“The Vegetarian” is a novel meant to disturb. When Han Kang published it initially, the book garnered little praise and it received sharp criticism for its portrayal of the heteronormative and patriarchal Korean culture. Abroad, however, the book flourished in international markets, and Han Kang became the first Korean to win the Nobel Prize of Literature. What made the novel so controversial wan’t its dark premise or unnerving prose, but the way it dealt with topics of sexual violence, mental illness and the oppression of women — both from the institution of the family and in a broader culture dominated by male viewpoints.

The heart of the novel focuses on the dichotomy between Yeong-Hye’s internal desires, manifested as her dreams of becoming vegetarian, and the outward reaction to her personal decisions by those closest to her. Her seemingly innocuous choice to become a vegetarian due to her increasingly graphic dreams about violence sets off a chain of events which spiral into abuse, psychological torture and those closest to Yeong-Hye abandoning her. 

The novel is told from three perspectives and in three parts: Yeong-Hye’s husband Mr. Cheong, her brother-in-law and then her sister. The lack of Yeong-Hye’s own perspective is intentional, representing her lack of autonomy and, later, the impossibility of those in her life coming to terms with her vegetarianism as a way of resistance. The inability for others to understand Yeong-Hye exercising control over her own body — a small diet change — is emblematic of the misogynistic culture that dictates what women can do with their bodies.

Mr. Cheong, who only married her because she was simple and agreeable, cannot comprehend why Yeong-Hye is exercising agency for the first time in her life. Instead of understanding her or validating her beliefs, he writes her off as something inexplicable. He chooses to ignore and undermine her at every step, arguing that if she is unable to articulate her desires in a way that he can internalize, then she must not know what she wants after all. He eventually uses this twisted ideology to justify sexually assaulting her. By observing their relationship through the male perspective, Kang is able to bring to the surface a type of explicit misogyny that permeates male spaces within a patriarchal society, producing a sickening and horrific effect. 

Yeong-Hye’s brother-in-law fairs no better. He uses Yeong-Hye’s detachment from reality to project his own desires and fantasies onto her, turning her into his muse and trying to claim ownership of her body. He eventually becomes aggrieved when he realizes that her actions are not in submission to him and rather as a way for her to transform her body in a way that she desires. The theme of dreams becomes apparent in this section of the novel, used masterfully by Kang to investigate the psyche.

Dreams are the only time we hear Yeong-Hye’s first-person perspective. Constantly, the men in her life try to subvert her and her desires; she repeats again and again why she needs to be vegetarian. Her dreams are treated as something elusive and untrustworthy, but why should they reflect reality any less than the men in her life who are manipulating and abusing her? Kang uses this Freudian mistrust of the female psyche and the characterization of it as something dark and convoluted to argue that the border between comprehensibility between men and women is used to justify abuse. 

The horror in this novel is constructed out of its portrayal of female oppression. Throughout the novel, Yeong-Hye’s father, husband, sister and brother-in-law assert their beliefs about what is best for her. Some of them go so far they resort to violence to try and convince Yeong-Hye understand that her perspective and her dreams are wrong. It is this conditional messaging, the “I know what’s best for you,” that the novel uses to demonstrate how Yeong-Hye can never be liberated until she shakes off the shackles of societal influence. It is easy to see how this connects to the women’s liberation movement as well, especially in a country like Korea where marital rape only became a crime in 2013.

Towards the end of the novel, her sister is the first character who comes to terms with Yeong-Hye’s decision. She begins to realize that her vegetarianism and subsequent decisions are a mode of resistance for her. It is the subconscious reclamation of her body and soul that had been devastated for the majority of her life under the patriarchy’s influence. Her sister doesn’t have to understand or agree with Yeong-Hye’s decisions in order to validate her autonomy to make those decisions.

“The Vegetarian” is a must-read for anyone looking for a short exploration into gender roles, culture and mental health in a way that is both raw, authentic and heartbreaking. It is a difficult and disturbing read, but worth the journey in order to get inside Kang’s genius writing. It is both subversive and a call for change in gender roles and the way in which we perceive women’s independence. Kang’s thesis is even more relevant today than when the book was written in 2007, and holds truths that continue to resonate and be contested by our society today.

Rating: 5/5