"The Vegetarian" by Han Kang is an enthralling novel that deeply explores inner struggles, challenges to social norms, and the yearning to transcend through the rejection of human nature. Han Kang doesn't just take readers on a journey to explore the deep fissures in human souls, peeling away layers of personal identity, but also constructs a profound ecological feminist allegory.
✦ MULTIPLE NARRATIVE PERSPECTIVES
The linked stories of "The Vegetarian" are compiled from three short stories: The Vegetarian, Mongolian Mark, and Fireworks. Although Yeong-hye is the central character, her story is narrated through the perspectives of her husband, brother-in-law, and sister. This makes Yeong-hye an enigmatic and distant figure. Her thoughts and emotions are only revealed through brief monologues. As the story progresses, she increasingly withdraws both physically and emotionally. This silence is a profound metaphor for how individuals, especially women, are often ignored and isolated by society.
✧ The Husband's Indifference
The first part, The Vegetarian, is narrated from the perspective of Yeong-hye's husband. To him, she was "the most ordinary woman in the world." She had no notable flaws, nor any particularly attractive features. This ordinary, almost mundane, normality led him to choose her as a wife – a natural and easy decision because, to him, she demanded nothing, causing no insecurity or concern about comparison with other men.
During their five years of marriage, Yeong-hye fulfilled the role of a "normal wife" perfectly and without difficulty. She always woke at 6 AM, prepared meals with fish and soup for him to take to work. When he came home late, she did not complain. He could lounge with the TV remote all weekend, and she would not nag. She spent most of her time in her study, only silently entering the kitchen at dinner time.
However, everything began to change when Yeong-hye decided to become a vegetarian. This was the first time her husband sensed something unusual in her actions, and it was when he realized that for the past five years, he had never really understood her. Her decision to become vegetarian, stemming from a bizarre dream, gradually alienated her from her everyday life. It not only caused him discomfort but also shook the familial order he had tried to maintain.
“— What are you doing? Finally, I couldn't stay calm, and I shouted. Like last night, she didn't bother with my presence, continuing to dispose of the meat into the garbage bag. Beef, pork, chicken cut into pieces, and that sea eel over there, at least worth two hundred thousand won. [...] — Is there any shirt ready? No answer. I swore under my breath, quickly rummaged through the basket by the bathroom and found the shirt I had thrown in there yesterday. Luckily, it wasn't too wrinkled. I draped the tie around my neck like a scarf, put on my socks, then grabbed my wallet and notebook. Until then, my wife had not left the kitchen. For the first time since our wedding day, I left for work without her preparation or farewell. — She's gone mad. Truly unbearable..."
Instead of trying to understand the reason behind his wife's decision, he considered it "nonsense." Although suspicious of Yeong-hye's condition, he "never even considered seeking treatment or counseling as one might suggest." He was "disgusted by this entire situation," "felt a strong revulsion towards his wife," and feared that when she got out of the hospital, he would "have to live alone with this strange, fearsome woman."
Yeong-hye's silent resistance made him confused and angry, especially as she rejected the roles society and family had imposed upon her. The tension in their relationship escalated, culminating in Yeong-hye's suicide attempt. Through the husband's lens, one sees how patriarchal society has turned women into submissive entities, confined within predefined roles and imprisoned by societal and familial expectations.
✧ The Brother-in-Law's Obsession
In the second part, Mongolian Mark, the story is told from the perspective of the brother-in-law, the only one who noticed Yeong-hye's dream:
“— Because I dreamed...
— Dreamed? He asked again.
— I dreamed... so I can't eat meat anymore.
— What did you dream?
— A face.
— A face?”
From their first meeting, he sensed a strange power in Yeong-hye, which he likened to "a wild plant without branches." This obsession deepened when he discovered the Mongolian mark on her body – a remnant from a painful past he was unaware of, seeing it only as inspiration for an artistic masterpiece.
The painful past behind Yeong-hye's Mongolian mark involved the beatings she endured from her father with a gun butt until she was eighteen. Through her husband's recounting, Yeong-hye grew up with these beatings. This mark became a part of her past trauma, rejection, and simultaneously, the source of her silent resistance in the present.
The brother-in-law was the only one who recognized an unusual desire in Yeong-hye, a yearning to photosynthesize like a plant. The moment she bared her chest on the balcony to soak up the sunlight, blooming like flowers, was etched in his mind. This image surpassed all the films he had ever shot, a perfect fusion of nature and art.
This obsession gradually became a powerful drive, making him not only want to admire but also to transform Yeong-hye's body into an artwork. He teetered on the fine line between artistic creation and personal desire. Painting flowers on Yeong-hye's body, in his eyes, was the completion of the masterpiece he had long sought. However, his obsession became distorted and tangled with carnal desires, pulling him into betrayal. The boundary between art and morality was blurred by lust:
“All perfect. Just like the sketch. The scene of his red flower opening and closing on Yeong-hye's Mongolian mark was repeated many times. He shivered. The most savage, yet simultaneously the most beautiful combination of images. Each time he closed his eyes, he felt the blue from the plant sap flowing, soaking from his belly to his thighs.”
Though in spiritual harmony with Yeong-hye, he could not touch her deep-seated pain. For him, loneliness was the fate of an artist, an exile always seeking true creation. For Yeong-hye, it was a desperate silence, unable to find an outlet. This resonance, though seemingly profound, existed with an unbridgeable gap, rendering their relationship twisted and haunting.
✧ The Sister's Empathy
In the final part of the novel, Fireworks, the story is narrated from the perspective of In-hye, a character contrasting with Yeong-hye but equally tragic. While her younger sister sought to escape societal constraints by fasting and longing to become a tree, In-hye spent her life adhering to the responsibilities and roles society placed upon her: a mother, wife, and devoted sister. However, witnessing her sister's gradual decline, In-hye began to question her own life.
Seeing Yeong-hye reject human nature and rush towards death as an escape, In-hye was alarmed and realized the contrast between them. Yeong-hye was ready to give up everything, while In-hye tried to hold onto everything, including meaningless relationships and heavy responsibilities. Gradually, In-hye realized she had been trapped in a life she never truly desired.
This inner awakening led In-hye to understand that Yeong-hye's desire was not just madness but also a form of resistance against societal and human pressures. Her sister's choice was not surrender but a way to reclaim freedom. In-hye began to empathize with Yeong-hye, no longer forcing her to eat and even opposing the nurses who brutally force-fed Yeong-hye. Ultimately, In-hye recognized that the rigidity in following social norms was meaningless. Both sisters had been imprisoned by societal rules imposed upon their lives.
“— ...You too. — What are you talking about. You... — No one understands me... Doctors, nurses, all the same... No one tries to understand... Just forcing pills, injections... Yeong-hey's voice was low, slow but firm. Her tone was as cold as it could be. Finally, she had to scream out what she had been suppressing. — It's because we're afraid you'll die! Yeong-hye turned her head, looking at her as if she was staring at a complete stranger. After a moment, Yeong-hye uttered her final question, then fell silent. — ...So, can't one not die?”
"Can’t one not die?" This question Yeong-hye posed reflected her questioning of her own right to decide her fate. This questioning made In-hye ponder the essence of life: Is it worth continuing when life is merely habit and duty, devoid of real joy and meaning? The relationship between the sisters gradually illuminated each other, as In-hye began to realize that without those strange dreams, Yeong-hye might have lived like her, and vice versa, if In-hye had such dreams, she could have become Yeong-hye. This is the tragedy of two lives caught in societal molds, questioning whether life is worth clinging to.
Yeong-hye yearned to become a tree, a symbol of liberation and harmlessness. She believed that as a tree, she would no longer be lonely because "all trees in the world seem to be siblings." It was an unattainable dream but everything she desired. From refusing to eat meat to completely rejecting food, Yeong-hye gradually tried to become the tree in her mind, her physical form shrinking to that of a frail child. Though slowly dying, her current life, full of suffering and torment, might be worse than what she had experienced.
In-hye's inner conflict represented the struggle between continuing to fulfill responsibilities and accepting her sister's choice. By the end of the story, both characters leave the reader with a painful view of lives suffocated by unattainable societal expectations.
✧ Yeong-hye's Silent Voice
Throughout the linked stories of "The Vegetarian," Yeong-hye rarely gets a chance to speak. She appears in the story through others' perspectives—her husband, brother-in-law, and sister. Though the novel's center, her voice seems drowned out by others' judgments and perceptions. However, her silence does not make her fade into obscurity; rather, it makes her more mysterious, sparking the reader's curiosity. Yeong-hye represents those in society who are silenced, those who have yet to find a way to express their deep-seated frustrations.
Her voice only appears briefly, yet each time it carries intense fear and inner struggle. One of the few highlights of her voice is in her haunting dream, where she recounts her skepticism about her own body and existence. In that dream, Yeong-hye perceives herself as a violent entity, contrasting with her desire to escape the violent nature of humanity.
The dream about a murderer and a hanging piece of meat suggests the turmoil in her mind, representing the conflict between consciousness and the subconscious. In a narrative passage, she confesses: "I only believe in my chest. I like my chest. Because it can't kill anyone... But why does it keep shrinking... Why am I getting thinner day by day." These lines show that Yeong-hye struggles not only with societal norms but also with her own body and self. She wishes to transcend human limitations to achieve a state of harmless existence, free like a plant—a hope to escape the invisible pressures of modern life.
Gradually, Yeong-hye's voice becomes sparse and completely vanishes in the final chapter, Fireworks, as the narrative shifts to In-hye's perspective. However, this silence powerfully contrasts with the explosive emotions and thoughts within her. Silence is not surrender; silence is Yeong-hye's chosen method to resist the norms imposed upon her. In her journey to reject human nature, to cease eating and communicating, Yeong-hye seeks an escape, a way to completely free herself from invisible constraints.
Each character in the story views Yeong-hye through their own lens: her husband sees her vegetarianism as bizarre and irrational; her brother-in-law is obsessed with her body as an art piece; and In-hye sees her choice as a process of self-liberation from life's bonds. But ultimately, only Yeong-hye truly understands the inner compulsion driving her.
By "depriving" Yeong-hye of her narrative voice, Han Kang cleverly grants her an invisible power: the power of silence. Yeong-hye's silent voice represents a yearning for liberation beyond human limits, posing profound questions about how we evaluate and perceive those around us. Yeong-hye is not just a character imposed upon, but also an icon for the inner struggles of those unheard, those souls silenced in society.
✦ ECOLOGICAL FEMINISM
Han Kang clearly expresses the ideology of ecological feminism (ecofeminism), a theory linking the oppression of women with the oppression of nature. Yeong-hye, the protagonist of "The Vegetarian," resists patriarchal society not with violence or words but by refusing to participate in the imposed norms. Her decision to stop eating meat and eventually all food does not aim to escape life but to transition to a new state of existence—as a tree, where she does not have to obey anyone, be controlled or exploited as humans do to nature and each other.
Refusing meat is the initial expression of her quiet yet strong resistance. In many cultures, meat consumption represents human control over nature—an oppressive act. By rejecting meat, Yeong-hye not only rejects part of the food system but also the entire value system patriarchal society imposes on her. She does not negotiate, does not compromise, and does not seek reconciliation. Her decision is absolute and definitive, much like her desire to entirely escape all binding norms.
Ecological feminism in the story is expressed through Yeong-hye's desire to transform into a tree—an entity not governed by humans or social institutions. Trees need only sunlight and water to survive, without having to take from anyone else. This represents ultimate freedom from oppression, where Yeong-hye can exist in a state of purity, free from the control of family, husband, or society.
