Violence and Being Human: A Conversation with Han Kang

Abstract

WORLDLITERATURETODAY.ORG 61 photo : peculiar view photography cover feature Four Asian Voices With autobiographical power, these Asian writers embody imagined homelands in verse and fiction, finding refuge and reconnection in words. Featuring HAN KANG 62 BERNICE CHAULY 68 WANG PING 74 MING DI 78 62 WLT MAY–AUGUST 2016 photo : baik dahum cover feature four asian voices Violence and Being Human A Conversation with Han Kang by Krys Lee B orn in South Korea in 1970, Han Kang made her literary debut as a poet in 1993. She has since published novels and short fiction and won the Yi Sang Literary Prize, the Today’s Young Artist Award, and the Manhae Literary Prize. She currently works as a professor in the Department of Creative Writing at the Seoul Institute of the Arts. The Vegetarian, Deborah Smith’s English translation of one of Han Kang’s five novels, has been shortlisted for the 2016 Man Booker International Prize. In The Vegetarian, a married woman rebels against strict Korean social mores by becoming a vegetarian, leading her husband to assert himself through acts of sexual sadism. Here, author Krys Lee speaks with Han Kang about her development as a writer and the recurring theme of violence in her work. Krys Lee: Can you tell us about how you became a writer? Was it something you aspired to be from a young age? Han Kang: I was always surrounded by literary influences—my father is a writer too, you see. We lived in a humble home; we didn’t have much furniture, and we moved around a lot. He loved collecting books, so naturally I was always surrounded by them—on the floor, in every nook and cranny. Everything except the window and door was blanketed by books. The library kept growing. I remember that books always felt “expansive” in the sense that they were in constant abundance, to the extent that I was surprised when I visited my friend’s home and saw how it lacked books. I read freely and absorbed the language, and my parents left me alone so I could read challenging novels as I pleased; I discovered that I loved reading. Writing came naturally, too. In my teens, I felt the common existential kind of angst over questions such as Who am I? What is my purpose? Why do people need to die, and where do we go afterward? All these questions felt burdensome, so once again I turned to the books that I believed held answers to many of the questions in my youth. They didn’t have any answers. Ironically, that encouraged me. It showed me that I could be a writer, too, that it was for those who have questions , not answers. KL: The visual arts, or a sense of the visual, feature strongly in your work. I was wondering where this interest first came from and how you found yourself using the point of view of the artist in your writing in The Vegetarian and Your Cold Hands. HK: When I was young, my aunt, who was studying art, lived with us for a time. Her room was always full of her work, and I’d often model for her, too. WORLDLITERATURETODAY.ORG 63 64 WLT MAY–AUGUST 2016 It was difficult to stay still, frankly. That experience probably helped me understand the point of view of artists and their subjects in my work. I myself never really got into drawing. When I was at the Iowa International Writing Program, they gave me a stipend that allowed me to travel, and whenever I traveled to new cities in America, I was alone, so naturally I spent a lot of time looking at art in museums. I guess you could say I became truly aware of art in my twenties that way. I think I absorbed those experiences, and this is reflected in my writing. I also like examining and exploring details. Snow falling on a black coat, for example. For a split second, the snowflake looks almost hexagonal. This also goes beyond the visual arts. This idea of looking deeply at and into something is, I think, part of the realm of literature . But...