The Vegetarian: All About Han Kang's Nobel Prize-Winning Book

The Vegetarian (Korean: Chaesikjuuija) is a South Korean three-part novel written by Han Kang and first published in 2007. Based on Han's 1997 short story "The Fruit of My Woman", The Vegetarian is set in modern-day Seoul and tells the story of Yeong-hye, a part-time graphic artist and home-maker, whose decision to stop eating meat after a bloody nightmare about human cruelty leads to devastating consequences in her personal and familial life.

Published on 30 October 2007 in South Korea by Changbi Publishers, The Vegetarian was received as "very extreme and bizarre" by the South Korean audience "Mongolian Mark", the second and central part of the novel, was awarded the prestigious Yi Sang Literary Prize. The Vegetarian has been translated into thirty one languages since its publication in 2007. They are English, French, Spanish (Spain), Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Spanish (Argentina), Polish, Dutch, German, Italian, Roman, Kurdish, Ukranian, Swedish, Hungarian, Turkish, Catalan, Finish, Icelandic, Arabic, Czech, Hebrew, Lithuanian, Portugese, Norwegian, Russian, Tamil, Malayalam, Slovene and Nepali.

The Vegetarian is Han's first novel to be translated into English in 2015 in the UK and February 2016 in the US. The book was translated from Korean into English by Deborah Smith, a British translator, who has been translating Korean into English since 2010. She is the founder of Tilted Axis Press, a non-profit publishing house focusing on contemporary fiction specifically from Asia. Speaking at the Seoul International Book Fair on 15 June 2016, Smith said that a translator "must be unfaithful to some aspects in order to be faithful to others. I try to stay faithful to the spirit, and faithful to the letter as much as I can, without compromising the spirit." Talking about the process, Han said, "Deborah usually sends me the file of her translation after she finishes, with notes and questions. And I send it back to her with my answers and notes. It is just like having a chat endlessly. I truly enjoy this process. I am lucky to have met Deborah, a wonderful translator who can render subtlety and delicacy."  Smith has said that her first attempt at Korean translation involved "looking up practically every other word in the dictionary". Smith has translated some of Han's other works, including Human Acts (2016) and The White Book (2017).

Smith's translation was criticized in South Korea for inaccuracies. The Los Angeles Times noted that Smith embellished Han's writing style, quoting a translator who called it an "adaptation" rather than a translation. Scholars have pointed out various mistakes, including concerns that Smith may have attributed some of the dialogue to the wrong characters. Writing for The Guardian, Claire Armitstead felt that Smith's "activist" translation helped make South Korean literature more accessible. Smith defended her translation in the Los Angeles Review of Books.

In May 2016, it won the 2016 Man Booker International Prize. The Vegetarian thus became the first recipient of the award after its reconfiguration in 2015, prior to which it was awarded to an author's body of work rather than a single novel. It is considered as Korean translated literature's biggest win since Kyung-Sook Shin's Please Look After Mom won the closing Man Asian Literary Prize in 2012. Prior to it winning the prize, The Vegetarian had sold close to 20,000 copies in the nine years since its first publication. In June 2016, Time included the book in its list of best books of 2016. 

Plot

The Vegetarian tells the story of Yeong-hye, a home-maker who, one day, suddenly decides to stop eating meat after a series of dreams involving images of animal slaughter. This abstention leads her to become distanced from her family and from society. The story is told in three parts: "The Vegetarian", "Mongolian Mark", and "Flaming Trees". The first section is narrated by Yeong-hye's husband, Mr. Cheong, in the first person. The second section is narrated in third person focusing on Yeong-hye's brother-in-law; and the third section remains in third-person but focuses on her sister, In-hye, while sporadically speaking in the present tense.

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"The Vegetarian"

Mr. Cheong considers his wife to be "completely unremarkable in any way". He explains that when he first met her, he was not even attracted to her and that suited him just fine. Mr. Cheong is content meandering through life; it seems as if his only goal is to live a conventional, unremarkable life. He chooses to marry his wife since he thinks she would prove to be a good, dutiful wife who would fit nicely into the kind of lifestyle he seeks. After several years of relatively normal marriage, Mr. Cheong wakes up to find his wife disposing of all meat products in the house. He demands an explanation, and Yeong-hye replies vaguely that "I had a dream." Mr. Cheong attempts to rationalize his wife's life decision over the next few months and to deal with vegetarian meals at home, but as Yeong-hye gradually starts to eat less and continues to get thinner, he eventually calls Yeong-hye's family and an intervention is scheduled. While around the dinner table, Yeong-hye's family attempts to convince her to eat meat; her father, who served in Vietnam and is known for his stern temperament, slaps her when she refuses. Her father then asks a reluctant Mr. Cheong and Yeong-hye's brother Yeong-ho to hold her arms while he force-feeds her a piece of pork. Yeong-hye breaks away, spits out the pork, grabs a fruit knife, and slits her wrist. The incredulous family rushes her to a hospital where she recovers and where Mr. Cheong admits to himself that she has become mentally unstable. As the section ends Yeong-hye manages to walk out of the hospital and when she is tracked down, she reveals a bird in her palm, which has a "predator's bite" in it, and she asks "Have I done something wrong?"

"Mongolian Mark"

The husband of Yeong-hye's sister, In-hye, whose name remains unstated, is a video artist. He imagines a love-making scene between two people, with their bodies decorated by painted flowers and, upon learning that Yeong-hye has a Mongolian spot birthmark shaped like a flower petal, he forms a plan to paint and record her in order to bring this artistic image to life. It is revealed that he is attracted to Yeong-hye, especially after checking up on her—the narrator reveals that Yeong-hye has been served divorce papers by Mr. Cheong—and finding her unabashedly naked in her apartment. Yeong-hye agrees to model for him and he paints flowers across her body in a studio rented from an art professor in the area. He follows up this project with a second piece of art, which involves recruiting a fellow artist to join Yeong-hye in a sexually-explicit film. When the brother-in-law asks if the two will engage in actual intercourse, his friend becomes ashamed and leaves. Yeong-hye, who had become aroused during this sequence, claims it was because of the flowers painted on the man's body. The brother-in-law asks a friend to paint flowers on him and visits Yeong-hye, where the two engage in a recorded moment of intercourse. When his wife discovers the film, she calls "emergency services", claiming that both he and Yeong-hye are mentally unwell. He contemplates jumping off of the balcony, most likely to his death, but remains "rooted to the spot" and is escorted out of the building by the authorities.

"Flaming Trees"

In-hye remains the only member of the family to support Yeong-hye after her mental and physical decline. She has separated from her husband after the events of the previous section, and is left to take care of their son in addition to her deteriorating sister. As Yeong-hye's behavior worsens, she is admitted to a mental hospital at Mount Ch'ukseong, where, despite receiving high-level treatment for anorexia nervosa and schizophrenia, she behaves gradually more plant-like. On one occasion she escapes the hospital and is found standing in a forest "soaked with rain as if she herself were one of the glistening trees". In-hye, who constantly ruminates about the pain of dealing with her divorce and the care of her child and who throughout the chapter shows signs of her own depression and mental instability, visits Yeong-hye regularly and continues to try to get her to eat. Yeong-hye has given up food altogether, and when In-hye witnesses the doctors force-feeding her and threatening sedation to prevent vomiting, In-hye bites the nurse holding her back and grabs her sister. In-hye and Yeong-hye are driven to a different hospital by ambulance, and In-hye observes trees as they pass by, which is a hint at the possible inheritance of similar vegetal psyche, which affects her as well.

Development

Han Kang's book became the first book to win the new edition of Man Booker International Prize.

Writing

Han first got the idea of writing about vegetation or plants when, as a university student, she came across the work of the noted South Korean writer Yi Sang. In particular, she was struck by the quote "I believe that humans should be plants." Han's lifelong exploration of the themes of violence and humanity is also reflected in the book, which primarily deals with human beings' natural and daily choices in terms of food. Talking to Sarah Shin for The White Review, she said, "While writing The Vegetarian, I was harboring questions about human violence and the (im)possibility of innocence. On the reverse side of the protagonist Yeong-hye’s extreme attempt to turn her back on violence by casting off her own human body and transforming into a plant lies a deep despair and doubt about humanity." In February 2016, while talking to Bethanne Patrick of Literary Hub, Han explained, "The idea for the book originally came to me as an image of a woman turning into a plant. I wrote a short story, “The Fruit of My Woman,” in 1997, where a woman literally turns into a plant. After several years (2003–2004) I reworked this image in The Vegetarian, in a darker and fiercer way." 

In a February 2016 interview with The Guardian, Han Kang said, "As a teenager I suffered typical questions: why pain, why death? I thought that books held the answers, but curiously I realized they contain only questions. Their writers were weak and vulnerable just like we were." Writing the book was a difficult task, she said, with the main cause being her joint problems which started in her mid-30s. She wrote the entire novella in longhand. Han received help from a video artist and a psychiatric hospital when researching the book. The second part of the book is primarily inspired by Han's experiences with the aforementioned artist whose body of work was extensively studied. 

The Vegetarian was first published in Korean in 2007 in South Korea as Chaeshikjueuija by Changbi Publishers. ASIA Publishers subsequently bought the rights to the book and published the English translation for distribution in South Korea. It also published the English versions of Han's novella "Convalescence", and her 2016 novel Human Acts.

Fraught, disturbing, and beautiful, Han Kang’s novel is about shame, desire, and our faltering attempts to understand the lives of others.

Yeong-hye and her husband are ordinary people living in modern-day South Korea. He is an office worker with moderate ambitions and mild manners; she is an uninspired but dutiful wife. But then Yeong-hye, seeking a more ‘plant-like’ existence, commits a shocking act of subversion: overnight, she vows to give up eating meat. Despite her husband and family’s attempts to intervene and force her to come to her senses, her rebellion manifests in ever more bizarre and frightening forms. Gradually, Yeong-hye spirals further and further into her fantasies in the hope of abandoning her fleshly constraints altogether.

The main characters Yeong-hye

Yeong-hye is the protagonist of The Vegetarian. She is a young woman who lives an unremarkable life in Seoul, Korea. She suffers from violent and disturbing dreams about the death of animals, which prompts her to stop eating meat - something that is almost unheard of in Korean culture. Yeong-hye’s act is seen as defiance and prompts those closest to her to intervene, which only exacerbates Yeong-hye’s withdrawal from the world around her.

Mr Cheong

Mr Cheong is Yeong-hye’s husband and narrator of the first section of the book. He is a businessman with low ambitions and old-fashioned principles, who expects his wife to conform. When Yeong-hye rebels by refusing to eat meat, he begins to punish her – physically, mentally and sexually. Eventually, Mr Cheong divorces Yeong-hye.

Unnamed brother-in-law

Yeong-hye’s brother-in-law narrates the second section of the book, titled ‘Mongolian Mark’. A video artist with a peculiar obsession for bodies painted with flowers, he is married to Yeong-hye’s sister, In-hye. He develops a dangerous infatuation with Yeong-hye, concocting a plan to see her naked by asking her to model for him and a fellow artist.

In-hye

In-hye is Yeong-hye’s older sister and narrator of the third section of the book. In-hye is more sympathetic than those around her to Yeong-hye’s situation and takes pity on her plight, as she experiences her own bouts of depression and mental health issues. She is the only one to intervene when her father tries to force-feed meat to Yeong-hye, and continues to visit her in hospital following a suicide attempt.

EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK: 

Yeong-hye and her husband are ordinary people living in modern day South Korea. He is an office worker with moderate ambitions and mild manners; she is an uninspired but dutiful wife. But then Yeong-hye, seeking a more ‘plant-like’ existence, commits a shocking act of subversion. As her rebellion manifests in ever more bizarre and frightening forms, Yeong-hye spirals further and further into her fantasies of abandoning her fleshly prison and becoming – impossibly, ecstatically – a tree.

Before my wife turned vegetarian, I’d always thought of her as completely unremarkable in every way. To be frank, the first time I met her I wasn’t even attracted to her. Middling height; bobbed hair neither long nor short; jaundiced, sickly-looking skin; somewhat prominent cheekbones; her timid, sallow aspect told me all I needed to know. As she came up to the table where I was waiting, I couldn’t help but notice her shoes – the plainest black shoes imaginable. And that walk of hers – neither fast nor slow, striding nor mincing.

However, if there wasn’t any special attraction, nor did any particular drawbacks present themselves, and therefore there was no reason for the two of us not to get married. The passive personality of this woman in whom I could detect neither freshness nor charm, or anything especially refined, suited me down to the ground. There was no need to affect intellectual leanings in order to win her over, or to worry that she might be comparing me to the preening men who pose in fashion catalogues, and she didn’t get worked up if I happened to be late for one of our meetings. The paunch that started appearing in my mid-twenties, my skinny legs and forearms that steadfastly refused to bulk up in spite of my best efforts, the inferiority complex I used to have about the size of my penis – I could rest assured that I wouldn’t have to fret about such things on her account.

I’ve always inclined towards the middle course in life. At school I chose to boss around those who were two or three years my junior, and with whom I could act the ringleader, rather than take my chances with those my own age, and later I chose which college to apply to based on my chances of obtaining a scholarship large enough for my needs. Ultimately, I settled for a job where I would be provided with a decent monthly salary in return for diligently carrying out my allotted tasks, at a company whose small size meant they would value my unremarkable skills. And so it was only natural that I would marry the most run-of-the-mill woman in the world. As for women who were pretty, intelligent, strikingly sensual, the daughters of rich families – they would only ever have served to disrupt my carefully ordered existence.

in keeping with my expectations, she made for a completely ordinary wife who went about things without any distasteful frivolousness. Every morning she got up at six a.m. to prepare rice and soup, and usually a bit of fish. From adolescence she’d contributed to her family’s income through the odd bit of part-time work. She ended up with a job as an assistant instructor at the computer graphics college she’d attended for a year, and was subcontracted by a manhwa publisher to work on the words for their speech bubbles, which she could do from home.

She was a woman of few words. It was rare for her to demand anything of me, and however late I was in getting home she never took it upon herself to kick up a fuss. Even when our days off happened to coincide, it wouldn’t occur to her to suggest we go out somewhere together. While I idled the afternoon away, TV remote in hand, she would shut herself up in her room. More than likely she would spend the time reading, which was practically her only hobby. For some unfathomable reason, reading was something she was able to really immerse herself in – reading books that looked so dull I couldn’t even bring myself to so much as take a look inside the covers. Only at mealtimes would she open the door and silently emerge to prepare the food. To be sure, that kind of wife, and that kind of lifestyle, did mean that I was unlikely to find my days particularly stimulating. On the other hand, if I’d had one of those wives whose phones ring on and off all day long with calls from friends or co-workers, or whose nagging periodically leads to screaming rows with their husbands, I would have been grateful when she finally wore herself out.

The only respect in which my wife was at all unusual was that she didn’t like wearing a bra. During the brief, sober period when we’d been dating, I happened to put my hand on her back only to find that I couldn’t feel a bra strap under her sweater, and when I realized what this meant I became quite aroused. In order to judge whether she might possibly have been trying to tell me something, I spent a minute or two looking at her through new eyes, studying her attitude. The outcome of my studies was that she wasn’t, in fact, trying to send any kind of signal. So if not, was it laziness, or just a sheer lack of concern? I couldn’t get my head round it. It wasn’t even as though she had shapely breasts which might suit the ‘no-bra look’. I would have preferred her to go around wearing one that was thickly padded, so that I could save face in front of my acquaintances.

Even in the summer, when I managed to persuade her to wear one for a while, she’d have it unhooked barely a minute after leaving the house. The undone hook would be clearly visible under her thin, light-coloured tops, but she wasn’t remotely concerned. When I tried reproaching her, she layered up with a vest instead of a bra in that sultry heat. She tried to justify herself by saying that she couldn’t stand wearing a bra because of the way it squeezed her breasts, and that I’d never worn one myself so I couldn’t understand how constricting it felt. Nevertheless, considering I knew for a fact that there were plenty of other women who, unlike her, didn’t have anything particularly against bras, I began to have doubts about this hypersensitivity of hers.

(Courtesy : Wikipedia and Agencies- KalimNews)