Review: We Do Not Part

Cover image of "We Do Not Part" by Han Kang

We Do Not Part, Han Kang, translated by E. Yaewon and Paige Aniyah Morris. Hogarth (ISBN: 9780593595459) 2025

Summary: Kyungha makes a harrowing journey through a blizzard to save a friend’s bird, confronting the reality behind her nightmares.

The nightmares began a few months after Kyungha, a historian, published a book on a massacre. She is making her way in a blizzard through a field of erect torsos like tree stumps as the sea behind her rises…. In the years since, she has struggled with depression and considered suicide. But she shared her dream with Inseon, a photographer who collaborated with her on documentaries. Inseon, who has become a friend, agrees to create an installation that will remember the massacre that was the source of the dreams. Kyungha is not so sure about this idea and asks her friend to drop the project.

Then she receives a text from Inseon, asking her to come to a hospital. Inseon, a woodworker, cut off the tips of a couple fingers and is undergoing a gruesome set of treatments that will last weeks to try to save the tips of her fingers. She has a favor to ask of Kyungha. In the rush to get her to hospital, she left behind her bird, that will soon die without food or water. Inseon lives on the island of Jeju in a remote location by a remote village. Getting there involves flights, bus rides, and hiking a trail up to her remote home. There is no one back home who she can ask to do this.

There are some things you do not deny a friend of twenty years. Kyungha departs immediately only to discover that she is flying into a blizzard. She is not adequately dressed. She manages to get the last bus to the village. Then, in a blinding storm, she has to make her way up to Inseon’s house. Kyungha gets lost, falls, yet miraculously makes her way. She is cold with soaked shoes. She soon begins to feel feverish.

This sets the stage for the second half of the novel, which reads like something of a fever dream. She finds Inseon had not abandoned their project, having cut one hundred logs for the installation. More than that, through a series of visions/dreams/hallucinations, Inseon recounts her mother’s personal accounts of the massive genocide that occurred on Jeju in 1948-1950. The South Korean government, with assistance from the United States, embarked on an effort to cleanse the island of Communism, resulting in the deaths of over 300,000 people [this really happened].

Kyungha confronts the nightmare reality of which her dreams were but a figment. It’s a personal account of Inseon’s mother, father, and extended family, many of whom died. But she experiences something else–the bond between her and Inseon of which the title speaks. Han Kang juxtaposes unspeakable violence and enduring friendship. She captures something of both the unspeakable evil of which we are capable and the nobility that breaks through the darkness. The imagery of dark stumps, rising seas, blizzards, light, and flame powerfully convey that juxtaposition.

Han Kang was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature in 2024 for her earlier body of work: The Vegetarian, The White Book, Human Acts, and Greek Lessons. While I’ve not read her earlier works, the combination of imagery, the plotting, and the juxtaposition of a friendship with a horror of history reveals Han Kang’s skill and artistic vision.

Review: A Quiet Life

A Quiet Life, Kenzaburo Oe (Translators: Kunioki Yanagishita, William Wetherall). New York: Grove Press, 1998.

Summary: Ma-chan, a quiet, college age woman is left to care for her older brother who has a neurological disorder and younger, college-bound brother while her father, a famous writer, sorts out his life and faith in California on a writer’s residency.

All Ma-Chan wants is to live a quiet life, writing her thesis on Celine, a French novelist, while caring for her brother, nicknamed Eeyore, who suffers from epileptic fits that have caused brain damage, yet left him with an unusual musical talent. She has been more or less marginalized, an orphan even before her parents left Japan for California. Her parents tended to focus on the afflictions of the older brother and the promise of the younger brother, O-Chan, preparing for his college entrance exams while his parents are in America, Her father, a famous writer, has left for a writer’s residency in California. In reality, he is suffering from a “pinch” of the spirit, having suffered a loss of faith that causes him to wonder “how is a faithless person to cope with life?”

Ma-Chan is left to cope at a more practical level. She has to help her older brother deal with his sexual urges in socially appropriate ways while seeing that he gets to his sheltered workshop each day. She has to help others understand her brother’s seizures and resist their mockery of him, often in internal cries of “Hell no! Hell no!” She also takes him to the Shigetos, who help Eeyore discover and develop his unique gift for musical composition. One of these is titled “Sutego” or orphan. Both brother and sister are orphans together.

Eventually, it is recommended that Eeyore take swim lessons to channel some of his physical energies. It is here that they meet Mr. Arai, a shady character who agrees to teach Eeyore to swim. And he is very good at it and a bond develops between them, even as everything in us screams “predator!” Mr Shigeto starts watching out for them until a confrontation with Arai in which Mr. Shigeto is severely beaten, opening the way for Mr. Arai to pursue his designs.

The “quiet life” Ma-Chan wants comes at the cost of submerging her own selfhood. She describes herself as “robotizing.” She sees herself as a skinny thing with stick legs, oblivious of her own sexuality and that others might notice her. Yet there are her “Hell Nos” and her “Diary of Life,” written that “her papa might remember he has a family.” One comes to the end of this novel wondering whether Ma-Chan will find her voice and her self in more than a diary and her internal monologue. Will she heed the self that says “Hell No!” or let her father treat her as an orphan while he pursues an esoteric spiritual search? Will she emerge as the scholar in her own right?

Many of us want a quiet life. Life doesn’t always permit this, and more than that, at what price do we secure such a life? Is it at the price of our selves? Must we robotize? It seems these are the questions Oe’s novel asks of us. Meanwhile, he seems to take a swipe at the pretensions of literary figures who think their existential “pinches” more important than the real pinches they make those around them endure.