K-LIT REVIEW 'Light and Thread' reveals Han Kang's hidden facets
English and Korean copies of "Light and Thread" by Han Kang / Courtesy of Faye Leung
When I heard that Nobel laureate Han Kang had put out a new book and that it was her first translated nonfiction work, I didn’t know what to expect. “Essays” was the vague idea I’d gleaned from social media, but the reality of “Light and Thread” (translated into English by Maya West, E. Yaewon and Paige Aniyah Morris) turned out to be so much more. For anyone who has read Han or plans to read her in the future, this book is an unmissable companion, containing insights to her writing that only she can tell.
Two years ago, the Swedish Academy awarded Han with the Nobel Prize in literature, lauding her “intense poetic prose.” The intensity is dialed back in this latest release, but Han’s signature prose is as feather-light and gentle as the name “Light and Thread” suggests. The book is divided into three sections of essays, poems and other writing that paint a holistic picture of Han: first as a novelist, then as a poet and finally as a person.
“Enigmatic” is a word often used to describe Han Kang’s work. Those who have read even a single paragraph of her novels know that to read Han is to wade into a dense thicket of subtext, symbolism and historical context while shouldering an ever-growing emotional burden. In the first part of “Light and Thread,” Han rescues her long-suffering readers from their plight by sharing candid details of her writing process. In her Nobel Prize lecture, she explains how she is plagued by philosophical questions such as “What does it mean to belong to the species called human?” and “What happens to someone who refuses to belong to the species called human?” Each novel, she says, is her way of trying to answer these questions.
The essay “After Publication” grants readers a peek into Han’s inner world. This intimate account reflects on the transformative journey she went through while writing her latest novel, “We Do Not Part,” the ways it broke and healed her, and the direction toward which she now strives.
The second part of the book turns from prose to verse with a collection of five poems. Although the shortest section, this small selection is significant, marking the first time English readers are able to appreciate an indelible part of Han: the poet. Many are unaware that she was a poet before she ever penned her first novel. In fact, her very first published works were five poems in 1993, the same year she graduated from Yonsei University. Until now, however, her roots in poetry have been hidden from international view by a language barrier.
Whenever someone asks me what Han’s writing is like in Korean, I say that reading her feels like being sucked into a vortex. Her writing has an enchanting draw to it that lulls readers into an almost trancelike state. Han’s poetry reveals why her prose is so mesmerizing: She has an uncannily tight grasp on rhythm, a quality that’s subtly present in her novels but distinct in her poetry. The unique blend of grace and power in her writing brings to mind the image of a traditional dancer lithely tracing arcs in the air with a fan.
Impressively, the translators of “Light and Thread” have pulled off the nearly impossible, balancing accuracy, rhythm, structure and rhyme to deliver Han’s poems vividly and forcefully in English. In the span of five poems, readers are taken from the ruminative “The Coat and I” to the more somber “(Meditation on Pain),” ultimately ending on a buoyant note with “A Very Small Snowflake.”
Author Han Kang delivers a speech during the Nobel Prize banquet at Stockholm City Hall in Sweden, Dec. 10, 2024. AFP-Yonhap
Until this point in the book, most of the writing was collected from previous publications, but the third part of “Light and Thread” broaches new territory with an essay, a poem and an excerpt from Han’s garden diary spanning from 2021 to 2023. Though seemingly lighter than the preceding parts, this section answers a more fundamental question: Who is Han Kang, not as a novelist or poet, but as a human being?
One of the best ways to get to know a person is to ask what they do in their spare time. In Han’s case, she gardens. I found the essay “North-Facing Garden” to be particularly illuminating. For those with a green thumb, the title is a dead giveaway. In a city as latitudinally high as Seoul, a north-facing garden would receive very little sunlight. Coaxing any plants at all to survive, let alone thrive, in a plot blanketed in shadow is nothing short of an uphill battle. Yet, rather than considering it an insurmountable obstacle, Han felt only determination to reach her gardening goals. As it is with her plants, so it is with her writing. No matter how painful, tough or controversial the subject of a book, her dogged tenacity prevails, driving her to see it through each time.
With any luck, fans will soon be able to see this unwavering resolve once more. Rumor has it that Han is busy at work on another novel, one that is atmospherically tied to her previous works. Until she tugs once again on the thread drawing millions to her writing, the light from this book will keep readers aglow.
“Light and Thread” is available at dbbooks.co.kr.
Faye Leung runs @the_bibliocracy, an Instagram account dedicated to singling out reads for savoring. She regularly posts book reviews and recommendations, and has a particular fondness for Korean literature.