“What an incredible day for Korea!” my mother wrote to me on Thursday. “Nobel for Han Kang!”
For the previous few many years, a number of South Korean authors have been bruited about as contenders for the Nobel Prize in Literature, notably the poet Ko Un and the novelist Hwang Sok-yong, elder statesmen who had been each beforehand jailed for political activism. As an American-born author of Korean ancestry, I favored these authors in concept, however their precise work didn’t bounce off the web page for me, an English-only reader. If I wasn’t “getting” it, what likelihood did it have for others who can be studying their work in translation?
After I began writing my novel Similar Mattress Completely different Goals in 2014, the considered a South Korean Nobel laureate was very a lot on my thoughts. As in: It should by no means occur. I remembered attending a writer’s lunch in 2008 for Hwang, whose gravitas and gentleness impressed me significantly; sadly, I used to be the one member of the media there. No one cares about Korea, I assumed. For Similar Mattress, I dreamt up a genius Korean novelist I known as Echo, a former enfant horrible loosely impressed by Hwang and Ko. (Sexual-misconduct allegations have since tarnished the latter’s fame. Ko has denied the accusations.) The primary scene I wrote was set at a New York banquet held in Echo’s honor, at which his (white) U.S. writer, Tanner Sluggish, says to the narrator:
“Echo is probably the most unbelievable Korean author you’ve by no means heard of. A scenario that’s going to alter, and alter quickly … Now, I’m not alleged to say this, however a supply tells me Echo’s on the key lengthy record for the … you recognize.”
“Eh?”
“The Huge N.”
“I don’t know what that’s.”
“The Nobel Prize.”
[Read: The Nobel winner whose writing speaks to everyone]
Similar Mattress took 9 years to write down, throughout which era Korean music (BTS), movies (Parasite), and TV reveals (Squid Recreation) exploded into world sensations. In October 2015, I visited Seoul for a publishing convention; one speaker, alluding to the rising recognition of Ok-pop, urged (naively, I assumed) that Korean books would possibly equally profit from being branded as Ok-lit. That very same month, I printed an essay in The New Yorker on Korean literature in translation, discussing a raft of works that had just lately been issued by Dalkey Archive. It was a haphazard immersion, with publication dates from the Nineteen Thirties to the early aughts, and titles starting from soft-spoken to surreal. Most of the books had been good; one was nice. However it was onerous to think about any of them (significantly of their uniformly drab covers) getting a lot outdoors play.
Then one thing occurred that I didn’t foresee. A couple of months after my article appeared, Han’s 2007 novel, The Vegetarian, was printed in america. It went on to win the Man Booker Worldwide Prize and was named one of many 10 finest books of the 12 months by the New York Occasions. Not like many non-American Nobel laureates, who could be pretty unknown within the U.S. earlier than successful the prize, Han, because of that novel’s success, already had a large and passionate stateside readership earlier than Thursday’s announcement from Stockholm. As a pal texted me, “What number of latest winners have a e-book on Amazon with 9000+ opinions?”
Han’s English-language debut (championed by her younger British translator, Deborah Smith) begins with a deceptively placid sentence: “Earlier than my spouse turned vegetarian, I’d all the time considered her as fully unremarkable in each approach.” The narrator claims to hunt the “center course,” however he’s a garden-variety chauvinist who simply needs a docile, subservient spouse. There’s no nice bodily attraction; Yeong-hye is totally common in each approach, from the hair on her head (“neither lengthy nor brief”) to the plain sneakers on her toes. However she’s freed from “drawbacks” and thus makes appropriate spouse materials.
All of this will probably be demolished briefly order. One morning, the narrator wakes up late to see {that a} unusually dazed Yeong-hye has disposed of all their meat—pork stomach, shabu-shabu beef, dumplings, eel. (A extra correct title could be The Vegan—she chucks the eggs and milk as nicely.) The narrator’s rising alarm over his spouse’s new weight-reduction plan and withering physique is interspersed with italicized entries in her voice: desires or recollections or each, together with one concerning the butchering—and consumption—of a canine that bit her as a woman. Han’s starvation artist wonders: “Why are my edges all sharpening—what I’m going to gouge?” The reply, it appears, is Korea’s patriarchal society.
[Read: A novel in which language hits its limit—and keeps on going]
Different latest Korean novels (notably Cho Nam-Joo’s Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982, which turned a finest vendor in South Korea when it was printed, in 2016) have criticized sexism in that nation. However The Vegetarian stands out for its unwillingness to remain nonetheless. Its tripartite construction retains the reader off-balance and complicates Yeong-hye’s act of resistance. It’s a feral work of creativeness, and regardless of—or due to—its prickliness, it is going to discover readers world wide for many years to return.
A rustic’s literature is diversified, however there are secret by way of traces, hidden traditions. I’m reminded of the truth that when a part of The Vegetarian appeared in Korea as a novella, it received the Yi Sang Literary Award, named after one of many strangest writers of anywhere or time, a hero of mine whose fugitive work and tortured life nonetheless baffle and fascinate at this time. He died in 1937, with out a e-book to his title. However many years later, Han got here throughout a line from his journals—“I imagine that people must be vegetation”—that impressed The Vegetarian. What an incredible day for Korea.
