Han Kang, The Vegetarian (London: Portobello Books, 2015). 183 pages. Translated from the Korean by Deborah Smith.
The number of articles and essays outlining the
ever-increasing risks of eating the meat of chickens and other animals that are
being treated with antibiotics and/or chemical substances is alarming. The
presence of microplastics and fibres in ocean-caught fish has been proven and
is yet another threat to any attempts to live a healthy life. Even the most
widely used herbicide, glyphosate, appears to leave dangerous levels of
residues in vegetables and fruits. It’s enough to drive one crazy, isn’t it?
Should we eat only what we grow ourselves? Should we eat anything at all?
The premise of Han Kang’s novel is not too dissimilar: Yeong-hye,
married to boring office worker Mr Cheong, wakes up one morning after having
had a dream. Hers is nothing like Martin Luther King’s, though. Whatever her dream
may have been, what it means is that she will no longer eat meat. The couple’s
fridge and freezer are promptly emptied of all meats and fish (much to her
husband’s wrath). When a few days later they have to attend a corporate dinner
with the families of his bosses and other employees, Yeong-hye refuses to eat
and is disparaged and sneered by every person at the table.
Her own family cannot understand or even accept why she has
turned vegetarian. During a family reunion, Yeong-hye’s father reacts violently
to her refusal to eat the many dishes that have been prepared. After he tries
to force-feed her, she slashes her wrists. The commotion is of course huge, and
as a result her marriage will soon be over. Yeong-hye goes down in a spiral of
violence, psychosis and suicidal thoughts compounded by anorexia.
The novel is in fact a series of shorter narratives. The
first one is narrated by Cheong in the first person; this provides the story
with a rich point of view while allowing Kang to depict Korean society as
coldly patriarchal and man-centred. Cheong describes his vegetarian wife as
unattractive and uninteresting when he met her, reasons for which he sought to
marry her. Go figure.
The second part is narrated in the third person, and tells
of how Yeong-hye’s sister’s husband, an unsuccessful visual artist, convinces
her to get her whole painted with flowers and act, together with a colleague of
his, in a profoundly erotic video. When her brother-in-law suggests they
perform actual sex, his colleague feels insulted and leaves. Yeong-hye shows
enthusiasm for the sensations flowery skin arouse in her, so he gets painted by
a former lover and returns hours later to film the sex video. They are found a
few hours later by the artist’s wife and Yeong-hye’s sister. A birthmark in
Yeong-hye’s buttocks gives this second part the title: ‘The Mongolian Mark’.
The third and final part adopts the protagonist’s sister’s
point of view. Some time has passed since her sister kicked out her artist
husband, and Yeong-hye is now in a residence for mental patients. She now
refuses to eat: nothing at all will make its way into her stomach and an
intravenous drip has been attached to her emaciated and fast-deteriorating
body.
This is not a story about vegetarianism, which in any case
is always a completely respectable ethical choice these days. The Vegetarian shows the clash between a
dreadfully traditional society and the search for personal freedom of a woman
trapped within the strictures of such a society. It is also a thought-provoking
tale on death and the right to put an end to one’s life. Although there is no
actual justification for Yeong-hye’s stubborn descent into emaciation and
physical and mental ruin other than her insistence on avoiding contact with
animals and loving trees, the question is asked: why is dying such a bad thing?
Personally, I’ve never given vegetarianism much of a
thought. I still remember the most delicious bife con papas I’ve ever had, in a place called Energía in the
province of Buenos Aires. If only all meats were this good!
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| The place is called Energia. The beef was superb! Photograph by
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The Vegetarian was
awarded the 2016 Man Booker International Prize for literature translated into English.
If you feel like reading further about it, I recommend this
insightful article by Tim Parks, who raises some meaningful questions about
Deborah Smith’s prized job. Naturally, the book has now been translated into many other languages. But is it really such a worthy winner? Hard to say.
