The protagonist of Han Kang’s “The Vegetarian” is a frustrated woman who abstains from meat but finds herself surrounded by violent, carnivorous people.

As a little girl, she was bitten by her family dog. Right after the incident, her father tied the dog to his motorcycle and dragged it around the village at full speed until it died. Then he forced his daughter to eat the dog meat, superstitiously believing it would help her wound heal faster.

Haunted by the nightmarish childhood trauma, the protagonist renounces meat, only to be confronted and condemned violently by her family. Her husband calls his in-laws and blames them for his wife’s new diet. Her father once again resorts to violence when he grabs his daughter at the dinner table and forces her to eat meat. Although she violently resists, she is forced to swallow the morsel of meat.

Meanwhile, her family members remain mute spectators to the violence and make no effort to interfere or defend her. Some of them even help her father by holding her arms while he pushes a chunk of meat forcibly into her mouth.

In this internationally acclaimed novella, Han Kang brilliantly renders the predicament of a helpless young woman who is victimized by domestic violence in a patriarchal, male-chauvinist society. Killing animals to satiate one’s appetite is no doubt an act of violence, but forcing a vegetarian to eat meat is even worse.

The mesmerizing sequel, “Mongolian Spots,” depicts the protagonist’s brother-in-law becoming attracted by and even obsessed with the Mongolian spots on his sister-in-law’s bottom. The bluish Mongolian spots can be found on newly born Koreans’ bottoms and gradually disappear as the babies grow. Thus, it is a symbol of innocence and chastity.

The protagonist’s brother-in-law, a visual artist, lures the protagonist to a studio so she can pose nude for a video, covered with body painting of flowers and trees. Sexually aroused, he seduces her and finds she is attracted only to plants. Thus, he paints flowers on his body to succeed in satiating his lust. His strategy works.

Ostensibly, “Mongolian Spots” seems to explore the intertwined relationship between art and erotic sensuality, like Tanizaki Junichiro’s “Tattoo” does. Reading it with reference to “The Vegetarian” however, the reader can find another latent theme. That is to say, the protagonist is a victim of another type of violence in this story: the invisible violence of a con artist, who disguises himself as a benefactor, protector and, among other things, an artist. Obsessed with the beauty of flowers and trees, she mistakes sexual intercourse as union with nature. The charlatan takes advantage of her fantasy.

In “Tree Flames,” the last of the “Vegetarian” trilogy, the protagonist is finally institutionalized after being diagnosed as mentally unstable. Believing that she is a tree, the protagonist refuses all food except for water. The hospital staff force-feeds her intravenously every day. This time, she suffers institutional violence under the name of medicine and cure. Throughout the trilogy, the vegetarian protagonist finds herself in an animal kingdom full of violent, carnivorous predators hunting meek and weak herbivorous prey.

In 2014, Han Kang published another stunning novel titled “Human Acts” that deeply moved her international readers. In this novel, which portrays the Gwangju Democratization Uprising in 1980, Han metaphorically depicts the atrocity of the clashes between civilians and soldiers, and powerfully castigates the vicious violence committed by the dictatorial government on its people. Calmly rendering the brutal crackdown by the military of what they termed “a riot,” Han indicts the “legal” violence of a government over its people in the name of governance.

Professor Lee O Young once told me that the term “gookmin,” which means “a member of a nation,” was coined by the Japanese at a time when right-wing militarism prevailed.

In “Culture and Imperialism,” Edward Said wrote, “We are still the inheritors of that style by which one is defined by the nation, which in turn derives its authority from a supposedly unbroken tradition.” Said suggests that instead of labeling us gookmin, we call ourselves “citizens,” which implies autonomy, freedom and responsibility.

We now live in a world where violence is rampant. We encounter various forms of violence every day at home, school and work places. In the subway or on the street, we frequently act violently and hurt other people. Han Kang’s “Vegetarian” trilogy appeals to international readers thanks to her superb, metaphoric rendition of violence. We condemn terrorism as a good example of vicious violence. Han Kang, however, makes us realize that we, too, unwittingly can become a terrorist who hurts and kills other people.

The protagonist of “The Vegetarian” does not wear bras and frequently exposes her naked torso because she thinks that except for her breasts, her whole body can be a virulent tool that can hurt others: her hands, legs, and even tongue are lethal weapons. Only her breasts cannot; they just nurture other people. Perhaps that realization of the reader has made Han Kang a rising star in this world of omnipresent violence.  

By Kim Seong-kon

Kim Seong-kon is a professor emeritus of English at Seoul National University and president of the Literature Translation Institute of Korea. -- Ed