Confronting Historical Traumas

Before 2016, the body of work of South Korean writer Han Kang (한강) remains a largely unexplored territory by the rest of the world. However, the same cannot be said at home. In South Korea, she is regarded as a literary superstar, revered in various literary circles. She has, over the years, developed into a household name backed up by strong ties to literature. Her father, Han Seung-won, is a prolific writer with a long list of published novels to his name and her brother Han Dong Rim is also a writer. However, Han Kang built a decorated and formidable literary career covering a vast genre, including novels, essays, short stories, and novels. Her oeuvre is entirely her own, distinct from her father and brother. Her long and prolific literary career started in 1993 when she published five of her poems in the winter issue of the quarterly magazine Literature and Society. A collection of short stories titled 여수의 사랑 (A Love of Yeosu) shortly followed in 1995.

Locally, Han earned various accolades such as the 25th Korean Novel Award for her novella Baby Buddha in 1999, the 2005 Yi-Sang Literary Award for Mongolian Mark (the second part of The Vegetarian), the 2010 Dong-ni Literary Award for Breath Fighting (2010), and the 2014 Manhae Literary Award. Kang broke through the global scene in 2016, over two decades after her first work was published. Her 2007 novel 채식주의자 (Chaeshikju Uija), translated into English as The Vegetarian by Deborah Smith, won the Man Booker International Prize, making her the first Korean writer to win the award. It was also the first novel to win the Prize after its reconfiguration in 2015 when it started recognizing a single work instead of a writer’s body of work. The recognition played a germane role in elevating Kang from relative obscurity to global recognition.

More of her works would be made available to Anglophone readers, with The White Book (흰) earning Kang yet another nomination for the Man Booker International Prize in 2018. This was just the tip of the iceberg as greater recognition would ensue. In 2024, Han Kang was recognized by the Swedish Academy, awarding her the Nobel Prize in Literature, considered by many as the zenith of a writer’s career. With her recognition, Han has also earned the distinction of being the first Korean writer and the first female Asian writer to be awarded the highly-coveted and prestigious Prize. Several of her works were named by the Swedish Academy as both pivotal and seminal in her oeuvre and their recognition of it, among them The Vegetarian, 희랍어 시간 (Huilab-eo Sigan, 2011; trans., Greek Lessons, 2023), 소년이 온다 (Sonyeon-i Onda, 2014; trans., Human Acts, 2016), and The White Book.

I don’t know if this is what happens right before you die. Everything I have ever experienced is made crystalline. Nothing hurts any more. Hundreds upon thousands of moments glitter in unison, like snowflakes whose elaborate shapes are in full view. How is this possible, I can’t say. My every pain and joy, all my deep-rooted sorrows and loves, shine, not as an amalgam but as a whole comprised of distinct singularities, glowing together as one giant nebula

Han Kang, We Do Not Part

In their selection of Han, the Swedish Academy cited her for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life. Her confrontation of historical traumas was embodied in Human Acts. It was also indelibly woven into the lush tapestry of her latest translated novel, We Do Not Part (2025). Originally published in 2021 as 작별하지 않는다  (Jagbyeolhaji Anhneunda), We Do Not Part is one of Han’s works cited by the Swedish Academy. It is her first novel translated into English after she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. The novel is narrated from the point of view of narrated by Kyungha, a historian and writer living alone in Seoul. Suffering from chronic pain (migraines, abdominal spasms), she has contemplated taking her own life. Her torpor was disrupted one winter morning. She received an urgent message from her friend Inseon, a visual artist living alone on Jeju Island.

Following a workplace accident, Inseon found herself in a hospital in Seoul. Basically immobile because of a grievous hand injury, Inseon asked Kyungha for a favor. Because of her condition, Inseon cannot go home to Jeju Island. She asked her friend to travel to her house to feed and look after her pet bird, Ama, in the meantime. Without anyone to look after it, Inseon feared that her pet would starve to death. To Jeju Kyungha travels, barely making it through before the severe snowstorm rendered the airport inoperable; she arrived aboard the last plane allowed to land. The icy wind and squalls slowed her down but she managed to find her way to Inseon’s family compound; she believed in the importance of her simple task even though, at times, she doubted if she would arrive in time to save Ama. Meanwhile, the snowstorm basically left the island isolated from the rest of the country. Wrapped in a world blanketed by snow, Kyungha had no inkling about the darkness that she would unlid at her friend’s home.

After the house loses power and having had a deep sleep, Kyungha woke up to find Inseon has arrived, much to Kyungha’s surprise. Because of her injuries and the relentless snowfall, Inseon couldn’t be in Jeju. Unsure if the person before her was a vision, Inseon nevertheless felt very present to Kyungha. Her friend fired up the stove and even got provisions from the cupboards. It was at this juncture as well that the crux of the story was unveiled. As the two friends converged, Inseon started sharing about the dark past that engulfed her family, particularly how it was adversely impacted by the Jeju massacre. It was a subject the friends previously discussed but cursorily. Horrific historical events were not new to Kyungha. At one point, Kyungha wrote a book about a massacre that took place in a city only identified as “G–.”

Inseon grew up under the shadows of the Jeju massacres. However, a blanket of muteness kept her from understanding how it adversely reset the landscape of her homeland. The few who witnessed and survived the events, including Inseon’s mother who died a few years earlier, were mum about the event. Nevertheless, this did not hinder Inseon from uncovering the horrors of that period. The catalyst for Inseon’s extensive research was boxes of materials about the massacres. These were the fruits of Inseon’s own research; Inseon uncovered them when she looked after her mother who was suffering from dementia. The documents were bits and pieces of the events, Inseon’s mother’s effort to piece together the tragedies, make sense of them and create a cohesive timeline. The documents were also used to locate missing family members in light of the massacres.

The subtropical trees, weighed down with huge crimson blossoms, are swaying fiercely. The only reason not a dusting of snow has settled on the flowers in this strong storm is because of the overpowering wind. The movement of the palm trees, fronds swinging like so many long arms, seems even more violent. The glossy leaves, the flower stalks, the laden branches on every tree are flailing wildly, each like a separate entity trying to rid itself of the heavy snow.

Han Kang, We Do Not Part

In her latest translated novel, Han returns to a familiar territory. Just like other countries, contemporary Korean history is riddled with horrific events. Details of these events did not escape Han’s unprejudiced lenses. With Human Acts, she captured the landscape of the Gwangju Uprising; she even referenced, albeit cryptically, the book in We Do Not Part. Kyungha cited that the work she put into the book about the massacre in G- may have ruined her marriage; Han has long been divorced from her husband Hong Yong-hee, a literary critic. In effect, Kyungha can be seen as Han’s alter ego. Meanwhile, We Do Not Part is a chronicle of the Jeju Massacres; as the story unfolds, Inseon’s mother turns into a guide across the landscape of the horrific events that have scarred the island. The Jeju Uprising at the heart of the story is also referred to Jeju April 3 incident (제주 4·3 사건) and lasted from April 1948 to May 1949.

In effect, the Uprising was the conclusion of years of friction between various political factions whose presence had been prevalent in the Korean Peninsula during the period. Following the independence of the region from the crutches of Imperial Japan, the United States and the Soviet Union were both battling for control of the region despite calls for Independence. The denizens of Jeju have long been crusading for Independence, free from the influences of the two superpowers. As early as 1947, skirmishes have been taking place on the island. It quickly escalated into demonstrations that came to a head on that fateful April 3 when communist guerillas attacked a dozen police stations and burned houses, terrorizing the locals. In retaliation to the actions, the state instituted measures to suppress it. Under the guise of purging communists, state-sponsored massacres swept the island.

Between 1947 and 1954, blood flowed on the island as authorities scoured the island, perpetrating atrocities that included gang rapes, mass executions, and even infanticides. Han’s most incisive writing was reserved for capturing these events vividly. With an unflinching gaze and careful attention to detail, she captured the horrific landscape, weaving into the novel’s lush tapestry images of children being summarily executed, families being forcefully separated by vicious political crackdowns, and mass graves that were eventually unearthed. Some of these mass graves would take decades before they would be uncovered while many are still to be uncovered. Estimates of the death toll vary, with some going as high as 80,000; most of the civilian victims were women and children. Historians have considered the uprising as a precursor to the Korean War.

More than shedding light on one of the most horrific events in contemporary Korean history, We Do Not Part captures the massacre’s legacy. The trauma and the devastation lasted for decades. Sure, succeeding Korean presidents – Roh Moo-hyun in 2003 and Moon Jae-in in 2018 – have since apologized for the role the government played in the massacres. In 2019, the South Korean police and defense ministry apologized for the first time. The United States, meanwhile, remains complicit, refusing to acknowledge the germane role it played in these events; in the wake of the Second World War, the United States occupied the southern half of the Korean peninsula, including Jeju. Vestiges of the massacres riddle the island which has long since been transformed into an idyllic paradise, an antithesis to its dark past. Those who witnessed and endured these atrocities have to live with the horrific images while many continue to grieve for their loved ones, some they are still accounting for.

The woods shudder and cry out. Snow topples from trees in great flurries. My forehead feels like it’s about to shatter. I lean against the window and recall the storm I saw earlier on the coastal road. Cloud banks dispersing in the far horizon as snow sweeps over the water’s surface like huge flocks of birds. The grey sea bearing down on the island as if to swallow it whole, its large waves breaking into whitecaps.

Han Kang, We Do Not Part

With her works, Han has proven herself a very capable chronicler of the indelible marks left behind by the violence that riddled her country’s contemporary history. Apart from the Jeju Uprising, Han alluded to other historical events such as the Manchukuo Imperial Army, the Bodo League (Gyeongbuk) massacre, and the role South Korea played during the Vietnam War. These were events that altered the face of a nation and disrupted its natural flow. To do so, she gave voices to the victims of these acts of violence. Their voices may have been muted by violence and eventually by the passage of time but novels like We Do Not Part remind us that their stories will never be buried in the annals of time. Han’s novel transcends time and carries a message that reverberates on a global scale. Han subtly reminds us of the perpetual interaction between the present and the past.

Like in Human Acts, Han exposes the vile side of humanity in We Do Not Part. Her writing was unsparing and precise writing, she guides the readers across the landscape of violence. She was resolute and deliberate. The silhouettes of death and pain accompany the readers across both books. Han juxtaposed the story with a snowy landscape reminiscent of her novel The White Book, a book dealing with the intricacies of grief. With Kyungha’s pensive voice, Han also captures the mourning process that Kyungha and Inseon are both navigating. As much as the story is about chaos and violence, it is also about genuine connections that are created in their wake; despite the tumult, there is beauty. Kyungha and Inseon’s friendship beacons throughout the story. Beyond the generational trauma that pervades it, We Do Not Part is also a paean to friendship and the power of human connection.

History has witnessed several horrific events but several are left untold, muted by the victors. However, literature has, over time, been a powerful tool to give voices to those who were muted by history. We Do Not Part is an excellent example. Han has been relentless in navigating the labyrinths of unbearable cruelty and raw violence to make these voices be heard and to chronicle events that have been pushed to the peripheries of our collective mind. She exposes the shifting definition of humanity in a society that is palpably careening towards strife and discord. The novel, however, does not reduce itself to an indictment of mankind. While history is riddled with grim reminders of cruelty and violence, We Do Not Part is also a celebration of life, friendship, and profound love and their power to transform a horrific landscape.

The single flake that settled and melted over my glove just now was as close to a pristine six-armed snow crystal as one is likely to find. The one that settles next to it is partly crumbled, but the remaining four branches retain their delicate shape. These soft, deteriorating dendrites are the first to melt away. The tiny white center, the part that resembles a grain of salt, lingers for a breath before dissolving.

Han Kang, We Do Not Part
Book Specs

Author: Han Kang
Translator (from Korean): e. yaewon, Paige Aniyah Morris
Publisher: Hamish Hamilton
Publishing Date: January 21, 2025 (September 9, 2021)
Number of Pages: 375
Genre: Historical, Literary

Synopsis

Like a long winter’s dream, this haunting and visionary new novel from 2024 Nobel Prize winner Han Kang takes us on a journey from contemporary South Korea into its painful history.

Beginning one morning in December, We Do Not Part traces the path of Kyungha as she travels from the city of Seoul into the forests of Jeju Island, to the home of her old friend Inseon. Hospitalized following an accident, Inseon has begged Kyungha to hasten there to feed her beloved pet bird, who will otherwise die.

Kyungha takes the first plane to Jeju, but a snowstorm hits the island the moment she arrives, plunging her into a world of white. Beset by icy wind and snow squalls, she wonders if she will arrive in time to save the bird – or even survive the terrible cold which envelops her with every step. As night falls, she struggles her way to Inseon’s house, unaware as yet of the descent into darkness that awaits her.

There, the long-buried story of Inseon’s family surges into light, in dreams and memories passed from mother to daughter,r and in a painstakingly assembled archive documenting a terrible massacre on the island seventy years before.

We Do Not Part is a hymn to friendship, a eulogy to the imagination and above all an indictment against forgetting.

About the Author

To learn more about Han Kang, please click here.