When I first picked up The Vegetarian by Han Kang, I assumed I was about to read a quiet tale of personal rebellion—a woman’s decision to give up meat, perhaps laced with the tensions of family expectations, cultural rigidity, and the subtle undertones of gender inequality. What I found instead was a haunting, poetic, and multilayered exploration of the human psyche-of madness, creativity, repression, and the fragility of identity.
THE PLOT
The novel revolves around Yeong-hye, an unremarkable woman in the eyes of her family and society, who decides to stop eating meat after a disturbing dream. This seemingly simple act becomes a catalyst for an emotional unraveling not just of Yeong-hye, but of everyone around her. The story unfolds in three distinct sections, told through the perspectives of her husband, her brother-in-law, and her sister—never through Yeong-hye herself. This narrative structure leaves her voice deliberately absent, underlining her erasure from her own life and mirroring how society often silences women’s autonomy.
Not your Feminist Piece
At first, I interpreted the book as a feminist parable. Yeong-hye’s decision to become vegetarian—an act of volition over her own body—is met with hostility, violence, and rejection. Even such a deeply personal choice is scrutinized and punished, especially by the men in her life. Yet, as the narrative progresses, it becomes clear that the book is not merely about vegetarianism, feminism, or rebellion. It is about the internal worlds people hide, the psychological fault lines that run through seemingly ordinary lives, the genesis of a fragmented mental state and the consequences when those fractures can no longer be contained.
A Stunning Narration
The novel brims with a strangely disturbing beauty especially when describing the Brother-in-law’s obsession. Han Kang’s writing is sparse but almost poetic and intense, translated into English with stunning precision by Deborah Smith. The imagery is often dreamlike, and the symbolism—particularly of plants, blood, and animals—adds to the surreal quality of the narrative. There is a quiet horror in the way Yeong-hye’s mental state deteriorates, yet the prose never becomes sensational. Instead, it remains emotionally restrained, allowing the reader to sit with discomfort and interpret the gaps.It disgusts but never detracts.
As a Clinician
As someone with a clinical background, I was perhaps less disturbed by Yeong-hye’s spiralling into schizophrenia than others might be. What struck me instead was the all enveloping sadness of it all—the inability of her family to understand her, the lack of support when needed, the cruelty masked as concern, and the utter loneliness of her inner world. The scenes that many describe as “gut-wrenching” left me with a sense of acceptance, perhaps even awe, for the human mind’s complexity.
The most fascinating section, for me, was the second part—told from the perspective of Yeong-hye’s brother-in-law, an experimental artist obsessed with her body and her defiance of norms. His project, involving body painting and sexual transgression, raises unsettling questions about creative freedom and consent. Is he an artist pushing boundaries, or a man exploiting a vulnerable woman under the guise of art? This moral ambiguity lingers throughout, and Han Kang offers no easy answers. The lines between art and abuse, madness and clarity, beauty and horror are constantly blurred.
The Worn out Caregiver – In Hye
In the final part, told by Yeong-hye’s sister In-hye, the emotional toll on the caregiver becomes the focal point. In-hye, the only character who tries to understand Yeong-hye with compassion, is also a prisoner of her own sacrifices. Her reflections on family, duty, and self-denial add another layer of poignancy to the novel. Here, the novel touches on the invisible burdens women carry in silence and the psychological inheritance of trauma.
Final thoughts
The Vegetarian is not an easy read. It is unsettling, yes—but not in a way that shocks with gore or theatrics. Instead, it disturbs by peeling back the layers of civility, sanity, and identity revealing a rotting core. It invites the reader to witness the cost of living in a world that demands conformity and punishes difference, especially when that difference cannot be neatly explained or slotted.
Ultimately, this novel is not at all about vegetarianism. It is about the intense and painfully disruptive attempt to become something else—something pure, something free, something unearthly. Whether that transformation is spiritual, psychological, or symbolic is left open to interpretation.
I closed the book with a strange mix of sadness, admiration, and reflection. In Yeong-hye’s silence, I could hear the echoes of so many unheard voices. In the brother-in-law’s art, I saw the double-edged nature of creativity. And in In-hye’s exhaustion, I recognized the unspoken stories of countless caregivers.
Han Kang has created a masterpiece that lingers like a dream—fragmented, beautiful, and deeply unsettling.
Have you read this book? What are your thoughts?
This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla.
“This post is part of the Bookish League blog hop hosted by Bohemian Bibliophile”
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