Han Kang

We Do Not Part

Saima

It can be dificult to distinguish for- bearance from resignation, sorrow from partial reconciliation, fortitude from loneliness. I thought about how difficult it can be to tell these emotions apart on the basis of facial expressions and gestures, about how the person in question may struggle to distinguish these feelings in themselves

I slipped on a pair of trainers and opened the front door for the first time in two months. The summer sun flooded the west-facing corridor; the afternoon light was a revelation. 

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.

if I were smarter I’d give it a 5 probably. just not built for understanding like that,. felt relevant + pretty words + bonus points for history 

Jules 

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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