Olayı bize önemli tarihi dersler veriyor: Hükümetin diktatörlüğü ve acımasız baskıları asla tolere edilemez ve halkın direnişi haklıdır, geçmişin acı dolu günlerini hatırlamak ve unutmamak, gelecek için bir başlangıç noktasıdır. Evinden okuluna ya da tarlasına giden bir sürü insan birbirlerine veda edemedi ve hala ruhları Jeju Adası'nda yaşamakta. Adaya özgü volkanik taşlarla örülü yığınlar görürseniz bilinki burada yatan binlerce ruhun izleri var.
Han Kang, muhteşem bir kurguyla kendi araştırma sürecini de kurguya yedirerek Gyongha ve İnson'un rehberliğinde tabi Jeong Sim'in olaylara tanıklığı ve bugüne kadar topladığı bilgiler, kanıtlar ve aile geçmişiyle içimizi buz gibi soğutan bir rüyada karların esir aldığı o ormanda kayboluyoruz. İyi ki yazıp sadece bir filme (Jiseul) konu olan bu olayı tekrardan gündeme getirmiş. Kitap yayınlandıktan sonra kabuslardan ve sürekli çektiği migren ağrılarından biraz olsun kurtulmuş Han Kang. Orjinal Kitap'ta yazarın sonsözü yer almakta kitapla ilgili detayı okuyamadım sadece kitap içeriğini paylaşmışlardı. Fakat korece yorumlarda bu son sözde şöyle bir şeyin yer aldığından bahsediyorlar: ''Birkaç yıl önce birisinin bana 'Bundan sonra ne yazacaksınız?' diye sorduğunu ve bunun aşkla ilgili bir roman olmasını umduğumu söylediğimi hatırlıyorum. Şu anki duygularım aynı. Bu aşırı aşk hakkında bir roman.''
Sizce bu roman aşırı aşk ve sevgi mi içeriyor? Yorumlarda buluşalım.
3 Nisan 2018 tarihinde, 3 Nisan Jeju Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın 70. yıldönümü kutlandı. Nisan 1948'de güneydeki Jeju adasındaki gerilla savaşçıları, ABD destekli Kore polisine ve sağcı paramiliter gruplara karşı silahlı bir mücadele başlattı. 30.000'den fazla Jeju sakini (o dönemde adanın nüfusunun yüzde 10'u) iki yıl boyunca hükümet güçleri ve sağcı paramiliter grupların elinde öldü. O zamanlar ABD ordusu Kore Yarımadası'nın güney yarısını işgal ediyordu ve güneydeki tüm polis, ordu ve hükümet güçlerini kontrol ediyordu.
Tarihi Arka Plan
3 Nisan Jeju Ayaklanmasının kökleri, Kore'nin Japon sömürgeciliğinden kurtuluşuna kadar uzanabilir. Onlarca yıl süren mücadele ve direnişin ardından Kore halkı, Ağustos 1945'te kendilerini Japon sömürge yönetiminden kurtardı, ancak yeniden yabancı (ABD) güçler tarafından işgal edildi. ABD, güney kısmının kontrolünü ele geçirdi. Kendi adayı Syngman Rhee'yi, başkan olarak belirlemek için güney kısmında ayrı bir seçim yapılmasına karar verildi.
ABD, “demokrasi” adına bölgede nüfuzunu artırabileceği bir diktatörlük kurmak istiyordu. Halkın birrçoğu ABD müdahalesini ononaylamadı. 35 yıl kendilerini sömüren Japonya'ya karşı yürütülen kurtuluş hareketinin ruhunu taşıyan protestolar vardı ve ABD'nin Mayıs 1948'de ayrı bir seçim yapılmasını zorunlu kılma planına karşı çıktılar.
(1 Mart 1947 olayları) Japon sömürgeciliğine direnme hareketinin (1 Mart 1919 Bağımsızlık Hareketi) yıldönümünde, Jeju Adası sakinleri ABD'nin planladığı seçimleri kınamak için bir miting düzenlediler. Polis, muhalifleri kontrol altına almak amacıyla kalabalığa ayrım gözetmeksizin ateş açtı ve aralarında küçük bir çocuk, bir anne ve bebeğinin de bulunduğu altı sivili öldürdü. ABD askeri kontrolündeki hükümetin uyguladığı şiddete yanıt olarak Güney Kore İşçi Partisi'nin (SKLP) Jeju Şubesi silahlı protestolar düzenledi, oy verme merkezlerini yaktı ve polis karakollarına saldırdı. Jeju sakinleri ayrıca hem özel hem de devlete ait şirketleri hedef alan genel grevler düzenledi. Sonraki yıl, ABD ordusu komünist olduklarından şüphelenilen 2.500'den fazla Jeju sakininin tutuklanması emrini verdi.
(ABD anti-komünizmi ve aşırı sağcılık) ABD, Jeju'daki muhaliflerin bastırılmasını, bunu "demokrasi ile komünizm arasındaki savaşın" bir parçası olarak kabul edip meşrulaştırdı. Aynı zamanda Kuzeybatı Gençlik Birliği adı verilen şiddet yanlısı, sağcı Koreli paramiliter bir grubun da yardımına başvuruldu. ABD askeri danışmanları, isyanların bastırılması için eğitim ve lojistik destek sağladı.
1947'nin sonlarında, Amerikan Karşı İstihbarat Teşkilatı'nın tavsiyesi üzerine, solcu olarak tanımlanan veya komünizme sempati duyan herkes, Jeju Adası valisi ve Kuzeybatı Gençlik Birliği tarafından "terörist" olarak ilan edildi. Adı açıklanmayan eski bir ABD askeri danışmanının “Benim görevim isyanı bastırmak ve komünistleri yok etmekti. Jeju Adası'nda birkaç temizlik operasyonu gerçekleştirdik." dediği aktarıldı.
3 Nisan 1948 ve sonrası
Jeju sakinlerinin mücadelesi 3 Nisan 1948'de kitlesel bir isyanla sonuçlandı. SKLP'nin gerilla savaşçıları, polise ve sağcı paramiliter güçlere karşı ayaklanmaya öncülük etti. Seçimi engellemek ve ABD kontrolündeki Syngman Rhee hükümetini kınamak için polis karakollarına saldırdılar ve oy verme merkezlerini yaktılar. SKLP Kadınlar Birliği, seçimlerde oy kullanmaları için hükümet güçleri tarafından fiziksel olarak tehdit edilmelerini önlemek amacıyla bölge sakinlerini dağlara götürd��.
3 Nisan'ın erken saatlerinde 350 gerilla savaşçısı Jeju Adası'ndaki 24 polis karakolundan 12'sine saldırdı. 10 Mayıs seçimlerine giden haftalarda gerillalar seçim bürolarını dağıttı ve telefon hatlarını keserek, yol ve köprülere erişimi engelleyerek seçimle ilgili tüm iletişimi kesintiye uğrattı. Onların dirençli çabaları nedeniyle Jeju'daki seçim sonucu geçersiz sayıldı. Ancak aylar sonra, Temmuz 1948'de Syngman Rhee, Güney Kore'nin cumhurbaşkanı olarak atandı.
Gerilla muhalefetine yanıt olarak ABD, Jeju'yu resmen "Kızıl Ada" ilan etti ve komünistlerle bağlantılı olduğu belirlenen tüm sakinlerin yakalanmasını emretti. Bu düzene "Kızıl Av" adı verildi. Sözde ''Kızıl Av”a karşı mücadele bir günlük bir süreç değildi. Polisin ve sağcı paramiliter güçlerin on binlerce cana mal olduğu bu çatışma yedi yıldan fazla sürdü.
17 Kasım'da, göreve başladıktan sadece dört ay sonra Rhee, Jeju Adası'nda sıkıyönetim ilan etti. Daha sonra Güney Kore ordusuna, yeni kurulan Güney Kore hükümetinin otoritesine hâlâ direnen gerilla savaşçılarına karşı "Kavurulmuş Toprak" stratejisini uygulamaya koyma emrini verdi. Rhee hükümeti sıkıyönetim ordusunu konuşlandırdı ve Jeju sakinlerine Chungsangan bölgesinde yakalanan herkesin "İsyancı" olarak tanımlanıp derhal öldürüleceğini bildiren bir duyuru yaptı. Beş aylık sürede Chungsangan Köyü'nün yüzde 95'i yakılırken, hayatta kalmayı başarabilen ve kaçabilen köylüler dağlara sığınmak zorunda kaldı.
ABD, Jeju Adası'ndaki kitlesel baskıyı ve soykırımı meşrulaştırmak için anti-komünist propagandayı kullandı. Medyası, Kore'nin ABD askeri varlığına karşı ayaklanmasının ardındaki Sovyet etkisine dair temelsiz hikayeler uydurdu. Ocak 1949'da New York Times, Sovyet denizaltılarının sözde sol isyana yardım etmek için Jeju Adası yakınlarında olduğunu iddia eden bir makale yayınladı. 9 Nisan 1949'da ABD'nin Güney Kore Büyükelçisi John Muccio, Sovyetlerin "Terörist Saldırılar" düzenlemek için Jeju'ya sızdığını iddia etti. Ancak böyle bir iddiayı destekleyecek kesin bir kanıt yoktu.
50 yıllık sessizliği bozdu
On yıllar boyunca Jeju Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın tarihi kaydı, ABD destekli sağcı Güney Kore polisinin elinde öldürülen binlerce insanın hikayeleriyle birlikte derinlere gömüldü. 50 yılı aşkın bir süre sonra Güney Kore, hükümete ayaklanmanın/katliamın ardındaki gerçeği araştırma yetkisi veren özel bir yasa çıkardı. 2003 yılında eski Başkan Moo-hyun Roh, Jeju halkından resmi bir özür yayınladı: "Hükümetin yanlış kararları nedeniyle, Jeju'daki birçok masum insan birçok kayıp verdi ve evleri yıkıldı."
Ancak özrün ardından, ölen mağdurların aileleri ve destekçilerinin taleplerini karşılayan herhangi bir somut adım atılmadı. 3 Nisan Kurbanlarının Yaslı Aileleri Derneği, Jeju 3 Nisan Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın 70. Yıldönümü Pan-Ulusal Komitesi ve Jeju Konseyi gibi kuruluşlar, sorumlu taraflardan adalet ve uygun tazminat talebinde ön saflarda yer aldılar. Ekim 2017'de, ABD'yi Jeju halkına yönelik şiddetli askeri baskıdaki rolünün sorumluluğunu üstlenmeye çağırmak için 100.000 imza toplamak amacıyla bir imza kampanyası başlattılar.
The Hankyoreh gazetesine göre, Jeju 3 Nisan Ayaklanması ve Katliamı'nın 70. Yıldönümü Pan-Kore Komitesi 10 talepte bulundu; bunlar arasında; katliama ilişkin hükümet soruşturması ve ABD'nin bu konudaki sorumluluğu; mağdurlar, hayatta kalan aileler ve topluluklar için tazminatlar; yasadışı yargılamalar sonucunda hapsedilen kişilerin belirlenmesi ve onurlarının yeniden sağlanmasına yönelik bir yasa; Jeju ayaklanmasıyla ilgili tarihi mekanların korunması ve bakımı için finansman; mağdurlar ve hayatta kalan aileler hakkında rapor toplayacak bir sistemin finansmanı ve desteği; misyonun kalıntılarının keşfedilmesi ve kazılması için hükümet desteği; hayatta kalanların ve ailelerin katliamla bağlantılı travmadan iyileşmelerine yardımcı olacak bir kurumun finansmanı; ayaklanmanın karalanmasını ve yanlış tanıtılmasını önleyecek bir yasa; ve ayaklanmaya uygun bir ismin belirlenmesi yer aldı. (Kaynak Korean Quarterly)
Jeju Olayı mağdurlarının sayısının 25.000 ila 30.000 arasında olduğu tahmin ediliyor. Bunların yaklaşık %80'i sivil, yaklaşık %20'si ise militandı. Bu olay, Modern Kore tarihinin en trajik olaylarından biridir. Bu, hükümet diktatörlüğünü, acımasız baskıyı ve halk direnişini birleştiren karmaşık bir olaydır. Hala tam anlamıyla çözülmemiş bir sorun olmaya devam ediyor. Mağdurların onurunun iade edilmesi, gerçeğin araştırılması ve mağdurlara tazminat verilmesi gerektiği gibi gerçekleştirilmiyor. Ayrıca Jeju Olayı bize önemli tarihi dersler veriyor: Hükümetin diktatörlüğü ve acımasız baskıları asla tolere edilemez ve halkın direnişi haklıdır, geçmişin acı dolu günlerini hatırlamak ve unutmamak, gelecek için bir başlangıç noktasıdır. Evinden okuluna ya da tarlasına giden bir sürü insan birbirlerine veda edemedi ve hala ruhları Jeju Adası'nda yaşamakta. Adaya özgü volkanik taşlarla örülü yığınlar görürseniz bilinki burada yatan binlerce ruhun izleri var.
Han Kang, muhteşem bir kurguyla kendi araştırma sürecini de kurguya yedirerek Gyongha ve İnson'un rehberliğinde tabi Jeong Sim'in olaylara tanıklığı ve bugüne kadar topladığı bilgiler, kanıtlar ve aile geçmişiyle içimizi buz gibi soğutan bir rüyada karların esir aldığı o ormanda kayboluyoruz. İyi ki yazıp sadece bir filme (Jiseul) konu olan bu olayı tekrardan gündeme getirmiş. Kitap yayınlandıktan sonra kabuslardan ve sürekli çektiği migren ağrılarından biraz olsun kurtulmuş Han Kang. Orjinal Kitap'ta yazarın sonsözü yer almakta kitapla ilgili detayı okuyamadım sadece kitap içeriğini paylaşmışlardı. Fakat korece yorumlarda bu son sözde şöyle bir şeyin yer aldığından bahsediyorlar: ''Birkaç yıl önce birisinin bana 'Bundan sonra ne yazacaksınız?' diye sorduğunu ve bunun aşkla ilgili bir roman olmasını umduğumu söylediğimi hatırlıyorum. Şu anki duygularım aynı. Bu aşırı aşk hakkında bir roman.''
Sizce bu roman aşırı aşk ve sevgi mi içeriyor? Yorumlarda buluşalım.
Want to read
June 12, 2024Han Kang hive lets goooooo
July 22, 2024
Between 1948 and 1950 an estimated 30,000 inhabitants of the small Korean island of Jeju were murdered as part of a scorched earth policy to eradicate presumed Communist rebels on the island. Entire villages within an established perimeter were burnt down and men, women and children executed on beaches and in caves.
For decades, the government-led massacre was swept under the carpet, but since the early 2000s a truth commission has carried out an independent investigation and the horrible facts have been documented and brought to light.
Han Kang takes on the difficult task of fictionalising the 'Jeju massacre', and she pulls it off. 'We Do Not Part' is not a historical novel though, it retains Han Kang's unique style, playing with dreams and supernatural elements and also the vivid descriptions of excruciating pain and cruelty.
As in The Vegetarian and Human Acts we have a female protagonist, Kyungha, unable to cope with the demands of normal life. One day, Kyungha receives a call from her artist friend, Inseon, who needs her help urgently - she has sown off her fingers. The second half of the novel is more engaged, as it largely describes the massacre by way of presentating the research carried out by Inseon and discovered by Kyungha.
I found it really beautifully done - the snowy, dreamlike island with its silent secrets and the friendship between the two women struggling to find a way to recover and remember.
For decades, the government-led massacre was swept under the carpet, but since the early 2000s a truth commission has carried out an independent investigation and the horrible facts have been documented and brought to light.
Han Kang takes on the difficult task of fictionalising the 'Jeju massacre', and she pulls it off. 'We Do Not Part' is not a historical novel though, it retains Han Kang's unique style, playing with dreams and supernatural elements and also the vivid descriptions of excruciating pain and cruelty.
As in The Vegetarian and Human Acts we have a female protagonist, Kyungha, unable to cope with the demands of normal life. One day, Kyungha receives a call from her artist friend, Inseon, who needs her help urgently - she has sown off her fingers. The second half of the novel is more engaged, as it largely describes the massacre by way of presentating the research carried out by Inseon and discovered by Kyungha.
I found it really beautifully done - the snowy, dreamlike island with its silent secrets and the friendship between the two women struggling to find a way to recover and remember.
October 10, 2024
Is it somehow incomplete, the parting?
Is it deferred? The goodbye - or the closure? Indifintely?
We Do Not Part deals with a dark part of Korea's story, the Jeju massacre. And it builds into the bigger discourse of how contemporary South Korea was forged in ash, blood, and divisions that predated the North/South split.
Content warning for suicidal ideation and everything war/genocide (rape, killing children, torture, etc.). It's a harrowing read. It feels like a 'there and back again' with Han Kang, she seems to have taken it upon herself to expose Korea's bloodiest history.
I especially appreciated how she 'censors' the names of the places, which kinda reflects how controversial Jeju's massacre and Gwangju's uprising remain as of this day. I'm not super familiar with the massacre, but I think the book specifically looks at the Bukcheon (Pukcheon) killings. There's a much bigger discussion here about what to call it - Jeju's genocide, massacre, uprising? And I just loved how she didn't shy away from gritty details.
The book has two parts of the same story, each with a different focus, which then collide into a third part that wraps it up. The first part is about Kyungha and Inseon. Kyungha's struggles with depression and suicidal ideation when her friend Inseon gets into an accident and asks for a favor. That little favor turns into a difficult (and life-threatening, if I may say) trip that I think helps her find purpose. The second part is... a dream, a vision, or reality. Kyungha, still in Jeju, uncovers clippings and writings about the Jeju massacre.
The first part, I hated. It was dull, long, and insipid. The second part was just emotional and harrowing, and I love how the setting was confusing (where/when are we?).
*ARC received for free, this has not impacted my review.
Is it deferred? The goodbye - or the closure? Indifintely?
We Do Not Part deals with a dark part of Korea's story, the Jeju massacre. And it builds into the bigger discourse of how contemporary South Korea was forged in ash, blood, and divisions that predated the North/South split.
Content warning for suicidal ideation and everything war/genocide (rape, killing children, torture, etc.). It's a harrowing read. It feels like a 'there and back again' with Han Kang, she seems to have taken it upon herself to expose Korea's bloodiest history.
I especially appreciated how she 'censors' the names of the places, which kinda reflects how controversial Jeju's massacre and Gwangju's uprising remain as of this day. I'm not super familiar with the massacre, but I think the book specifically looks at the Bukcheon (Pukcheon) killings. There's a much bigger discussion here about what to call it - Jeju's genocide, massacre, uprising? And I just loved how she didn't shy away from gritty details.
The book has two parts of the same story, each with a different focus, which then collide into a third part that wraps it up. The first part is about Kyungha and Inseon. Kyungha's struggles with depression and suicidal ideation when her friend Inseon gets into an accident and asks for a favor. That little favor turns into a difficult (and life-threatening, if I may say) trip that I think helps her find purpose. The second part is... a dream, a vision, or reality. Kyungha, still in Jeju, uncovers clippings and writings about the Jeju massacre.
The first part, I hated. It was dull, long, and insipid. The second part was just emotional and harrowing, and I love how the setting was confusing (where/when are we?).
*ARC received for free, this has not impacted my review.
October 15, 2024
Something fortuitous happened when I was halfway through my reading of We Do Not Part. I received a text that Han Kang had just won the Nobel Prize.
As an admirer of her work, I was elated. If there is any doubt that Han Kang is an author who deserved this prize, that doubt will be dispelled with We Do Not Part. It is exquisite, showcasing a writer at the zenith of her powers.
Here, she advances a conversation she began in Human Acts: how do the bereaved cope with suppression, denial, and the rippling effects of a systematic genocide that for decades has been shrouded in silence? At the heart of the story is the reckoning with the Jeju uprising. It led to the slaughter of 30 thousand Jeju civilians starting in mid-November 1948, even when rows of emaciated people held up branches with white cloth, an entreaty to the soldiers not to shoot.
The novel shifts from dream to reality, from shadow to flickering light, from fantastical scenes to brutal veracity. Our first-person narrator, Kyungha, is entreated by her abruptly hospitalized Jeju friend, Inseon – an artist and filmmaker -- to hasten to her far-away home to save her pet bird before she dies from thirst. Kyungha does her bidding, but a fierce snowstorm outside covers her tracks and leaves her freezing, starving, and half-dead.
The symbolism is elegant. The pure-driven snow, which has its own heft may well be a symbol of the Korean cover-up of the atrocity committed. The shadows that Kyungha sees on the walls are most certainly the ghosts of the murdered who demand recognition and justice. Even the title, We Do Not Part, goes beyond the art installation that these close friends are planning together; it also lives on the cusp of “we refuse to part by refusing to say goodbye, or as in we actually don’t part ways.” Put another way, the parting is incomplete or deferred – perhaps indefinitely.
Han Kang joins other esteemed writers whose purpose is to show that inevitably, a frame leaps up even in the worst inhumanity through art, stories, and a pursuit of the truth. This haunting book and its masterful prose took my breath away. I am so grateful to Hogarth for providing me with an early copy of this monumental work in exchange for an honest review.
As an admirer of her work, I was elated. If there is any doubt that Han Kang is an author who deserved this prize, that doubt will be dispelled with We Do Not Part. It is exquisite, showcasing a writer at the zenith of her powers.
Here, she advances a conversation she began in Human Acts: how do the bereaved cope with suppression, denial, and the rippling effects of a systematic genocide that for decades has been shrouded in silence? At the heart of the story is the reckoning with the Jeju uprising. It led to the slaughter of 30 thousand Jeju civilians starting in mid-November 1948, even when rows of emaciated people held up branches with white cloth, an entreaty to the soldiers not to shoot.
The novel shifts from dream to reality, from shadow to flickering light, from fantastical scenes to brutal veracity. Our first-person narrator, Kyungha, is entreated by her abruptly hospitalized Jeju friend, Inseon – an artist and filmmaker -- to hasten to her far-away home to save her pet bird before she dies from thirst. Kyungha does her bidding, but a fierce snowstorm outside covers her tracks and leaves her freezing, starving, and half-dead.
The symbolism is elegant. The pure-driven snow, which has its own heft may well be a symbol of the Korean cover-up of the atrocity committed. The shadows that Kyungha sees on the walls are most certainly the ghosts of the murdered who demand recognition and justice. Even the title, We Do Not Part, goes beyond the art installation that these close friends are planning together; it also lives on the cusp of “we refuse to part by refusing to say goodbye, or as in we actually don’t part ways.” Put another way, the parting is incomplete or deferred – perhaps indefinitely.
Han Kang joins other esteemed writers whose purpose is to show that inevitably, a frame leaps up even in the worst inhumanity through art, stories, and a pursuit of the truth. This haunting book and its masterful prose took my breath away. I am so grateful to Hogarth for providing me with an early copy of this monumental work in exchange for an honest review.
November 3, 2024
2nd read completed on Nov. 1st. 2024
"내 기척에 엄마가 돌아보고는 가만히 웃으며 내 뺨을 손바닥으로 쓸었어.
뒷머리도, 어깨도, 등고 이어서 쓰다듬었어.
뻐근한 사랑이 살갗을 타고 스며들었던 걸 기억해.
골수에 사무치고 심장이 오르라드는.....
그 때 알았어. 사랑이 얼마나 무서운 고통인지."
The writer, Han Kang talks about another deep wounds from Korean history; Jeju 4.3 1948-1949.
I read this book with my body. My whole bodily sensation was involved reading this story. It was painful- I felt lethargic, sweaty, chilled, frozen, cut and spooked. Han Kang's words provoke uncanny bodily sensations- wounds in history seems to become alive and very personal.
Japanese occupation, DongHak movement, Partisan (빨치산), 4.3. Jeju, Korean war and 5.18 Gwangju- Korean modern history left so much trauma. I wonder even without experiencing these firsthand, whole Koreans are perhaps traumatized. Just knowing your life can be crushed by the same people who shared your heritage. Just knowing having a different idea and belief are enough to kill you and your infant child. Enough to traumatize the whole country and generations to follow.
I do wonder whether the writer, Han Kang (like one of the main character in the book) suffered writing this, living through the history again to write and remember. I imagine the writer must have experience the story in her body, as she brought the story alive.
"내 기척에 엄마가 돌아보고는 가만히 웃으며 내 뺨을 손바닥으로 쓸었어.
뒷머리도, 어깨도, 등고 이어서 쓰다듬었어.
뻐근한 사랑이 살갗을 타고 스며들었던 걸 기억해.
골수에 사무치고 심장이 오르라드는.....
그 때 알았어. 사랑이 얼마나 무서운 고통인지."
The writer, Han Kang talks about another deep wounds from Korean history; Jeju 4.3 1948-1949.
I read this book with my body. My whole bodily sensation was involved reading this story. It was painful- I felt lethargic, sweaty, chilled, frozen, cut and spooked. Han Kang's words provoke uncanny bodily sensations- wounds in history seems to become alive and very personal.
Japanese occupation, DongHak movement, Partisan (빨치산), 4.3. Jeju, Korean war and 5.18 Gwangju- Korean modern history left so much trauma. I wonder even without experiencing these firsthand, whole Koreans are perhaps traumatized. Just knowing your life can be crushed by the same people who shared your heritage. Just knowing having a different idea and belief are enough to kill you and your infant child. Enough to traumatize the whole country and generations to follow.
I do wonder whether the writer, Han Kang (like one of the main character in the book) suffered writing this, living through the history again to write and remember. I imagine the writer must have experience the story in her body, as she brought the story alive.
January 17, 2024
„Nie mówię żegnaj” to książka, która nie była dla mnie łatwą lekturą. To powieść wymagająca, zarówno ze strony fabularnej, jak i językowej, jednak niewątpliwie jest to również poruszająca i ważna historia. Co więcej, jest to książka nawiązująca do prawdziwych wydarzeń historycznych, dzięki czemu jej wartość emocjonalna miała dla mnie dużo większe znaczenie, a portrety psychologiczne bohaterek dopełniły ją w genialny sposób. To przede wszystkim opowieść o walce i bezgranicznej miłości. Napisana w zupełnie kontrastującym stylu - poetyckim, barwnym, przyniosła mi wartościowe przeżycie literackie. Niewątpliwie jest to pozycja warta uwagi.
June 25, 2024
Birinden hesap sormanız için yakasına yapışmanız gerektiğini düşünürsünüz. Hakkınızı ancak bu şekilde alabileceğinize inandırıldığınızdan belki de. Ama bu çoğunlukla işe yaramaz. Koca bir yorgunluk kalır geriye.
Başka bir yolu daha olabilir hesaplaşmanın: yazmak.
Kanarken kanatabilirsiniz çünkü. Aynı şiddetle olmasa da sarsabilirsiniz.
Han Kang yine hesaplaşıyor. Sapkınlıklardan, kendi geçmişinden, Gwangju’dan sonra bu sefer Jeju’yla. Bir arkadaşlığı 3 Nisan 1948’e götürüyor. Kuşaklar atlıyor, bugünün acısının siyah köklerini yıllar öncesinden topluyor.
Parçalı, dağınık bir kitap Veda Etmiyorum. Sebebi bugün bile yerlerine oturmamış taşlar. Okudukça ve bilhassa sona geldiğinizde anlıyorsunuz.
.
Han Kang yine şaşırtmıyor beni. Çekmediğim bir acıya ortak ediyor.
.
Göksel Türközü çevirisi, Tahir Berk Yılmaz kapak tasarımıyla ~
Başka bir yolu daha olabilir hesaplaşmanın: yazmak.
Kanarken kanatabilirsiniz çünkü. Aynı şiddetle olmasa da sarsabilirsiniz.
Han Kang yine hesaplaşıyor. Sapkınlıklardan, kendi geçmişinden, Gwangju’dan sonra bu sefer Jeju’yla. Bir arkadaşlığı 3 Nisan 1948’e götürüyor. Kuşaklar atlıyor, bugünün acısının siyah köklerini yıllar öncesinden topluyor.
Parçalı, dağınık bir kitap Veda Etmiyorum. Sebebi bugün bile yerlerine oturmamış taşlar. Okudukça ve bilhassa sona geldiğinizde anlıyorsunuz.
.
Han Kang yine şaşırtmıyor beni. Çekmediğim bir acıya ortak ediyor.
.
Göksel Türközü çevirisi, Tahir Berk Yılmaz kapak tasarımıyla ~
March 21, 2024
Läste ut sista sidorna efter författarsamtalet på Littfest, ett lågmält och fint samtal som också lyfte fram kopplingen mellan huvudpersonen/berättaren och Han Kang själv, även om hon förstås blivit en karaktär. Intressant också hur hon sa att hon levt och skrivit hela dagen som sin karaktär, som skrivmetod. Hela början av boken njöt jag framför allt av den självklara och välarbetade berättarstilen, förtätat och starkt. Jaget är i sönderfall, härjad av mardrömmar och en sorg över att ha förlorat sin familj, som jag uppfattade det på grund av sitt skrivande, tidigare böcker om atrociteter i landets historia som hon inte kan släppa. Hon är suicidal, ska bara få till sitt avskedsbrev, när vännen Inseon hör av sig, en dokumentärfilmare hon samarbetat med förut och börjat planera ett konstprojekt, baserat på hennes mardrömmar om svarta trädstammar på ett gravfält, som blir översköljt av tidvattnet. Från mitten, börjar verkligheten luckras upp, när jaget beger sig i snöstorm till vännen Inseons hus på Jeju, för att rädda hennes fågel. Berättandets ändrar då också form och blir mer fragmentarisk, med tidshopp och perspektivbyten, och fokus blir de massakrar som skett på ön, och som jaget inte vetat att Inseon har en personlig koppling till. Snön är mellanrummet, mellan liv och död, fantasi och verklighet, och i den glipan berättar Inseon sin familjs berättelse. Oerhört starkt, skickligt berättat och oväntat. Det finns element av saga, av någon slags magisk realism, och samtidigt en brutalitet och ett avskalande, i det mycket reella och påtagliga faktiska som har skett i historien, som får en att rysa. Han Kang är en ordkonstnär.
November 19, 2023
Entre rêve et réalité, on apprend un pan sombre de l'histoire de la Corée. J'aurais aimé en savoir plus sur la narratrice, elle aussi presque fantômatique, mais j'ai adoré la plume.
January 26, 2024
"Nie mówię żegnaj" to moje pierwsze spotkanie z twórczością Han Kang. Pierwsze i raczej nie ostatnie.
❄️ Historia zaczyna się dość niepozornie. Życiowe rozterki, nękające głowę sny i piętrzące się problemy. Potem akcja przyśpiesza i nagle z główną bohaterką brniemy przez śnieżną zamieć w poszukiwaniu chaty na krańcu świata.
❄️ Kiedy poznajemy opowieści sprzed lat, mamy ciarki na skórze. Opisy ludobójstwa na wyspie Czedżu (w 1948 roku) nie należą do łatwych, więc to na pewno nie jest książka dla każdego. Pełno tu kobiet i dzieci. Ich losy są opisane w sposób bardzo dosadny, obrazowy. Kleją się one do czytelnika tak jak klei się spadający z nieba śnieg. Jego w tej historii nie brakuje. Podobnie jak trzech kobiet, bohaterek z krwi i kości. To dzięki determinacji najstarszej z nich dowiadujemy się, co działo się na wyspie i jaki wpływ miało to na historię młodszego pokolenia.
❄️ Mam problem z tą książką, bo ogromnie podobał mi się język, jego poetyckość oraz sama historia. Mam jednak wątpliwości co do sposobu jej ukazania. Pierwsza część lektury była wciągająca, wręcz nieco tajemnicza. Druga natomiast została ostro poszatkowana przez autorkę i choć wywołała we mnie emocje to straciła na takiej uniwersalności, sama nie wiem jak to określić, brakuje mi tu odpowiedniego słowa. Po prostu nie widziałam zbyt dużego związku pomiędzy papugą a masakrą pośród miejscowej ludności...
Książkę oceniłam na 3,5/5 gwiazdki. Nie żałuję czasu poświęconego na lekturę, ale nie sądzę też, aby ta pozycja pojawiła się w tegorocznej topce.
❄️ Historia zaczyna się dość niepozornie. Życiowe rozterki, nękające głowę sny i piętrzące się problemy. Potem akcja przyśpiesza i nagle z główną bohaterką brniemy przez śnieżną zamieć w poszukiwaniu chaty na krańcu świata.
❄️ Kiedy poznajemy opowieści sprzed lat, mamy ciarki na skórze. Opisy ludobójstwa na wyspie Czedżu (w 1948 roku) nie należą do łatwych, więc to na pewno nie jest książka dla każdego. Pełno tu kobiet i dzieci. Ich losy są opisane w sposób bardzo dosadny, obrazowy. Kleją się one do czytelnika tak jak klei się spadający z nieba śnieg. Jego w tej historii nie brakuje. Podobnie jak trzech kobiet, bohaterek z krwi i kości. To dzięki determinacji najstarszej z nich dowiadujemy się, co działo się na wyspie i jaki wpływ miało to na historię młodszego pokolenia.
❄️ Mam problem z tą książką, bo ogromnie podobał mi się język, jego poetyckość oraz sama historia. Mam jednak wątpliwości co do sposobu jej ukazania. Pierwsza część lektury była wciągająca, wręcz nieco tajemnicza. Druga natomiast została ostro poszatkowana przez autorkę i choć wywołała we mnie emocje to straciła na takiej uniwersalności, sama nie wiem jak to określić, brakuje mi tu odpowiedniego słowa. Po prostu nie widziałam zbyt dużego związku pomiędzy papugą a masakrą pośród miejscowej ludności...
Książkę oceniłam na 3,5/5 gwiazdki. Nie żałuję czasu poświęconego na lekturę, ale nie sądzę też, aby ta pozycja pojawiła się w tegorocznej topce.
February 11, 2024
Ik kon niet stoppen met dit te lezen
stylistisch een parel
geschiedkundig een eye-opener
je kan niet meer niet-weten
tegelijk de afschuw
het kruipt onder je vel
vreselijk, vreselijk schoon boek
https://www.tzum.info/2023/12/recensi...
stylistisch een parel
geschiedkundig een eye-opener
je kan niet meer niet-weten
tegelijk de afschuw
het kruipt onder je vel
vreselijk, vreselijk schoon boek
https://www.tzum.info/2023/12/recensi...
October 31, 2023
3.5 🌟 woooow ik ben de allereerste hihi
June 2, 2024
Yeah, that's... a choice of a book to read with the news right now.
Even the infants?
Yes, because total annihilation was the goal.
Annihilation of what?
Communists.
Like in Human Acts , Kang revisits the unhealed scar of Korea's 20th century. This time with the focus on the late 40s and 50s, as the Cold War was ramping up, as the Korean War was beginning, as absolutely no dissidence could be tolerated. So there are thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands buried and officially forgotten. Hundreds of thousands of families forced to live without knowing, for 50 years until the government admitted it. How do you move on from that?
The snow starts falling in the narrator's dream and never stops. Snow covers everything. Snow freezes everything. Snow is death. But snow is also malleable, it insulates, it shows everything in sharp contrast.
For a long time I'm not completely sold on Kang's narrative choices here; the way the novel starts in personal trauma, swerves into Haushoferian survival drama, then suddenly becomes a dig through archives, through memories. But man, that finale. Those last lines. That snow.
Even the infants?
Yes, because total annihilation was the goal.
Annihilation of what?
Communists.
Like in Human Acts , Kang revisits the unhealed scar of Korea's 20th century. This time with the focus on the late 40s and 50s, as the Cold War was ramping up, as the Korean War was beginning, as absolutely no dissidence could be tolerated. So there are thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands buried and officially forgotten. Hundreds of thousands of families forced to live without knowing, for 50 years until the government admitted it. How do you move on from that?
The snow starts falling in the narrator's dream and never stops. Snow covers everything. Snow freezes everything. Snow is death. But snow is also malleable, it insulates, it shows everything in sharp contrast.
For a long time I'm not completely sold on Kang's narrative choices here; the way the novel starts in personal trauma, swerves into Haushoferian survival drama, then suddenly becomes a dig through archives, through memories. But man, that finale. Those last lines. That snow.
October 21, 2024
A dreamlike story that manages to be both abstract and firmly rooted in the horrors and grief of reality. Everything I was missing in Greek Lessons, the human connection, any semblance of emotional impact, I found here in Kang’s latest, along with, of course, her signature poetic prose.
A woman, plagued by nightmares and barely surviving, is sent on a somewhat ridiculous errand by a friend stuck in the hospital. The first half of the novel is rather straightforward as it details the woman’s recent past and her journey to the friend’s homeland on the island of Jeju. In the second half, as the woman arrives at her friend’s isolated home after a perilous journey, the edges of reality become less defined as the story segues into a dreamlike state where the ensuing events may or may not take place in the corporeal world.
What is undeniably real, however, are the events the woman begins to learn about in excruciating detail: the 1948 Jeju massacre and the hundreds of thousands of innocent lives lost in the war that followed. Guided by the research the friend and the friend’s mother have done on the subject, a haunting story of loss, generational trauma, and the power of memory rises to the surface.
Kang’s writing is filled with vivid imagery, painting scene after scene of snow and shadow filled landscapes. More than mere descriptions, the snow, shadows, and trees that fill this story also serve as symbols for the atrocities committed and covered up and the shadowy ghosts of the victims that have yet to be given a final resting place. Connections abound between descriptions of the natural world and the dark history being revealed.
The pace is slow, but the story does not suffer, instead it captivates as it drags the reader down deeper and deeper into the dark depths, making us bear witness to our shared past and forcing us to reckon with the fact that such savage history is not only in the rearview mirror, but continues in front of our very eyes today.
A woman, plagued by nightmares and barely surviving, is sent on a somewhat ridiculous errand by a friend stuck in the hospital. The first half of the novel is rather straightforward as it details the woman’s recent past and her journey to the friend’s homeland on the island of Jeju. In the second half, as the woman arrives at her friend’s isolated home after a perilous journey, the edges of reality become less defined as the story segues into a dreamlike state where the ensuing events may or may not take place in the corporeal world.
What is undeniably real, however, are the events the woman begins to learn about in excruciating detail: the 1948 Jeju massacre and the hundreds of thousands of innocent lives lost in the war that followed. Guided by the research the friend and the friend’s mother have done on the subject, a haunting story of loss, generational trauma, and the power of memory rises to the surface.
Kang’s writing is filled with vivid imagery, painting scene after scene of snow and shadow filled landscapes. More than mere descriptions, the snow, shadows, and trees that fill this story also serve as symbols for the atrocities committed and covered up and the shadowy ghosts of the victims that have yet to be given a final resting place. Connections abound between descriptions of the natural world and the dark history being revealed.
The pace is slow, but the story does not suffer, instead it captivates as it drags the reader down deeper and deeper into the dark depths, making us bear witness to our shared past and forcing us to reckon with the fact that such savage history is not only in the rearview mirror, but continues in front of our very eyes today.
July 13, 2024
Şahane bir roman. Bir kitabı ne kadar çok sevebilirsem o kadar çok sevdim. Ne desem az kalacak gibi hissediyorum.
October 22, 2024
(4,5 - 5)
Inför Littfest i våras blev jag tillfrågad om att ge ett kort boktips av någon av de medverkande författarna i programtidningen. Eftersom Han Kang var bokad (stort!) var min första tanke att välja "Vegetarianen" som i min bok är ett modernt mästerverk, men sen tänkte jag att nån annan säkert skulle ta den (vilket ingen gjorde ....) och gick med en mer obskyr serieroman istället. Det valet ångrar jag lite idag.
Däremot ångrar jag inte att jag i samband med besöket köpte hennes senaste översatta bok. Det har av olika anledningar inte blivit att jag läst den tidigare, men ett Nobelpris är väl en anledning god som någon att åtgärda det.
Liksom "Vegetarianen" är det här en mästerlig roman som suddar ut verklighetens gränser samtidigt som den säger något viktigt om både Sydkoreas historia och mänsklighetens återkommande tendens till våld och massakrer (Gaza...) och vikten av att gräva i det förflutna och inte tillåta glömskan att härska. Den genom hela boken närvarande snön blir både en metafor och något högst verkligt, så pass att jag när jag tittar ut genom tågfönstret under läsningen för ett ögonblick tycker mig se ett snötäckt landskap.
Det är några år sedan jag läste Han Kangs tidigare översatta böcker men det känns som att "Jag tar inte farväl" plockar upp delar från dem alla tre och kombinerar på ett fantastiskt vis. Om den är bättre än "Vegetarianen" vet jag inte, men långt ifrån är det inte. Positivt är hur som helst att vi i och med Nobelpriset lär få se många fler översatta titlar framöver.
Slut på superlativ för den här gången men den här boken knockade mig betydligt mer än jag hade trott.
Inför Littfest i våras blev jag tillfrågad om att ge ett kort boktips av någon av de medverkande författarna i programtidningen. Eftersom Han Kang var bokad (stort!) var min första tanke att välja "Vegetarianen" som i min bok är ett modernt mästerverk, men sen tänkte jag att nån annan säkert skulle ta den (vilket ingen gjorde ....) och gick med en mer obskyr serieroman istället. Det valet ångrar jag lite idag.
Däremot ångrar jag inte att jag i samband med besöket köpte hennes senaste översatta bok. Det har av olika anledningar inte blivit att jag läst den tidigare, men ett Nobelpris är väl en anledning god som någon att åtgärda det.
Liksom "Vegetarianen" är det här en mästerlig roman som suddar ut verklighetens gränser samtidigt som den säger något viktigt om både Sydkoreas historia och mänsklighetens återkommande tendens till våld och massakrer (Gaza...) och vikten av att gräva i det förflutna och inte tillåta glömskan att härska. Den genom hela boken närvarande snön blir både en metafor och något högst verkligt, så pass att jag när jag tittar ut genom tågfönstret under läsningen för ett ögonblick tycker mig se ett snötäckt landskap.
Det är några år sedan jag läste Han Kangs tidigare översatta böcker men det känns som att "Jag tar inte farväl" plockar upp delar från dem alla tre och kombinerar på ett fantastiskt vis. Om den är bättre än "Vegetarianen" vet jag inte, men långt ifrån är det inte. Positivt är hur som helst att vi i och med Nobelpriset lär få se många fler översatta titlar framöver.
Slut på superlativ för den här gången men den här boken knockade mig betydligt mer än jag hade trott.
October 27, 2024
Ne çok acılar var ... Her seferinde farklı coğrafya benzer örüntüler ...İşte edebiyatın sunduğu ayna ,perspektif ,bakış açısı her neyse bizi birleştiriyor.
Daha iyi bir aday her zaman olabilir tabiki ama Nobel 'i alması beni hiç rahatsız etmeyen yazarlardan biri .
Gene kurgu 3 aşamalı ve metaforlardan metaforlara geçmeli . Durgun durağan anlatım süzülürcesine başlarken sona doğru yükselen bir ritme dönüştü .
Kayıp ,yas ,geçmiş, anılar,unutuluş üzerine de düşünülebilir .
Kore ve birçok devlet geleceğe yüzünü çevirip yeni yarışta kendine yer açmaya çalışırken geçmişi ile yüzleşiyor mu acaba ?
Daha iyi bir aday her zaman olabilir tabiki ama Nobel 'i alması beni hiç rahatsız etmeyen yazarlardan biri .
Gene kurgu 3 aşamalı ve metaforlardan metaforlara geçmeli . Durgun durağan anlatım süzülürcesine başlarken sona doğru yükselen bir ritme dönüştü .
Kayıp ,yas ,geçmiş, anılar,unutuluş üzerine de düşünülebilir .
Kore ve birçok devlet geleceğe yüzünü çevirip yeni yarışta kendine yer açmaya çalışırken geçmişi ile yüzleşiyor mu acaba ?
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