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scifi_rat 's review for:
We Do Not Part
by Han Kang
challenging
dark
mysterious
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Once in a while I will come upon a book that ticks every single box of things that I have a very strong personal connection to and this book will have a hold on my heart and mind for years to come. This one is one of them.
One of the criticisms I've noticed repeated for We Do Not Part is that nothing happens and the plot is too vague. And while that's not entirely incorrect, I also do not consider this a criticism. This is a novel that's meant to be savored page by page, like a meditation on the present and the past. The events take place over the course of a couple of days and they're painstakingly recounted in minute detail over the course of the novel with intermissions of Inseon's documentary interviews. The macro-focus on the snow and the cold and the suffering of traveling through a snow storm; the intermittence of hallucinatory ghosts and recurring nightmares--all of it overlays over the echoes of generational trauma in a way that seeps into your bones.
At its core, this is a horror novel. About the atrocities of genocide and war, about being haunted by the past, about being stranded all alone with no one to witness your death but lonely ghosts. But at the same time, Han Kang was able to inlay the paragraphs with a certain warmth and tactility. Every description of Kyungha's best friend Inseon is infused with such vivid familiarity, their interactions full of quiet understanding that comes only from knowing someone well for a long time. The way Inseon dresses, the way she holds herself, the way she speaks, the way her house carries traces of her when she's not there--all of it is written with such aching care. So in a way this is also a love letter to a dear friend who carries the same hauntings and who can understand your pain and the holes in your heart better than you can.
Ultimately, this is a eulogy to thousands upon thousands of people who were silently mass executed in the war during the years of 1948-1950. Despite the horrors, Han Kang takes time to be so gentle. Every description of the falling snow, the way it feels to touch the feathers of a breathing bird, the slow fall of wax down a candle. There is a line, that I think encapsulates what this novel is in a nutshell:
<blockquote>As a child, I read that ultra-fine particles of dust or ash had to be present for a snowflake to form. And that clouds were not only made of suspended water droplets but were full of dust and ash that rose from the ground with water vapor.</blockquote>
The ashes and dust of everyone that has parted are still with us, falling from the sky as snow, so we do not say farewell.
Thank you for netgalley and the publisher for the ARC copy.
One of the criticisms I've noticed repeated for We Do Not Part is that nothing happens and the plot is too vague. And while that's not entirely incorrect, I also do not consider this a criticism. This is a novel that's meant to be savored page by page, like a meditation on the present and the past. The events take place over the course of a couple of days and they're painstakingly recounted in minute detail over the course of the novel with intermissions of Inseon's documentary interviews. The macro-focus on the snow and the cold and the suffering of traveling through a snow storm; the intermittence of hallucinatory ghosts and recurring nightmares--all of it overlays over the echoes of generational trauma in a way that seeps into your bones.
At its core, this is a horror novel. About the atrocities of genocide and war, about being haunted by the past, about being stranded all alone with no one to witness your death but lonely ghosts. But at the same time, Han Kang was able to inlay the paragraphs with a certain warmth and tactility. Every description of Kyungha's best friend Inseon is infused with such vivid familiarity, their interactions full of quiet understanding that comes only from knowing someone well for a long time. The way Inseon dresses, the way she holds herself, the way she speaks, the way her house carries traces of her when she's not there--all of it is written with such aching care. So in a way this is also a love letter to a dear friend who carries the same hauntings and who can understand your pain and the holes in your heart better than you can.
Ultimately, this is a eulogy to thousands upon thousands of people who were silently mass executed in the war during the years of 1948-1950. Despite the horrors, Han Kang takes time to be so gentle. Every description of the falling snow, the way it feels to touch the feathers of a breathing bird, the slow fall of wax down a candle. There is a line, that I think encapsulates what this novel is in a nutshell:
<blockquote>As a child, I read that ultra-fine particles of dust or ash had to be present for a snowflake to form. And that clouds were not only made of suspended water droplets but were full of dust and ash that rose from the ground with water vapor.</blockquote>
The ashes and dust of everyone that has parted are still with us, falling from the sky as snow, so we do not say farewell.
Thank you for netgalley and the publisher for the ARC copy.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death, Genocide, Gun violence, Violence, Blood, Mass/school shootings, War, Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Animal death, Chronic illness, Gore, Suicidal thoughts, Torture, Medical content, Dementia, Grief, Death of parent, Fire/Fire injury