South Korea: Human Acts by Han Kang Review

Title: Human Acts
Author: Han Kang

Genre: Historical fiction

Blurb: In the midst of a violent student uprising in South Korea, a young boy named Dong-ho is shockingly killed.

The story of this tragic episode unfolds in a sequence of interconnected chapters as the victims and the bereaved encounter suppression, denial, and the echoing agony of the massacre. From Dong-ho's best friend who meets his own fateful end; to an editor struggling against censorship; to a prisoner and a factory worker, each suffering from traumatic memories; and to Dong-ho's own grief-stricken mother; and through their collective heartbreak and acts of hope is the tale of a brutalized people in search of a voice.

An award-winning, controversial bestseller, Human Acts is a timeless, pointillist portrait of an historic event with reverberations still being felt today, by turns tracing the harsh reality of oppression and the resounding, extraordinary poetry of humanity.

Me: Han Kang is probably the most well-known contemporary Korean author, and it had bothered me for a while that I hadn't read any of her works, especially The Vegetarian (which won the Man Booker and is definitely on my next-to-read list!). I decided to read this first because it was directly related to a period of South Korean history, and I'm so glad I did. It was one of the most beautiful books I've read about any uprising or protest. 

The Ups: I think the most extraordinary part of this book for me was how honestly and brilliantly it told the story of the Gwangju uprisings. For some historical context, South Korea in the 70s and early 80s was still under a military dictatorship. Frustrated at the regime, a lot of university students and civilians protested, and the protests grew particularly big in Gwangju, a city in Korea. The area Gwangju is in had historically been seen as "inferior," with the people being stupid and emotional. The uprising was then suppressed by then president, Chun Doo Hwan, who drove in tanks and shot down hundreds, thousands of civilians. 

It's an incredibly tragic (and surprisingly recent) part of Korean history, and it's a part that not even many Koreans talk about, much less the international community at large. Han Kang herself is from Gwangju, and I thought the dedication to reliving this painful past was so admirable. 

Maybe it's not only a Korean thing, but for me, the way grief and trauma was characterized in this novel felt so deeply familiar and real. Korean culture is not one of open and emotional grieving; any pain is often kept very private, subdued, swallowed down. I felt like the prose itself (amazing translation too!) was doing that- spare and subdued, telling trauma more through actions and imaginations rather than emotions. In the end, I even felt like it was more affecting than most tragic books I've read- seeing how the country, and the characters, tried to move on was really sad. 

I also loved how each section came back to this central question of the soul. Kang interrogates what the soul really consists of, if it even exists. She seems to say that in the face of such terror, you have to believe in something lasting, something pure. Her exploration didn't feel cliche or forced, but rather a beautiful way to make the history of one city of one country universal. 

Without spoiling anything, the last section was so cool to me. Seeing Han Kang's own ties and journey to writing this story just made it even more emotional and moving. 

The Downs: The book as a whole was quite short, and selfishly, I think I could have read about a hundred more pages of this. Nothing felt underdeveloped or anything, but I just wanted to read more in Kang's words about this moment in time. 

Rating: 5 kisses!