Name: We Do Not Part
Rating: 3.708333333333333 (12 reviews)

Han Kang

We Do Not Part

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER FINALIST FOR THE ANDREW CARNEGIE MEDAL FOR EXCELLENCE IN FICTION LONGLISTED FOR THE NATIONAL BOOK AWARD “[Han Kang’s] intense poetic prose . . . confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”—The Nobel Committee for Literature, in the citation for the Nobel Prize Han Kang’s most revelatory book since The Vegetarian—and her first published in English since winning the Nobel Prize—We Do Not Part tells the story of a friendship between two women while powerfully reckoning with a hidden chapter in Korean history. A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR: TIME, KIRKUS REVIEWS, BOOK RIOT, CHICAGO PUBLIC LIBRARY • ONE OF BOOKPAGE’S TEN BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR “[A] masterpiece.”—The Boston Globe “A haunting exploration of friendship amid historical trauma.”—Time “A novel that is both disquieting and entrancing.”—The Economist One winter morning in Seoul, Kyungha receives an urgent message from her friend Inseon to visit her at the hospital. 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 darkness that awaits her at her friend’s house. Blurring the boundaries between dream and reality, We Do Not Part powerfully brings 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 pain—and a celebration of life, however fragile it might be.

A Novel

Kang pulled no punches in this one. Trauma isn't just blunt, it's chilling and ever-present. The use of snow, the main character's own struggle with mortality, and the unapologetic peeling back of South Korea's history (including a criticism of the United States) really hits hard. 

Xander Torres

Could have been the most difficult read due to its subject matter,  but Han Kang knows how to soften the blows. Like how snow can be a magical event but can become unexpectedly sinister at times.

I think choosing or even involuntarily carrying generational trauma is like being born a turtle. You carry it in your back at the start and at the end of your life. You can hide in it, or hibernate however long—but the burden will still be there when you wake up. No amount of release or talking will even unburden it. It is there when you’re just going about life, and it’s there when you close your eyes.

I do think people who can live with this burden, breathe with the pain, and talk about the injustices to anyone are the bravest of people.

Nate

Could have been the most difficult read due to its subject matter,  but Han Kang knows how to soften the blows. Like how snow can be a magical event but can become unexpectedly sinister at times.

I think choosing or even involuntarily carrying generational trauma is like being born a turtle. You carry it in your back at the start and at the end of your life. You can hide in it, or hibernate however long—but the burden will still be there when you wake up. No amount of release or talking will even unburden it. It is there when you’re just going about life, and it’s there when you close your eyes.

I do think people who can live with this burden, breathe with the pain, and talk about the injustices to anyone are the bravest of people.

WINNER OF THE NOBEL PRIZE FOR LITERATURE 2024 Like a long winter's dream, this haunting and visionary new novel from 2024 Nobel Prize winner Han Kang takes us on a journey from contemporary South Korea into its painful history 'One of the most profound and skilled writers working on the contemporary world stage' Deborah Levy Beginning one morning in December, We Do Not Part traces the path of Kyungha as she travels from the city of Seoul into the forests of Jeju Island, to the home of her old friend Inseon. Hospitalized following an accident, Inseon has begged Kyungha to hasten there to feed her beloved pet bird, who will otherwise die. Kyungha takes the first plane to Jeju, but a snowstorm hits the island the moment she arrives, plunging her into a world of white. Beset by icy wind and snow squalls, she wonders if she will arrive in time to save the bird - or even survive the terrible cold which envelops her with every step. As night falls, she struggles her way to Inseon's house, unaware as yet of the descent into darkness which awaits her. There, the long-buried story of Inseon's family surges into light, in dreams and memories passed from mother to daughter, and in a painstakingly assembled archive documenting a terrible massacre on the island seventy years before. We Do Not Part is a hymn to friendship, a eulogy to the imagination and above all an indictment against forgetting. Translated by e. yaewon and Paige Aniyah Morris 'A vital voice and a writer of extraordinary humanity. Her work is a gift to us all' Max Porter 'A remarkable novelist who reflects our modern condition with courage, imagination, and keen intelligence' Min Jin Lee

l🌀

"We have to make sure scabs don’t form on the wound, Inseon went on. They said we have to let the blood flow, that I have to feel the pain. Otherwise the nerves below the cut will die"

I have consistently rated Kang a 4/5 on all of the books I have read and this one was the last and probably my least favourite. I don’t think that’s Kang’s fault, I think it’s mine. With her other novels I was able to read without context, but I think this one required me to research into the Jeju massacre. Thus because I felt a bit disconnected from the cultural context I found it slow in the middle. 

I won’t dwell on the negative though, I want to talk about what I did like. As per usual, the prose was stunning. The descriptions of snow and of internal feelings are poetic but mundane at the same time. Most of the lines I highlighted were of snow. 

g.m.

"We have to make sure scabs don’t form on the wound, Inseon went on. They said we have to let the blood flow, that I have to feel the pain. Otherwise the nerves below the cut will die"


I have consistently rated Kang a 4/5 on all of the books I have read and this one was the last and probably my least favourite. I don’t think that’s Kang’s fault, I think it’s mine. With her other novels I was able to read without context, but I think this one required me to research into the Jeju massacre. Thus because I felt a bit disconnected from the cultural context I found it slow in the middle. 


I won’t dwell on the negative though, I want to talk about what I did like. As per usual, the prose was stunning. The descriptions of snow and of internal feelings are poetic but mundane at the same time. Most of the lines I highlighted were of snow. 

the jeju massacre starts with an uprising, with the workers party of korea contesting the authority of the un and us-aligned syngman rhee. they stage industrial actions and cause widespread unrest, eventually leading to the declaration of martial law by rhee on the island. what follows is a familiar story of the cold war. leftists are liquidated en masse, with no concern for who the leftists actually are. pure exercise of power and violence. it lasted one year, leaving 14k-80k dead. this book isn't about this, not exactly. rather, it is about the passing of (war) trauma from a mother to her daughter, and how it vibrates in the mind of a dear friend. the book is wonderfully structured as much as it is in dribs and drabs (not unlike memory) but also like a cycle. 

 han kang, again, displays her extraordinary ability to describe carnage and violence. less hurried (and i mean that as charitably as possible, the first act really takes its time) than the vegetarian, we do not part recounts the jeju massacre in the fog of winter. apparitions come and disappear, voices reverberate from outside as inside, and people (and animals) never leave. in this novel, places are haunted as people are, acting as repositories of meaning and memory. 

i loved one of the written parables: a woman is told by a drifter to walk up a mountain in the morning the next day, and not to look back before crossing it. when she crosses it halfway, she realises the torrential rain is inflicted on her village, drowning it entirely. when she looks back in worry, she immediately turns into stone.

the account of her mother of a stranger who comes to ask about "what she saw that day [of the purges]" is haunting, evoking the very real fear of political violence in times of discord.

the first act dragged out for too long, with what i see as okay prose. it quickly picks up in the middle and ends, again, very neatly. the second half alone is worth reading for its haunting account of the jeju massacre.

Ghee

the jeju massacre starts with an uprising, with the workers party of korea contesting the authority of the un and us-aligned syngman rhee. they stage industrial actions and cause widespread unrest, eventually leading to the declaration of martial law by rhee on the island. what follows is a familiar story of the cold war. leftists are liquidated en masse, with no concern for who the leftists actually are. pure exercise of power and violence. it lasted one year, leaving 14k-80k dead. this book isn't about this, not exactly. rather, it is about the passing of (war) trauma from a mother to her daughter, and how it vibrates in the mind of a dear friend. the book is wonderfully structured as much as it is in dribs and drabs (not unlike memory) but also like a cycle. 

 han kang, again, displays her extraordinary ability to describe carnage and violence. less hurried (and i mean that as charitably as possible, the first act really takes its time) than the vegetarian, we do not part recounts the jeju massacre in the fog of winter. apparitions come and disappear, voices reverberate from outside as inside, and people (and animals) never leave. in this novel, places are haunted as people are, acting as repositories of meaning and memory. 

i loved one of the written parables: a woman is told by a drifter to walk up a mountain in the morning the next day, and not to look back before crossing it. when she crosses it halfway, she realises the torrential rain is inflicted on her village, drowning it entirely. when she looks back in worry, she immediately turns into stone.

the account of her mother of a stranger who comes to ask about "what she saw that day [of the purges]" is haunting, evoking the very real fear of political violence in times of discord.

the first act dragged out for too long, with what i see as okay prose. it quickly picks up in the middle and ends, again, very neatly. the second half alone is worth reading for its haunting account of the jeju massacre.

Han Kang is one of the authors who clearly demonstrates the importance of both great mastery of your craft and a focus on a substantial matter to examine and to place at the centre of your work. On one hand, this is a novel about two women and their friendship, on another - a story about a historic monstrosity; and the two are woven into each other in a way that is not detrimental to one or the other but that creates a stronger whole. Han Kang excels, as she always has, to bring great injustices to light in an impactful manner all because she does not forget the humanity and personhood of their victims.

We Do Not Part

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