Reading Goals

Book 21 of

Trigger warning: This book deals with themes of self-harm, disordered eating, and abuse.

The Vegetarian by Han Kang is a deeply disturbing and tragic book, and not an easy one to read through. Yeong-hye’s story was told entirely through other people in her life - her husband, her brother-in-law, and finally her sister, In-hye. This felt intentional, and unsettling from the start. We never really heard Yeong-hye speak for herself, and that absence- of never knowing her true feelings, has lingered with me.
In the first two sections, Yeong-hye was constantly seen through the male gaze, existing largely to cater to men’s needs and desires. Her husband’s perspective was particularly uncomfortable to read, shaped by entitlement and self-interest. In the brother-in-law’s section, both Yeong-hye and In-hye were reduced to objects, and this deeply unsettled me as a reader. What made it even more disturbing was how he justified his actions - hiding behind the idea of creating art, of wanting to make something meaningful. While the responsibility of earning and holding a life together rested on In-hye, he seemed preoccupied with protecting his own sense of masculinity, clinging to the idea of being a “true artist,” even if it meant acting in morally ambiguous and irresponsible ways.
It was In-hye’s section that grounded the story for me. Through her, we saw glimpses of their abusive childhood and how differently the sisters learned to survive it. In-hye suppressed and endured, trying to hold things together, while Yeong-hye resisted and suffered because of it.
Although the title and summary mention vegetarianism, it isn't really the focal element of this story. It is just a source used to depict a story filled with so much pain, control, and inherited trauma. This was a heavy, heartbreaking read, and not something I could recommend lightly.

Book 19 of

Where do I even begin describing the effect of this book?
The pain, the anguish, the grief I went through as the characters suffered… and the realization that, although this is fiction, somewhere it really did happen. Somewhere there was a Samir wanting to be with his Firdaus. Somewhere there was a Vij Bhawan with a dutiful Mohan, a tortured but talented Vivek, a nostalgic Som Nath, and a gentle yet determined Savitri. And through no fault of their own, they were removed from “home”- a place that’s meant to keep you safest.

Going in, I expected an interreligious romance, but it’s so much more. It shows the psychological trauma war inflicts on men like Vivek and Samir, how displacement strips away not just loved ones and family, but identity itself. Even years later, the grief remains. There is no moving on.
One of the last chapters explains this beautifully -

"Truth, even reality, had so many versions, and they were all being lived simultaneously. Religion quickly became the root of all misfortune. Us or them. And who was them, who was other? It was us. We had created the other ourselves, for we were all the other to someone."

My only disconnect (purely personal) was the deep, detailed focus on perfumes. But I know that for many readers, this will be the very thing that deepens their connection to the story.

These past few days, I’ve been watching YouTube videos about Lahore - the artists, the way of life — and feeling a strange, unfamiliar grief for a city I will never be able to visit. All because of the beautiful, poetic narration of .
Thank you for this masterpiece. Attending your session with made me appreciate your thought process even more, especially knowing this wasn’t imagined from thin air but a fictional account of a very real tragedy.

A definite, must-read.