the vegetarian by han kang
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
when you close the last page of the vegetarian by han kang you feel faintly nauseated and strangely moved at the same time. the prose moves with an eerie softness that contradicts the violence simmering underneath it. on its surface, the premise is deceptively simple : a woman decides she will no longer eat meat. but the novel is not really about vegetarianism. it is about refusal of violence, refusal of patriarchy, refusal of the obedience expected from women who are meant to pass through life without disturbing anything. in the first section, narrated by the husband, we encounter a man who proudly describes himself as completely ordinary. he chose his wife precisely because she seemed equally unremarkable. she was compliant and undemanding, the perfect wife because she would not interfere with the smooth functioning of his life. the disturbing brilliance of this section lies in how normal he sounds. he is simply a man who believes the world should revolve around his convenience.
so when yeong-hye suddenly announces that she will stop eating meat, it destabilizes him far more than such a decision logically should. after all, refusing meat is a small thing. but it is also the first assertion of autonomy he has ever witnessed from her. the moment she begins making decisions about her own body, the entire structure around her begins to panic. and gradually this dietary refusal expands. first meat, then sex, then the larger expectations placed upon her as a wife and daughter. the fact that she has stepped outside the script unsettles everyone.
the novel uses vegetarianism as a symbolic refusal of violence. yeong-hye’s dreams are filled with blood, animal flesh, and slaughterhouses. meat is a representation of the violence embedded in human existence. by rejecting meat, she attempts to withdraw from that cycle entirely. it begins as an ethical decision but gradually becomes a rejection of the human condition.
the most disturbing element of the novel is the way yeong-hye’s body becomes the battleground where everyone else attempts to reassert control. her father forces meat into her mouth, her husband treats her body as marital property, and later her brother-in-law transforms her into an artistic obsession. each man relates to her body differently, yet none of them truly recognize her as a person.
if the husband represents mundane entitlement, the brother-in-law in the second section embodies another form of violation being aestheticization. he becomes obsessed with the birthmark on yeong-hye’s body and convinces himself that his fascination is artistic. the husband treated her like domestic furniture, the artist treats her like a canvas.
this section also introduces one of the novel’s most haunting things, which is, yeong-hye’s growing belief that she is becoming plant-like. plants represent the opposite of everything human. they do not consume life, they just sit there and absorb sunlight. in imagining herself as a tree, she is attempting to escape a world built on violence and consumption.
by the final section, narrated by her sister in-hye, the story takes on a different emotional register. until this point yeong-hye has been observed and interpreted by others. she never gets to narrate her own story. this structural choice is deliberate. the novel mirrors the way women are so often spoken about rather than truly heard.
through in-hye’s perspective we begin to glimpse the violence buried in their childhood. the authoritarian father, the punishments, the atmosphere of fear that lingered long after the events themselves had passed are horrifying. the novel suggests that trauma does not end when the event ends. it settles into the body and resurfaces in ways that are difficult to understand.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
when you close the last page of the vegetarian by han kang you feel faintly nauseated and strangely moved at the same time. the prose moves with an eerie softness that contradicts the violence simmering underneath it. on its surface, the premise is deceptively simple : a woman decides she will no longer eat meat. but the novel is not really about vegetarianism. it is about refusal of violence, refusal of patriarchy, refusal of the obedience expected from women who are meant to pass through life without disturbing anything. in the first section, narrated by the husband, we encounter a man who proudly describes himself as completely ordinary. he chose his wife precisely because she seemed equally unremarkable. she was compliant and undemanding, the perfect wife because she would not interfere with the smooth functioning of his life. the disturbing brilliance of this section lies in how normal he sounds. he is simply a man who believes the world should revolve around his convenience.
so when yeong-hye suddenly announces that she will stop eating meat, it destabilizes him far more than such a decision logically should. after all, refusing meat is a small thing. but it is also the first assertion of autonomy he has ever witnessed from her. the moment she begins making decisions about her own body, the entire structure around her begins to panic. and gradually this dietary refusal expands. first meat, then sex, then the larger expectations placed upon her as a wife and daughter. the fact that she has stepped outside the script unsettles everyone.
the novel uses vegetarianism as a symbolic refusal of violence. yeong-hye’s dreams are filled with blood, animal flesh, and slaughterhouses. meat is a representation of the violence embedded in human existence. by rejecting meat, she attempts to withdraw from that cycle entirely. it begins as an ethical decision but gradually becomes a rejection of the human condition.
the most disturbing element of the novel is the way yeong-hye’s body becomes the battleground where everyone else attempts to reassert control. her father forces meat into her mouth, her husband treats her body as marital property, and later her brother-in-law transforms her into an artistic obsession. each man relates to her body differently, yet none of them truly recognize her as a person.
if the husband represents mundane entitlement, the brother-in-law in the second section embodies another form of violation being aestheticization. he becomes obsessed with the birthmark on yeong-hye’s body and convinces himself that his fascination is artistic. the husband treated her like domestic furniture, the artist treats her like a canvas.
this section also introduces one of the novel’s most haunting things, which is, yeong-hye’s growing belief that she is becoming plant-like. plants represent the opposite of everything human. they do not consume life, they just sit there and absorb sunlight. in imagining herself as a tree, she is attempting to escape a world built on violence and consumption.
by the final section, narrated by her sister in-hye, the story takes on a different emotional register. until this point yeong-hye has been observed and interpreted by others. she never gets to narrate her own story. this structural choice is deliberate. the novel mirrors the way women are so often spoken about rather than truly heard.
through in-hye’s perspective we begin to glimpse the violence buried in their childhood. the authoritarian father, the punishments, the atmosphere of fear that lingered long after the events themselves had passed are horrifying. the novel suggests that trauma does not end when the event ends. it settles into the body and resurfaces in ways that are difficult to understand.
❤8
in-hye and yeong-hye represent two different responses to that inherited violence. one survives by adapting to the system and running a business, raising a child. the other refuses the system entirely and drifts further away from the human world.
as Simone de Beauvoir once wrote, "one is not born, but rather becomes, a woman." the vegetarian asks what happens when a woman refuses that process of becoming. the result is isolation, incomprehension, and collapse. and yet her refusal carries power. she may not win, and she may not even survive in any conventional sense, but her silence disrupts the system that expected her obedience.
by the end the novel leaves you in a peculiar emotional state. it is dark, bleak, unsettling, and deeply uncomfortable, yet it is also strangely beautiful. certain images linger in the mind long after the book ends.
as Simone de Beauvoir once wrote, "one is not born, but rather becomes, a woman." the vegetarian asks what happens when a woman refuses that process of becoming. the result is isolation, incomprehension, and collapse. and yet her refusal carries power. she may not win, and she may not even survive in any conventional sense, but her silence disrupts the system that expected her obedience.
by the end the novel leaves you in a peculiar emotional state. it is dark, bleak, unsettling, and deeply uncomfortable, yet it is also strangely beautiful. certain images linger in the mind long after the book ends.
❤8
nessnote
ah and i watched chungking express. i NEED to watch wong's whole discography now because the cinematography is top notch. the story might seem dull to a lot of people but you need to understand a sense of alienation to feel something while watching it?
watched in the mood for love. i had been meaning to watch it for a long time. i’ve also been meaning to go through the whole filmography of wong kar-wai properly. the only one i had seen before this was chungking express. now i need to talk about this because hello???
❤4
nessnote
Photo
i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again- the depiction, the cinematography, it’s nothing like anything i’ve seen before. the use of colour in this film is so beautifully done. every frame looks like a painting. it’s genuinely a treat to the eyes.
the story itself is very minimal. the plot is simple - two neighbours slowly realise that their spouses are cheating on them with each other and then they start spendingtime with each other - that’s basically it. but the simplicity is the whole point. the cinematography fills the space so beautifully. it creates this sense of yearning. the way they look at each other when the other person isn’t looking, and then quickly avert their eyes when they are. it’s so intimate and delicate.
and the ending!!!! when he goes to cambodia and whispers his secret into the hollow of the stone. it’s about that story he tells earlier about how in the old days people would whisper their secrets into a tree and seal it with mud so no one would ever hear them. the idea that some feelings can only exist as secrets.
"he remembers those vanished years. as though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch." COME ON!
there’s also that moment where he says, "feelings can creep up just like that. i thought i was in control." and that is so true. you cant put a finger on when live happened to you. it just slowly settles somewhere inside you until one day you realise it has always been there.
this film made me feel everything.
the story itself is very minimal. the plot is simple - two neighbours slowly realise that their spouses are cheating on them with each other and then they start spendingtime with each other - that’s basically it. but the simplicity is the whole point. the cinematography fills the space so beautifully. it creates this sense of yearning. the way they look at each other when the other person isn’t looking, and then quickly avert their eyes when they are. it’s so intimate and delicate.
and the ending!!!! when he goes to cambodia and whispers his secret into the hollow of the stone. it’s about that story he tells earlier about how in the old days people would whisper their secrets into a tree and seal it with mud so no one would ever hear them. the idea that some feelings can only exist as secrets.
"he remembers those vanished years. as though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch." COME ON!
there’s also that moment where he says, "feelings can creep up just like that. i thought i was in control." and that is so true. you cant put a finger on when live happened to you. it just slowly settles somewhere inside you until one day you realise it has always been there.
this film made me feel everything.
❤10