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190 pages, Paperback
First published November 10, 2011
4,041 people are currently reading
68.9k people want to read
About the author
Han Kang
59?books9,422?followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the 欧宝娱乐 database.
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Han Kang was born in 1970 in South Korea. She is the author of The Vegetarian, winner of the International Booker Prize, as well as Human Acts, The White Book, Greek Lessons, and We Do Not Part. In 2024, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature “for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”
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Han Kang was born in 1970 in South Korea. She is the author of The Vegetarian, winner of the International Booker Prize, as well as Human Acts, The White Book, Greek Lessons, and We Do Not Part. In 2024, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature “for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life.”
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 5,014 reviews
August 13, 2023
i love to read about words.
the other stuff, on the other hand...
case by case.
i feel that this had moments of being perfectly written, and i could read about han kang writing about language forever, but generally this felt like it had a gauzy curtain over it. if i peered through it, i could make out what was happening, but i felt prevented from truly connecting with any of it, and it took effort to read.
in other words, not my greatest beach read selection of all time.
bottom line: mixed bag.
---------------
tbr review
NEW HAN KANG NEW HAN KANG NEW HAN KANG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
the other stuff, on the other hand...
case by case.
i feel that this had moments of being perfectly written, and i could read about han kang writing about language forever, but generally this felt like it had a gauzy curtain over it. if i peered through it, i could make out what was happening, but i felt prevented from truly connecting with any of it, and it took effort to read.
in other words, not my greatest beach read selection of all time.
bottom line: mixed bag.
---------------
tbr review
NEW HAN KANG NEW HAN KANG NEW HAN KANG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
April 9, 2023
First published in 2011, Han Kang’蝉 short novel grew from a year when she retreated from writing, unable to focus on fiction of any kind, her return to language was slow and arduous. It also builds on themes centred on violence and suffering that run through her fiction, but here these themes play out in more muted tones, and on a smaller scale than in Human Acts or The Vegetarian. Kang has noted the influence of reading Sebald on her narrative, and there is something of his approach here, at times Kang’蝉 story reads like a hybrid of contemplative prose poetry and essay-like, philosophical exploration. It’蝉 intricate, sometimes deliberately opaque. It’蝉 also a potent reminder of Kang’蝉 roots in poetry, lyrical and filled with striking images and phrasing.
Kang imagines two isolated people both living in Seoul, one a lecturer in Ancient Greek who is gradually losing his sight, the other one of his pupils, a poet and teacher who’蝉 lost custody of her child, and finds herself no longer able to speak. Both are adrift in the city, spending their spare time pacing the streets, confronted by its sounds and smells, both alienated on some level but for entirely different reasons. The man retracing his past, his mind given over to memories of his childhood in Germany where his family relocated when he was still very young; the woman attempting to exhaust herself, to cut herself off from memories she’d rather not confront. The woman has enrolled in Greek lessons because this long-dead language is so far removed from her own, suggesting a way back into speaking that isn’t also a way back into her own past.
Kang has talked about her sense of the inadequacies and limitations of language and her fascination with the idea of Ancient Greek, its structure and particularly its use of a middle rather than a passive voice. A form that enables a single word to operate on a variety of levels but also involves a different relationship with agency - one of the reasons the middle voice was often used in wall-writing during Greece’蝉 financial crisis, a choice that enabled protesters to express their feelings without taking on the role of either perpetrator or victim. Kang’蝉 ideas about language and identity are reflected in her chosen style which concretises her characters’ predicaments – the woman is represented in the third person, unable to express herself directly, and the man in the first, as someone caught up in his thoughts and impressions. Both are attempting to come to terms with the suffering and losses that are an unavoidable consequence of existence – steeped in what Kang calls “the pain of the world.” Yet it’蝉 not a pessimistic piece but one that ultimately rests on possibilities for connection and reconciliation. Translated by Deborah Smith and Emily Yae Woon.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Hamish Hamilton for an ARC
Kang imagines two isolated people both living in Seoul, one a lecturer in Ancient Greek who is gradually losing his sight, the other one of his pupils, a poet and teacher who’蝉 lost custody of her child, and finds herself no longer able to speak. Both are adrift in the city, spending their spare time pacing the streets, confronted by its sounds and smells, both alienated on some level but for entirely different reasons. The man retracing his past, his mind given over to memories of his childhood in Germany where his family relocated when he was still very young; the woman attempting to exhaust herself, to cut herself off from memories she’d rather not confront. The woman has enrolled in Greek lessons because this long-dead language is so far removed from her own, suggesting a way back into speaking that isn’t also a way back into her own past.
Kang has talked about her sense of the inadequacies and limitations of language and her fascination with the idea of Ancient Greek, its structure and particularly its use of a middle rather than a passive voice. A form that enables a single word to operate on a variety of levels but also involves a different relationship with agency - one of the reasons the middle voice was often used in wall-writing during Greece’蝉 financial crisis, a choice that enabled protesters to express their feelings without taking on the role of either perpetrator or victim. Kang’蝉 ideas about language and identity are reflected in her chosen style which concretises her characters’ predicaments – the woman is represented in the third person, unable to express herself directly, and the man in the first, as someone caught up in his thoughts and impressions. Both are attempting to come to terms with the suffering and losses that are an unavoidable consequence of existence – steeped in what Kang calls “the pain of the world.” Yet it’蝉 not a pessimistic piece but one that ultimately rests on possibilities for connection and reconciliation. Translated by Deborah Smith and Emily Yae Woon.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Hamish Hamilton for an ARC
March 2, 2025
I remember in high school biology, I learned about a condition called motor aphasia, which is caused by damage to the motor speech center. This results in muscle coordination issues that prevent speaking but still allows listening, reading, and writing. I used to think this condition was absurd - how could someone normal, understand language but not be able to speak? That was until I read Han Kang’蝉 Greek Lessons.
As a Nobel Laureate, Han Kang’蝉 writing is poetic and delicately touches on deep emotional wounds, evoking empathy from readers, especially in today’蝉 oppressive world. Her book The Vegetarian drew lots of attention and sparked discussions among literature lovers worldwide. This time, she focuses on people with aphasia and those who are blind.
To be honest, Han Kang’蝉 books aren’t exactly easy reads. This novel feels like a linguistic maze that's hard to decode. She doesn’t fill in the plot but uses fragmented sentences to convey equally fragmented emotions. This is the fourth book of hers I've read, and I still can’t fully grasp it in one go, but I’m moved by the emotions. After losing her language, the female protagonist finds herself in a vortex of silence, with amplified environmental sounds - car noises, rain, footsteps - filling the void in her life. The male protagonist, having lost his vision, uses memories to fill the gray fog before him, with words and outlines of loved ones becoming clearer yet distant like a dream. Their dialogues and touches are encounters with another self, both mute and blind, sparking indescribable light in their fading lives.
The female protagonist was a publishing editor and literature teacher who had published poetry. After a divorce, her mother’蝉 death, and losing custody of her son, she developed aphasia for the second time in her life. At 17, she suddenly stopped using language to think, act, or understand. Much later, seeing a French word triggered her ability to pronounce it, and everything returned to normal. She then decided to learn ancient Greek to regain her lost language.
The male protagonist is a Greek teacher who lived in Germany for 17 years and is going blind due to a hereditary disease. In his class, he encounters the female protagonist, reminding him of a former lover, the daughter of an ophthalmologist, who was also deaf. He wanted her to communicate through language, not realizing that silence was their most precious connection.
The female protagonist’蝉 aphasia is closely tied to her childhood. Her family had told her she was almost aborted, instilling a coldness in her heart, making her cautious in every step as if constantly questioning her right to exist. Suppressing her true nature, her mother’蝉 death and losing custody made her life darker and led to minimal living standards.
Meeting the male protagonist becomes a turning point. They connect through eye contact; he respects and understands her, and she helps him when he gets injured.
”Isn’t it strange? Our bodies have eyelids and lips that sometimes close from the outside but can also lock tightly from within.”
Initially, I thought the writing was average and hard to get Han Kang’蝉 point. It wasn’t until the middle that the story began to make sense.
Greek Lessons offered more thought-provoking insights compared to The Vegetarian, Human Acts, and The White Book. This novel elevates Han Kang from merely a wordsmith to a nurturer of thought. Aphasia means losing the ability to speak, often associated with deafness, making life imperfect. Braille and sign language are substitutes but not the same as the original. This complexity simplifies human stories, as verbal attacks and insults become unknown, adding a protective layer to the silent heart. Han Kang shows a deeper understanding of humanity: persistence without guaranteed results. People are not sages.
Structurally, the whole story is fragmented, making it a challenging read. It lacks gripping twists, focusing on the tragic pasts, unfortunate futures, and mundane present of the protagonists. While the framework could’ve created a compelling narrative, Han Kang chose a tougher path, deepening her reflection on life: losing vocal cords or throat function isn’t the end. Instead, expressing acceptance of incompleteness forms a complete life path. This highlights individual identity and humanity.
I have a strong feeling that this novel explores feminism, addressing the plight of women stripped of everything in modern society. As global attention on feminism rises, Han Kang’蝉 expression becomes more subtle and implicit. Yet, in this silent struggle, a powerful voiceless strength emerges.
The protagonist, compressed by reality until almost transparent, loses her language, finding solace only in French and Greek. Meeting a man about to lose his sight, she experiences mutual comfort and warmth. These two souls on the edge of life question if they can find mutual understanding and redemption or if it is another cry for help.
Through Han Kang’蝉 writing, I can sense her hidden pain, calm on the surface but bordering on despair. If language is a tool of harm and violence, then silence becomes her self-protection and search for redemption. Silence isn’t compromise; sometimes, it’蝉 resistance.
Han Kang delves a lot into the struggles of women and similarly situated men, seeking shared understanding of repressed anger and dissatisfaction. The mutual understanding and redemption in the characters’ journey provide us with reflection and caution. Every reader can find their shadow in the story, reevaluating their challenges. This may be the book’蝉 significance.
And this book has many memorable quotes showcasing Han Kang’蝉 literary prowess. Yet, after finishing it, I can’t recall specific plot points, similar to remembering many quotes but none specific.
You might ask if a book that doesn’t leave a strong impression can still be considered good. The answer is simple: because it mirrors the experience of aphasia. I am speechless.
4.6 / 5 stars
As a Nobel Laureate, Han Kang’蝉 writing is poetic and delicately touches on deep emotional wounds, evoking empathy from readers, especially in today’蝉 oppressive world. Her book The Vegetarian drew lots of attention and sparked discussions among literature lovers worldwide. This time, she focuses on people with aphasia and those who are blind.
To be honest, Han Kang’蝉 books aren’t exactly easy reads. This novel feels like a linguistic maze that's hard to decode. She doesn’t fill in the plot but uses fragmented sentences to convey equally fragmented emotions. This is the fourth book of hers I've read, and I still can’t fully grasp it in one go, but I’m moved by the emotions. After losing her language, the female protagonist finds herself in a vortex of silence, with amplified environmental sounds - car noises, rain, footsteps - filling the void in her life. The male protagonist, having lost his vision, uses memories to fill the gray fog before him, with words and outlines of loved ones becoming clearer yet distant like a dream. Their dialogues and touches are encounters with another self, both mute and blind, sparking indescribable light in their fading lives.
The female protagonist was a publishing editor and literature teacher who had published poetry. After a divorce, her mother’蝉 death, and losing custody of her son, she developed aphasia for the second time in her life. At 17, she suddenly stopped using language to think, act, or understand. Much later, seeing a French word triggered her ability to pronounce it, and everything returned to normal. She then decided to learn ancient Greek to regain her lost language.
The male protagonist is a Greek teacher who lived in Germany for 17 years and is going blind due to a hereditary disease. In his class, he encounters the female protagonist, reminding him of a former lover, the daughter of an ophthalmologist, who was also deaf. He wanted her to communicate through language, not realizing that silence was their most precious connection.
The female protagonist’蝉 aphasia is closely tied to her childhood. Her family had told her she was almost aborted, instilling a coldness in her heart, making her cautious in every step as if constantly questioning her right to exist. Suppressing her true nature, her mother’蝉 death and losing custody made her life darker and led to minimal living standards.
Meeting the male protagonist becomes a turning point. They connect through eye contact; he respects and understands her, and she helps him when he gets injured.
”Isn’t it strange? Our bodies have eyelids and lips that sometimes close from the outside but can also lock tightly from within.”
Initially, I thought the writing was average and hard to get Han Kang’蝉 point. It wasn’t until the middle that the story began to make sense.
Greek Lessons offered more thought-provoking insights compared to The Vegetarian, Human Acts, and The White Book. This novel elevates Han Kang from merely a wordsmith to a nurturer of thought. Aphasia means losing the ability to speak, often associated with deafness, making life imperfect. Braille and sign language are substitutes but not the same as the original. This complexity simplifies human stories, as verbal attacks and insults become unknown, adding a protective layer to the silent heart. Han Kang shows a deeper understanding of humanity: persistence without guaranteed results. People are not sages.
Structurally, the whole story is fragmented, making it a challenging read. It lacks gripping twists, focusing on the tragic pasts, unfortunate futures, and mundane present of the protagonists. While the framework could’ve created a compelling narrative, Han Kang chose a tougher path, deepening her reflection on life: losing vocal cords or throat function isn’t the end. Instead, expressing acceptance of incompleteness forms a complete life path. This highlights individual identity and humanity.
I have a strong feeling that this novel explores feminism, addressing the plight of women stripped of everything in modern society. As global attention on feminism rises, Han Kang’蝉 expression becomes more subtle and implicit. Yet, in this silent struggle, a powerful voiceless strength emerges.
The protagonist, compressed by reality until almost transparent, loses her language, finding solace only in French and Greek. Meeting a man about to lose his sight, she experiences mutual comfort and warmth. These two souls on the edge of life question if they can find mutual understanding and redemption or if it is another cry for help.
Through Han Kang’蝉 writing, I can sense her hidden pain, calm on the surface but bordering on despair. If language is a tool of harm and violence, then silence becomes her self-protection and search for redemption. Silence isn’t compromise; sometimes, it’蝉 resistance.
Han Kang delves a lot into the struggles of women and similarly situated men, seeking shared understanding of repressed anger and dissatisfaction. The mutual understanding and redemption in the characters’ journey provide us with reflection and caution. Every reader can find their shadow in the story, reevaluating their challenges. This may be the book’蝉 significance.
And this book has many memorable quotes showcasing Han Kang’蝉 literary prowess. Yet, after finishing it, I can’t recall specific plot points, similar to remembering many quotes but none specific.
You might ask if a book that doesn’t leave a strong impression can still be considered good. The answer is simple: because it mirrors the experience of aphasia. I am speechless.
4.6 / 5 stars
March 24, 2024
LA BIBLIOTECA DI BABELE
Come quella sulla copertina, qui e a seguire sono tutte immagini di opere di Ji Seok Cheol.
Lei non parla più, ha smesso di farlo: succede che venga scambiata per sordomuta, ma non parlare è in qualche modo una sua scelta. Anche se è avvenuto dopo un trauma. Come quando aveva sei anni: allora la morte violenta del suo cane, questa volta la morte della madre seguita dalla perdita dell’affidamento di suo figlio nella causa di divorzio.
Il linguaggio che l’aveva imprigionata e torturata come un vestito intessuto di migliaia di spilli era sparito… Il suo corpo era assediato dentro e fuori da un silenzio che risucchiava lo scorrere del tempo, un silenzio ovattato come prima di imparare a parlare – anzi, come prima di venire al mondo.
Ha deciso di studiare il greco antico perché ha “regole astruse”, oppure perché affascinata da quell’alfabeto dai tratti così belli, artistici, che in qualche modo ricorda il suo, quello coreano. Spera di ritrovare la parola con lo studio di una lingua morta?
A raccontarla è un classico narratore (narratrice?) in terza persona.
Lui sta progressivamente perdendo la vista, già adesso vede tutto sfocato, è destinato a diventare cieco. Stessa sorte del padre, morto da tempo, anima fredda.
Insegna greco antico. ? coreano e vive a Seoul, ma è cresciuto in Germania, dove era emigrato da bambino e dove è rimasta la sua famiglia, mamma e sorella minore.
Conosce lei al corso di greco antico, dove lui insegna e lei impara.
Si racconta da solo, io-narrante, con l’espediente di scrivere lettere alla sorella. Lettere che mi pare di capire gli tornano indietro.
Tra citazioni di Borges e Platone, riferimenti alla filosofia occidentale e più o meno dichiarati influssi buddhisti, si susseguono pagine vaghe, sfuggenti, in cui emerge una prosa elegante e ancor più una valanga di immagini poetiche come se Han Kang, incapace d’esprimere in altro modo le mancanze, i vuoti dei due personaggi, avesse scelto una prosa lirica.
Sono due solitudini. Sono per caso destinate a incontrarsi davvero? Lei traccia col dito sulla mano di lui le parole che non dice, lui le riconosce al tatto, non ha bisogno di leggerle, operazione che per lui sarebbe complicata. Riusciranno ad avvicinarsi più di così? A conoscersi?
Ci sono volte in cui i personaggi faticano a sollevarsi dalla pagina, a uscire dalle righe, a prendere forma e volume, tridimensionalità. A risultare credibili. Mi è successo qui: ho avvertito questi due personaggi rinchiusi nelle parole scritte, molto letterari, impossibilitati ad assumere un corpo, un’entità fisica. Un po’ come quando qualcuno ci racconta un sogno, difficile riuscire a entrarci, a farselo proprio, a indossarlo.
PS
Sulla traduzione: il primo libro di Han Kang pubblicato in italiano è stato La vegetariana che era tradotto dalla traduzione inglese, non dall’originale coreano. Traduzione inglese che sembra venisse giudicata dalla stessa Han Kang migliore dell’originale (!?!): poi, invece, ho capito che la traduzione in inglese è stata aspramente criticata in Corea del Sud, sia per una serie di veri e propri errori, sia per una generale tendenza a non rispettare la prosa di Kang, perlopiù alterandone il registro. La traduttrice inglese, Deborah Smith, ha finito con l’ammettere alcune sviste, sommate a una versione “informata dalla sua prospettiva personale” sul romanzo di Kang.
E quindi, noi in Italia che abbiamo letto?
Recensendo il libro su Alias, Remo Cesarani sottolineava come la versione italiana risultasse tuttavia più accurata di quella inglese, l’unica su cui era stata condotta la traduzione (magia?).
E quindi, trovare Han Kang piuttosto diversa in questa seconda lettura, dipende dal fatto che questa volta la traduzione è stata fatta sull’originale coreano?
Come quella sulla copertina, qui e a seguire sono tutte immagini di opere di Ji Seok Cheol.
Lei non parla più, ha smesso di farlo: succede che venga scambiata per sordomuta, ma non parlare è in qualche modo una sua scelta. Anche se è avvenuto dopo un trauma. Come quando aveva sei anni: allora la morte violenta del suo cane, questa volta la morte della madre seguita dalla perdita dell’affidamento di suo figlio nella causa di divorzio.
Il linguaggio che l’aveva imprigionata e torturata come un vestito intessuto di migliaia di spilli era sparito… Il suo corpo era assediato dentro e fuori da un silenzio che risucchiava lo scorrere del tempo, un silenzio ovattato come prima di imparare a parlare – anzi, come prima di venire al mondo.
Ha deciso di studiare il greco antico perché ha “regole astruse”, oppure perché affascinata da quell’alfabeto dai tratti così belli, artistici, che in qualche modo ricorda il suo, quello coreano. Spera di ritrovare la parola con lo studio di una lingua morta?
A raccontarla è un classico narratore (narratrice?) in terza persona.
Lui sta progressivamente perdendo la vista, già adesso vede tutto sfocato, è destinato a diventare cieco. Stessa sorte del padre, morto da tempo, anima fredda.
Insegna greco antico. ? coreano e vive a Seoul, ma è cresciuto in Germania, dove era emigrato da bambino e dove è rimasta la sua famiglia, mamma e sorella minore.
Conosce lei al corso di greco antico, dove lui insegna e lei impara.
Si racconta da solo, io-narrante, con l’espediente di scrivere lettere alla sorella. Lettere che mi pare di capire gli tornano indietro.
Tra citazioni di Borges e Platone, riferimenti alla filosofia occidentale e più o meno dichiarati influssi buddhisti, si susseguono pagine vaghe, sfuggenti, in cui emerge una prosa elegante e ancor più una valanga di immagini poetiche come se Han Kang, incapace d’esprimere in altro modo le mancanze, i vuoti dei due personaggi, avesse scelto una prosa lirica.
Sono due solitudini. Sono per caso destinate a incontrarsi davvero? Lei traccia col dito sulla mano di lui le parole che non dice, lui le riconosce al tatto, non ha bisogno di leggerle, operazione che per lui sarebbe complicata. Riusciranno ad avvicinarsi più di così? A conoscersi?
Ci sono volte in cui i personaggi faticano a sollevarsi dalla pagina, a uscire dalle righe, a prendere forma e volume, tridimensionalità. A risultare credibili. Mi è successo qui: ho avvertito questi due personaggi rinchiusi nelle parole scritte, molto letterari, impossibilitati ad assumere un corpo, un’entità fisica. Un po’ come quando qualcuno ci racconta un sogno, difficile riuscire a entrarci, a farselo proprio, a indossarlo.
PS
Sulla traduzione: il primo libro di Han Kang pubblicato in italiano è stato La vegetariana che era tradotto dalla traduzione inglese, non dall’originale coreano. Traduzione inglese che sembra venisse giudicata dalla stessa Han Kang migliore dell’originale (!?!): poi, invece, ho capito che la traduzione in inglese è stata aspramente criticata in Corea del Sud, sia per una serie di veri e propri errori, sia per una generale tendenza a non rispettare la prosa di Kang, perlopiù alterandone il registro. La traduttrice inglese, Deborah Smith, ha finito con l’ammettere alcune sviste, sommate a una versione “informata dalla sua prospettiva personale” sul romanzo di Kang.
E quindi, noi in Italia che abbiamo letto?
Recensendo il libro su Alias, Remo Cesarani sottolineava come la versione italiana risultasse tuttavia più accurata di quella inglese, l’unica su cui era stata condotta la traduzione (magia?).
E quindi, trovare Han Kang piuttosto diversa in questa seconda lettura, dipende dal fatto che questa volta la traduzione è stata fatta sull’originale coreano?
June 17, 2023
I liked The Vegetarian when I read it years ago, so when I saw Han Kang’蝉 latest offering, I snatched it up. Unfortunately, Greek Lessons went mostly over my head. Even though it’蝉 quite short, it’蝉 one you may want to take your time with.
This story follows a young woman who signs up for Ancient Greek Language lessons after losing her voice. Meanwhile, her Greek Language instructor is losing his sight.
As the title suggests, this book examines language and the variety of ways people communicate. It is very introspective and philosophical-leaning.
The writing is stunning, as you’d expect from this author. Deborah Smith and Emily Yae Won translated it beautifully.
Even though the writing was exceptional, it felt detached. I don’t need to connect or relate to characters, but if I feel there is any distance or detachment in the writing style, then it’蝉 hard for me to become invested in the story, which was the case here.
If you enjoy philosophy and languages, you may enjoy this novel. It’蝉 been years since I’ve studied Greek, so bumbling my way through the few bits in this book was fun.
Thank you to Random House for providing an arc via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
This story follows a young woman who signs up for Ancient Greek Language lessons after losing her voice. Meanwhile, her Greek Language instructor is losing his sight.
As the title suggests, this book examines language and the variety of ways people communicate. It is very introspective and philosophical-leaning.
The writing is stunning, as you’d expect from this author. Deborah Smith and Emily Yae Won translated it beautifully.
Even though the writing was exceptional, it felt detached. I don’t need to connect or relate to characters, but if I feel there is any distance or detachment in the writing style, then it’蝉 hard for me to become invested in the story, which was the case here.
If you enjoy philosophy and languages, you may enjoy this novel. It’蝉 been years since I’ve studied Greek, so bumbling my way through the few bits in this book was fun.
Thank you to Random House for providing an arc via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
March 15, 2023
Oh I feel so bad about what I’m about to write. I had such a yearning as I read this novel for it to linger longer on the ideas and poetics of what was being said and experienced by these characters. I felt like maybe a half-dozen masterpieces began and carried me forward into new, brave thoughts—and then they were abandoned. Some other, amazing story began. Maybe these threads tied together a little by the end but along the way the weave kept getting torn apart as tense and place and time all changed from one page to the next. I’m grieving for the novel that might have been. It needed a center for me. A grounding that wasn’t there. I saw some pretty ideas flash by as I read. Maybe that should be enough.
October 10, 2024
Now Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature 2024
Let's not kid ourselves: This is the weakest Han Kang I've ever read (and for someone restricted to reading in translation, I've read and enjoyed quite a few of her novels: , , , and ). The issue with "Greek Lessons" is, IMHO, that it is fully based on metaphors that determine the structure of the story and the characters, which makes for a hazy, vague reading experience that yells at you: "Hey, I'm ART"! Granted, of course Han Kang can write singular intriguing sentences, but where's the elegance in the construction of the plot, where's the vision, where's the overall narrative or aesthetic force? More than anything, this novella is: Timid.
The text is narrated in alternating chapters by a teacher for Ancient Greek losing his eyesight and one of his students, a woman who recently got divorced and lost custody of her son, which made her stop speaking. Both feel an increasing sensation of losing touch with the world, for one because of their impediments, but also because of the direction their lives have taken: Two lonely people meet in a course that keeps a dead language alive by passing it on. The heavy implications are hard to miss, and the evocation of doom and gloom is well rendered.
But all in all, this novella didn't get to me, because it's too forced and on the nose, and the plot construction is rather clunky. Apparently, Han Kang wrote it while in an artistic crisis of sorts, and I hope that getting this one out of her system helped her find new footing.
Let's not kid ourselves: This is the weakest Han Kang I've ever read (and for someone restricted to reading in translation, I've read and enjoyed quite a few of her novels: , , , and ). The issue with "Greek Lessons" is, IMHO, that it is fully based on metaphors that determine the structure of the story and the characters, which makes for a hazy, vague reading experience that yells at you: "Hey, I'm ART"! Granted, of course Han Kang can write singular intriguing sentences, but where's the elegance in the construction of the plot, where's the vision, where's the overall narrative or aesthetic force? More than anything, this novella is: Timid.
The text is narrated in alternating chapters by a teacher for Ancient Greek losing his eyesight and one of his students, a woman who recently got divorced and lost custody of her son, which made her stop speaking. Both feel an increasing sensation of losing touch with the world, for one because of their impediments, but also because of the direction their lives have taken: Two lonely people meet in a course that keeps a dead language alive by passing it on. The heavy implications are hard to miss, and the evocation of doom and gloom is well rendered.
But all in all, this novella didn't get to me, because it's too forced and on the nose, and the plot construction is rather clunky. Apparently, Han Kang wrote it while in an artistic crisis of sorts, and I hope that getting this one out of her system helped her find new footing.
September 7, 2023
Esta novela trata de dos personas que han perdido algo y coinciden en unas clases de griego. Ella, poeta y profesora de literatura, ha perdido la capacidad de hablar tras la muerte de su madre y perder la custodia de su hijo. ?l, un hombre que no se siente de ninguna parte tras pasar su vida entre dos países, sufre una enfermedad degenerativa de la vista que le sumirá en la ceguera. Esto les aísla del mundo, les sume en una soledad que toma forma de muros que se alzan cada vez más altos. Así, ‘La clase de griego’ nos ense?a dos vidas a la deriva, dos personas solas que se encuentran.
?
En un Seúl que podría ser cualquier parte, la mujer pasa los días observando la vida de los demás, paseando cuando podría coger el autobús, buscando su lugar en el mundo, donde siempre ha querido ocupar el menor espacio posible. Busca en las clases de griego clásico, en aprender una lengua muerta, el camino para conectar de nuevo con las palabras para que estas salgan de su garganta, donde la ahogan. Mientras, eso sí, continúa componiendo poemas (las palabras se abren camino) que nos permiten llegar a conocerla, puesto que su historia se nos narra, en una elección nada casual y muy simbólica, en tercera persona.
?
?l, en cambio, nos habla directamente, su voz suena alta y clara, pero le falla la vista. Desde sus ojos vemos un mundo que se desdibuja, apenas contornos, con un filtro azul que presagia la oscuridad total que acabará llegando. Un hombre que ve con pavor que perderá su independencia y al mismo tiempo, bloqueado, no hace nada para prepararse (no aprende braille y se violenta si le hablan de su futuro), así vive atrapado en sus sue?os y recuerdos, en el pasado, tanto es así, que es profesor de griego clásico.
?
Un libro que habla de la relación con la soledad y con el mundo cuando se está solo, también de filosofía clásica y budista, pero también ahonda sobre el papel del lenguaje y las palabras en nuestra existencia, y qué pasa cuando estas son insuficientes. La palabra vista como algo con vida propia, con el poder de conectar personas, pero también de separarlas o de ahogarlas.
?
Una historia sumamente intimista y sensorial, llena de silencios y vacíos, angustiante a ratos, luminosa en otros. Centrada en el dolor individual y contada con esa prosa sublime, limpia, donde cada palabra ha sido seleccionada con precisión, que caracteriza a Han Kang. Donde todo sucede principalmente en el interior de sus protagonistas y se compone de peque?os momentos llenos de simbolismos que hablan del miedo, de sentirse atrapado, del desarraigo y la soledad.
?
En un Seúl que podría ser cualquier parte, la mujer pasa los días observando la vida de los demás, paseando cuando podría coger el autobús, buscando su lugar en el mundo, donde siempre ha querido ocupar el menor espacio posible. Busca en las clases de griego clásico, en aprender una lengua muerta, el camino para conectar de nuevo con las palabras para que estas salgan de su garganta, donde la ahogan. Mientras, eso sí, continúa componiendo poemas (las palabras se abren camino) que nos permiten llegar a conocerla, puesto que su historia se nos narra, en una elección nada casual y muy simbólica, en tercera persona.
?
?l, en cambio, nos habla directamente, su voz suena alta y clara, pero le falla la vista. Desde sus ojos vemos un mundo que se desdibuja, apenas contornos, con un filtro azul que presagia la oscuridad total que acabará llegando. Un hombre que ve con pavor que perderá su independencia y al mismo tiempo, bloqueado, no hace nada para prepararse (no aprende braille y se violenta si le hablan de su futuro), así vive atrapado en sus sue?os y recuerdos, en el pasado, tanto es así, que es profesor de griego clásico.
?
Un libro que habla de la relación con la soledad y con el mundo cuando se está solo, también de filosofía clásica y budista, pero también ahonda sobre el papel del lenguaje y las palabras en nuestra existencia, y qué pasa cuando estas son insuficientes. La palabra vista como algo con vida propia, con el poder de conectar personas, pero también de separarlas o de ahogarlas.
?
Una historia sumamente intimista y sensorial, llena de silencios y vacíos, angustiante a ratos, luminosa en otros. Centrada en el dolor individual y contada con esa prosa sublime, limpia, donde cada palabra ha sido seleccionada con precisión, que caracteriza a Han Kang. Donde todo sucede principalmente en el interior de sus protagonistas y se compone de peque?os momentos llenos de simbolismos que hablan del miedo, de sentirse atrapado, del desarraigo y la soledad.
May 17, 2023
This was too abstract, even for me.
I loved a lot of things about this: the focus on language, some gorgeous writing, the fact that we have a story told from two unique points of view: a woman who can't speak and a man who can't see.
but then we come to the story, there is NONE. It ends abruptly with no resolution and I don't really know what to get from this besides some lyrical quotes about language. The start was strong but then it lost focus and lost me, sadly.
I loved a lot of things about this: the focus on language, some gorgeous writing, the fact that we have a story told from two unique points of view: a woman who can't speak and a man who can't see.
but then we come to the story, there is NONE. It ends abruptly with no resolution and I don't really know what to get from this besides some lyrical quotes about language. The start was strong but then it lost focus and lost me, sadly.
January 11, 2023
3.5 stars
This is a beautifully tender piece of writing but it doesn't have the glorious strangeness, richness and intensity of Kang's .
Shuttling between two protagonists, a woman who is no longer speaking and the 1st person narrative from her Greek teacher who is losing his sight, this thinks about issues of intimacy and connection, about the roles of language and the senses in forging relationships between people.
The thematics reminded me a little of Katie Kitamura's though the question of linguistics was more centred there - but there is an interest in communication and misunderstandings in both books.
Kang's prose in this (translated, of course) feels more placid than I expected and while she trades in some lovely imagery, there is a slight feel of a lack of personality, possibly due to the style of modern international translation which has a kind of 'voice' of its own.
It's a quick read, an intelligent and, at times, moving one but quite abstract and bloodless - it didn't wow me or trouble me the way The Vegetarian did.
Thanks to Penguin for an ARC via NetGalley.
She no longer thought in language. She moved without language and understood without language - as it had been before she learned to speak, no, before she had obtained life
This is a beautifully tender piece of writing but it doesn't have the glorious strangeness, richness and intensity of Kang's .
Shuttling between two protagonists, a woman who is no longer speaking and the 1st person narrative from her Greek teacher who is losing his sight, this thinks about issues of intimacy and connection, about the roles of language and the senses in forging relationships between people.
The thematics reminded me a little of Katie Kitamura's though the question of linguistics was more centred there - but there is an interest in communication and misunderstandings in both books.
Kang's prose in this (translated, of course) feels more placid than I expected and while she trades in some lovely imagery, there is a slight feel of a lack of personality, possibly due to the style of modern international translation which has a kind of 'voice' of its own.
It's a quick read, an intelligent and, at times, moving one but quite abstract and bloodless - it didn't wow me or trouble me the way The Vegetarian did.
Thanks to Penguin for an ARC via NetGalley.
January 14, 2023
I actually finish this book about a week ago. I’ve notes, but
I’m not sure I fully comprehend everything — so I’m going to do some re- reading before I write a review…..
but there were times I thought her writing reminded me of e. e. Cummings (as in beautiful)….
Review in a day or two. —
FACT IS—
…if you happen to have a thing for Kang’蝉 books —- then pick this one up as well.
It’蝉 not as heavy as “The Vegetarian”…..but it’蝉 not a light walk in the park either.
??????????……UPDATE REVIEW BELOW
This is the fourth book I’ve read by Han Kang….
I admire Kang’蝉 writing, and the depth of her powerful thought processes.
The three other books, “The Vegetarian”, “The Human Acts”, and “The White Book”, were each five stars from me — and each for different reasons….
I’ve been thinking about this book for a couple of weeks — I re-read parts a second time. I can’t remember ever waiting this long to write a review though — ‘after’ having read the book…..
but for me — this book was the hardest for me to fully comprehend……
补苍诲…..
I’ve been struggling with medical and physical issues — so I couldn’t be sure if my own ‘warped’ thoughts were coming from my reading or my own meshugana thoughts.
But here goes my ‘take-away’ thoughts, feelings, and experience….[may be different for everyone]….
I reflected inward….(if I clearly missed the boat in comprehending this novel - I apologize to Han Kang)….
厂辞….
Here goes ….(embarrassing as can be)…..
贵颈谤蝉迟….
I thought deeply about the title ….(perhaps symbolically—there are several meanings?)….well, my search for meaning threw me…
When I looked up the word Greek, I got:
…..”Greek is a term used by prostitutes to describe anal sex. Often examples contain alternate symbols for letters.
Okay, I thought - well the ‘symbols’ explain the letters (which readers will discover themselves in this novel) ….. but not so much ‘the anal sex’….. (fine, I can easy let that go)…..
But Kang used ‘her stories in ‘Greek Lessons’ to help us understand communicating with words.
The term “It all sounds Greek to me”, is fitting…..
but symbolically ‘GREEK LESSONS’ with the use of symbols, words, images, and mental representations of objects, stories, and events allows for mental/intellectual meditative understanding….
For example….the female protagonist is dealing/ struggling/ suffering with sensory loss. It seems as if her brain is adapting — but clearly there is loss.
I was thinking about how crazy complicated it is for people to fully understand each other - with language- with our voices -
But with non-commutation …. one is left to rely on facial expression, tone of the voice, touch, lip reading, and sign language ….
Our male protagonist, a Greek instructor, was dealing with vision loss…..age-related macular degeneration.
Don’t laugh (or do - what do I care)….I was wondering if I could join the characters—bond with them over bodily loss - and deeper emotional pain….
I have my voice and eyesight - but with a degenerative spine condition—I’m experiencing loss of normal structure and function….limitations….and chronic pain…..
What I found beautiful about “Greek Lesson”…..besides the prose being super-stupendously spectacular. …..
was that as long as we ‘are’ breathing - alive as we know it — we are blessed to find even one person - whom we can share our pain with - our darkness with ….our alternatives to what others presumed normal….and share a closeness connection deeply satisfying….quieting….calm….and serene …..
……unlocking the true value of another ….of a friendship….harmony and intimacy.
On my first reading I gave it 4 stars but the more time I spent re-reading parts — I’m clearly began to ‘feel’ the unique brilliance…I raise my rating to 5 stars.
(still had a little e.e. Cummings experience-déjà vu-re-reading ‘Greek Lessons’ a second time)
I’ll leave some excerpts…. (but remember- without reading the entire book - they are just tasters)….
‘Greek Lessons’ is a must ….if already a Han Kang fans.
“The only person who knew that her life with split violently in two was she herself”.
“It first happened in the winter when she just turned sixteen. The language that had pricked and confined her like clothing made from a thousand needles abruptly disappeared. Words still reached her ears, but now a thick, dense layer of air buffered the space between her cochleas and brain. Wrapped in thot foggy silence, the memories of the tongue and lips that have been used to pronounce, of the hand that had firmly gripped the pencil, grew remote. She no longer thought and language. She moved without language, and understood without language—as it had been before, she learned to speak, no, before she had obtained life, silence, absorbing the flow of time like balls of cotton, enveloped her body, both outside and in”.
“Why are you studying Greek?”
“Off her guard, she looks down at her left wrist. Beneath the dark purple hair band, which is damp with sweat, the old scar is also clammy. She will not remember. And, if she must remember, if it is absolutely unavoidable, she will not feel anything”.
“She knows that no single specific experience led to her loss of language”.
“Fatigue is like a heady intoxication, dulling her thoughts”.
Thank you Random House Publishing and Netgalley
I’m not sure I fully comprehend everything — so I’m going to do some re- reading before I write a review…..
but there were times I thought her writing reminded me of e. e. Cummings (as in beautiful)….
Review in a day or two. —
FACT IS—
…if you happen to have a thing for Kang’蝉 books —- then pick this one up as well.
It’蝉 not as heavy as “The Vegetarian”…..but it’蝉 not a light walk in the park either.
??????????……UPDATE REVIEW BELOW
This is the fourth book I’ve read by Han Kang….
I admire Kang’蝉 writing, and the depth of her powerful thought processes.
The three other books, “The Vegetarian”, “The Human Acts”, and “The White Book”, were each five stars from me — and each for different reasons….
I’ve been thinking about this book for a couple of weeks — I re-read parts a second time. I can’t remember ever waiting this long to write a review though — ‘after’ having read the book…..
but for me — this book was the hardest for me to fully comprehend……
补苍诲…..
I’ve been struggling with medical and physical issues — so I couldn’t be sure if my own ‘warped’ thoughts were coming from my reading or my own meshugana thoughts.
But here goes my ‘take-away’ thoughts, feelings, and experience….[may be different for everyone]….
I reflected inward….(if I clearly missed the boat in comprehending this novel - I apologize to Han Kang)….
厂辞….
Here goes ….(embarrassing as can be)…..
贵颈谤蝉迟….
I thought deeply about the title ….(perhaps symbolically—there are several meanings?)….well, my search for meaning threw me…
When I looked up the word Greek, I got:
…..”Greek is a term used by prostitutes to describe anal sex. Often examples contain alternate symbols for letters.
Okay, I thought - well the ‘symbols’ explain the letters (which readers will discover themselves in this novel) ….. but not so much ‘the anal sex’….. (fine, I can easy let that go)…..
But Kang used ‘her stories in ‘Greek Lessons’ to help us understand communicating with words.
The term “It all sounds Greek to me”, is fitting…..
but symbolically ‘GREEK LESSONS’ with the use of symbols, words, images, and mental representations of objects, stories, and events allows for mental/intellectual meditative understanding….
For example….the female protagonist is dealing/ struggling/ suffering with sensory loss. It seems as if her brain is adapting — but clearly there is loss.
I was thinking about how crazy complicated it is for people to fully understand each other - with language- with our voices -
But with non-commutation …. one is left to rely on facial expression, tone of the voice, touch, lip reading, and sign language ….
Our male protagonist, a Greek instructor, was dealing with vision loss…..age-related macular degeneration.
Don’t laugh (or do - what do I care)….I was wondering if I could join the characters—bond with them over bodily loss - and deeper emotional pain….
I have my voice and eyesight - but with a degenerative spine condition—I’m experiencing loss of normal structure and function….limitations….and chronic pain…..
What I found beautiful about “Greek Lesson”…..besides the prose being super-stupendously spectacular. …..
was that as long as we ‘are’ breathing - alive as we know it — we are blessed to find even one person - whom we can share our pain with - our darkness with ….our alternatives to what others presumed normal….and share a closeness connection deeply satisfying….quieting….calm….and serene …..
……unlocking the true value of another ….of a friendship….harmony and intimacy.
On my first reading I gave it 4 stars but the more time I spent re-reading parts — I’m clearly began to ‘feel’ the unique brilliance…I raise my rating to 5 stars.
(still had a little e.e. Cummings experience-déjà vu-re-reading ‘Greek Lessons’ a second time)
I’ll leave some excerpts…. (but remember- without reading the entire book - they are just tasters)….
‘Greek Lessons’ is a must ….if already a Han Kang fans.
“The only person who knew that her life with split violently in two was she herself”.
“It first happened in the winter when she just turned sixteen. The language that had pricked and confined her like clothing made from a thousand needles abruptly disappeared. Words still reached her ears, but now a thick, dense layer of air buffered the space between her cochleas and brain. Wrapped in thot foggy silence, the memories of the tongue and lips that have been used to pronounce, of the hand that had firmly gripped the pencil, grew remote. She no longer thought and language. She moved without language, and understood without language—as it had been before, she learned to speak, no, before she had obtained life, silence, absorbing the flow of time like balls of cotton, enveloped her body, both outside and in”.
“Why are you studying Greek?”
“Off her guard, she looks down at her left wrist. Beneath the dark purple hair band, which is damp with sweat, the old scar is also clammy. She will not remember. And, if she must remember, if it is absolutely unavoidable, she will not feel anything”.
“She knows that no single specific experience led to her loss of language”.
“Fatigue is like a heady intoxication, dulling her thoughts”.
Thank you Random House Publishing and Netgalley
March 2, 2025
Este es el cuarto libro que leo de Han Kang y con esto termino todos los que han traducido al espa?ol.
Una prosa poética que se siente a pesar de no haberla leído en el coreano original. La historia de los personas marcadas por la pérdida y por el lenguaje.
Mircea C?rt?rescu (rumano) es uno de mis escritores favoritos y en algunos de sus libros menciona a Borges (argentino), también en La clase de griego (corea) se le menciona. Yo solo he leído sus poemas, pero quizá este es el momento para seguir con su narrativa.
Una prosa poética que se siente a pesar de no haberla leído en el coreano original. La historia de los personas marcadas por la pérdida y por el lenguaje.
Mircea C?rt?rescu (rumano) es uno de mis escritores favoritos y en algunos de sus libros menciona a Borges (argentino), también en La clase de griego (corea) se le menciona. Yo solo he leído sus poemas, pero quizá este es el momento para seguir con su narrativa.
November 8, 2024
Had it not been for its title and beautiful cover, I wouldn’t have bought this book on impulse a year ago. Had it not been for the Nobel prize its author won this year, I would not have sought it out among the half-forgotten-books-bought-on-impulse cramming my shelves.
The paths of two lonely souls cross in a class of Ancient Greek lessons. The student is a woman who has lost her ability to speak as a reaction to an unspecified trauma, and the teacher is a man on the edge of losing his sight. The blurb describes this as a love letter to intimacy and connection, but I found it to be more of a self-indulgent ode to alienation and depression.
“The Vegetarian”, that other famous novel of Han Kang, never really tempted me into reading it despite its popularity, and after struggling through the hundred or so pages of this one (mercifully, a short struggle), I regretted not having trusted my instinct.
In her short bio, it’蝉 stated that Han Kang made her literary debut as a poet; poetry does indeed permeate her prose, which contained too many metaphors and abstraction for my taste. The book’蝉 premise (which, imo, was what happens when language fails to serve as a means of communication and as a tool for perception) was lost in a maze of half-baked philosophical theories that contributed to the overall doom and gloom more than they served the story or explored the questions they posed.
That is not to say that this is not a well-crafted book; it only says that I’m not the right audience for its craftsmanship. I guess that, same as the Swedish Academy, there are readers who will be inclined to find more meaning in its vagueness. No prize, however prestigious, persuades me to make the effort.
(**1/2)
The paths of two lonely souls cross in a class of Ancient Greek lessons. The student is a woman who has lost her ability to speak as a reaction to an unspecified trauma, and the teacher is a man on the edge of losing his sight. The blurb describes this as a love letter to intimacy and connection, but I found it to be more of a self-indulgent ode to alienation and depression.
“The Vegetarian”, that other famous novel of Han Kang, never really tempted me into reading it despite its popularity, and after struggling through the hundred or so pages of this one (mercifully, a short struggle), I regretted not having trusted my instinct.
In her short bio, it’蝉 stated that Han Kang made her literary debut as a poet; poetry does indeed permeate her prose, which contained too many metaphors and abstraction for my taste. The book’蝉 premise (which, imo, was what happens when language fails to serve as a means of communication and as a tool for perception) was lost in a maze of half-baked philosophical theories that contributed to the overall doom and gloom more than they served the story or explored the questions they posed.
That is not to say that this is not a well-crafted book; it only says that I’m not the right audience for its craftsmanship. I guess that, same as the Swedish Academy, there are readers who will be inclined to find more meaning in its vagueness. No prize, however prestigious, persuades me to make the effort.
(**1/2)
August 22, 2024
Contada a diferentes voces, “La clase de griego” sigue la vida de dos personas con un punto de unión. Una mujer a la que le han quitado la custodia de su hijo, acaba de perder la facultad de hablar, por lo que se apunta a una clase para aprender griego antiguo con la esperanza de que la estimulación ante un nuevo idioma le haga recuperar el habla. Su profesor, un hombre que acaba de volver a Seúl después de haber pasado media vida en Alemania, vive con la agonía de saber que cada vez está más cerca de quedarse completamente ciego, solo es cuestión de tiempo. Ambos sienten una gran dificultad para comunicarse con los demás, y la soledad inunda sus vida. ?Sería posible que al conocerse puedan encontrar una forma de comunicarse y encontrar cobijo el uno en el otro?
A estas alturas, debo admitir que no sé si soy objetivo con Han Kang, ya que es mi autora favorita, o es que realmente todo lo que escribe me parece espectacular porque lo es y punto. Prefiero decantarme por lo último, la verdad. Los cuatro libros que tenemos de ella traducidos al espa?ol han conseguido sumergirme en emociones y sensaciones muy profundas, hasta el punto que transforman mis emociones durante la lectura, me afectan. Siempre que leo algo de esta escritora digo lo mismo, pero es que se cumple con cada nuevo trocito de su obra que descubro, y es que lo hago en un estado de agitación, casi de nerviosismo, con el pecho encogido.
Es una maestra a la hora de hablar de emociones, de poner en palabras lo que sienten sus personajes y que el lector no solo entienda el sentimiento del que habla, sino que consiga sentirlo. A lo largo de su obra tengo la sensación de que uno de los grandes temas que la autora trata en ella es la falta o imposibilidad de comunicarse, ya sea por falta de entendimiento con los demás, por no tener permitido expresarse o por sentirse, de alguna manera, limitado para hacerlo. Sin embargo, pese a que sus historias siempre se me antojan tremendamente tristes y dolorosas, sí que consiguen transmitirme esa sensación de lo sanador que es poder comunicarnos, poder compartir con otros nuestros sentimientos, las cosas que nos hace vulnerables, creando esos vínculos que nos hacen sentir más comprendidos, menos solos.
La soledad es un tema igualmente importante en la obra de la autora, esa falta de comunicación, lleva a sus protagonistas a sentirse solos, apartados e incomprendidos. La carga que llevan a sus espaldas nunca es compartida y esto profundiza sus heridas. Creo que en este sentido “La clase de griego” trata de darle un giro a eso, mostrándonos a dos personas que se sienten limitadas y viven con el terror de que esta sensación vaya a más, hasta que sea irrevocable y no tengan a nadie en quien confiar. No obstante, aun con la tristeza y el desasosiego que siempre me provocan sus historias, esta última me ha dejado cierto regusto bonito, tierno incluso. Esa idea de ayudarnos los unos a los otros, ya que, al final, todos buscamos ese afecto, esa compa?ía y esa compresión que nos haga más fácil la vida.
Creo que para leer a Han Kang es importante que los lectores no se acerquen esperando encontrar un determinado fin. A veces hay obras que están escritas para que tengan un fin concreto, pero en el caso de Han Kang, lo importante es el viaje, lo que te hace sentir durante la lectura. Si consigues enganchar con ella, sumergirte en las emociones que presenta, os aseguro que es una experiencia imperdible. Eso sí, Han Kang, no es una autora sencilla, hay que estar con los cinco sentidos, atento a cada mensaje que te intenta trasmitir, a través de sus constantes metáforas y con una escritura tan increíble que deja huella. Mención aparte merece su increíble traductora, Sunme Yeon.
En definitiva, con cada obra de la autora reafirmo mi amor por ella, y me convenzo más de que, sin lugar a dudas, es mi autora favorita. No creo que sea una autora para todo el mundo, es peculiar y es diferente, pero, amigas y amigos, ojalá tengáis el placer de engancharos a ella como lo hice yo, porque es una absoluta gozada.
A estas alturas, debo admitir que no sé si soy objetivo con Han Kang, ya que es mi autora favorita, o es que realmente todo lo que escribe me parece espectacular porque lo es y punto. Prefiero decantarme por lo último, la verdad. Los cuatro libros que tenemos de ella traducidos al espa?ol han conseguido sumergirme en emociones y sensaciones muy profundas, hasta el punto que transforman mis emociones durante la lectura, me afectan. Siempre que leo algo de esta escritora digo lo mismo, pero es que se cumple con cada nuevo trocito de su obra que descubro, y es que lo hago en un estado de agitación, casi de nerviosismo, con el pecho encogido.
Es una maestra a la hora de hablar de emociones, de poner en palabras lo que sienten sus personajes y que el lector no solo entienda el sentimiento del que habla, sino que consiga sentirlo. A lo largo de su obra tengo la sensación de que uno de los grandes temas que la autora trata en ella es la falta o imposibilidad de comunicarse, ya sea por falta de entendimiento con los demás, por no tener permitido expresarse o por sentirse, de alguna manera, limitado para hacerlo. Sin embargo, pese a que sus historias siempre se me antojan tremendamente tristes y dolorosas, sí que consiguen transmitirme esa sensación de lo sanador que es poder comunicarnos, poder compartir con otros nuestros sentimientos, las cosas que nos hace vulnerables, creando esos vínculos que nos hacen sentir más comprendidos, menos solos.
La soledad es un tema igualmente importante en la obra de la autora, esa falta de comunicación, lleva a sus protagonistas a sentirse solos, apartados e incomprendidos. La carga que llevan a sus espaldas nunca es compartida y esto profundiza sus heridas. Creo que en este sentido “La clase de griego” trata de darle un giro a eso, mostrándonos a dos personas que se sienten limitadas y viven con el terror de que esta sensación vaya a más, hasta que sea irrevocable y no tengan a nadie en quien confiar. No obstante, aun con la tristeza y el desasosiego que siempre me provocan sus historias, esta última me ha dejado cierto regusto bonito, tierno incluso. Esa idea de ayudarnos los unos a los otros, ya que, al final, todos buscamos ese afecto, esa compa?ía y esa compresión que nos haga más fácil la vida.
Creo que para leer a Han Kang es importante que los lectores no se acerquen esperando encontrar un determinado fin. A veces hay obras que están escritas para que tengan un fin concreto, pero en el caso de Han Kang, lo importante es el viaje, lo que te hace sentir durante la lectura. Si consigues enganchar con ella, sumergirte en las emociones que presenta, os aseguro que es una experiencia imperdible. Eso sí, Han Kang, no es una autora sencilla, hay que estar con los cinco sentidos, atento a cada mensaje que te intenta trasmitir, a través de sus constantes metáforas y con una escritura tan increíble que deja huella. Mención aparte merece su increíble traductora, Sunme Yeon.
En definitiva, con cada obra de la autora reafirmo mi amor por ella, y me convenzo más de que, sin lugar a dudas, es mi autora favorita. No creo que sea una autora para todo el mundo, es peculiar y es diferente, pero, amigas y amigos, ojalá tengáis el placer de engancharos a ella como lo hice yo, porque es una absoluta gozada.
October 31, 2024
Shortlisted for the 2024 Warwick Prize for Women In Translation
From the deserving winner of the 2024 Nobel Prize in Literature for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life
She leans forwards.
Tightens her grip on the pencil.
Lowers her head further
The words evade her grasp
Words that have lost lips,
words that have lost throat and breath remain out of reach. Like unbodied apparations, their forms evade touch.
A person lies prone in the snow.
Snow in their throat.
Earth in their eyes.
Seeing nothing.
A person stands next to them.
Hearing nothing.
? ??? ? ?? ??? ??.
???? ?雪.
????? ?.
???? ??? ???.
? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ??.
???? ??? ???.
Greek Lessons is Emily Yae Won and Deborah Smith's translation of ?? (Han Kang)'s novel ??? ?? (2011) and the fourth of her novels to be published in English (each translated by Smith) after:
????? (2007) translated at The Vegetarian
??? ?? (2014) translated as Human Acts (the literal translation is 'A Boy is Coming')
? (2016) translated as The White Book
Greek Lessons is a moving story told in finely-crafted, crystalline prose, infused with a blue light inspired by the Chagallian windows in Stephan zu Mainz. I initially found the novel hard to connect with, rather like the Ancient Greek, a language as cold and hard as a pillar of ice, around which the novel is centred, but it opened up on an immediate re-read. At first, with it's German-Korean setting and relative opacity, I almost felt I was reading ???, but it is ultimately unmistakably ??, infused with compassion and beauty, a book the author described as 'the sunniest of which I am capable'.
Overall, impressive and although not my favourite by the author, still a strong contender for the International Booker.
Some favourite passages:
Stephan zu Mainz
A place where the seemingly ice-steeped sunlight streams in through stained-glass windows in various gradations of blue. A place where Christ hangs on the cross without the slightest trace of suffering, his eyes lifted ingenuously towards heaven, and the angels step lightly through the air as though out for a casual stroll. Palm trees with dark and still darker green leaves sweetly unfurled. Bright-faced saints with pale blue-grey hair draped in paler blue-grey vestments. A space without a hint of sin or suffering, and which for that reason I’d felt was almost pagan: the church of St Stephan.
??? ??? ?? ??? ??? ????????? ???? ???? ?. ??? ??? ??? ???? ???? ??? ?????, ???? ???? ?????? ?? ? ?? ??? ??? ??? ????. ?????? ? ????? ????? ??? ??? ??? ?????. ??? ??? ???? ? ??? ??? ???? ?? ?? ??? ??????. ?? ?? ??? ??? ??? ??? ??, ? ??? ?? ?????? ?? ? ? ??? ??
On the female character learning ?? as a child:
When it came to language, that label might have been true. By the age of four, and without being taught, she had a good grasp of Hangul. Knowing nothing of consonants and vowels, she ’d memorized syllable combinations as entire units. The year she turned six, her elder brother gave her an explanation of Hangul’蝉 structure, parroting what his teacher had said. As she listened, everything had seemed vague, yet she ended up spending that entire afternoon in early spring squatting in the yard, preoccupied by thoughts of consonants and vowels. That was when she discovered the subtle difference between the? sound as pronounced in the word ?, na, and when pronounced in ?, nih; after that, she realised ? sounded different in ?, sah, than it did in ?, shi. Making a mental run-through of all the possible diphthong combinations, she found that the only one that didn’t exist in her language was?, ih, combined with?, eu, and in that order, which was why there was no way of writing it.
??? ?? ? ? ?? ??????? ???. ??? ? ?? ??? ??? ???. ?? ???? ?? ?? ?? ?? ???? ???? ?? ????. ??? ??? ??? ????? ???? ??? ??? ???? ?? ??? ?? ?? ?? ???. ??? ?? ??? ?? ??? ???????, ? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??? ??? ??? ?? ??? ??? ??? ??? ????? ???. ??? ‘?’? ??? ?? ?? ‘?’? ??? ?? ?? ???? ?? ??? ??? ?? ????, ??? ‘?’? ‘?’? ? ?? ?? ?? ???? ?? ????. ??? ? ?? ?? ????? ????? ??????, ?? ?? ??? ??? ?????? ???? ???? ???, ??? ??? ?? ??? ??? ?? ???.
After starting primary school, she began jotting down vocabulary in the back of her diary. With neither purpose nor context, merely a list of words that had made a deep impression on her; among them, the one she valued the most was?. On the page, this single-syllable word resembled an old pagoda:?, the foundation,?, the main body,?, the upper section. She liked the feeling when she pronounced it:? – ? – ?, s–oo–p, the sensation of first pursing her lips, and then slowly, carefully releasing the air. And then of the lips closing. A word completed through silence. Entranced by this word in which pronunciation, meaning and form were all wrapped around in stillness, she wrote:?.?. Woods.
?? ????? ?????? ??? ??? ??? ???? ?? ????. ???, ??? ?? ?? ?? ??? ?? ???????, ?? ??? ?? ??? ?? ‘?’???. ??? ?? ?? ???? ????. ?? ??, ?? ??, ?? ?? ??. ?-?-???? ??? ? ?? ??? ?????, ? ???? ??? ???, ????? ????? ??? ??? ????. ???? ??? ??. ???? ???? ?. ??? ?, ??? ?? ??? ???? ? ??? ??? ??? ??. ?. ?.
On the middle voice in Greek which was the :
διεφθ?ρθαι
Musing over the letters on the blackboard, she picks up her pencil and writes the word in her notebook. She hasn’t come across a language with such intricate rules before. The verbs change their form according to, variously: the subject’蝉 case, gender and number; the tense, of which there are various grades; and the voice, of which there are three distinct types. But it is thanks to these unusually elaborate and meticulous rules that the individual sentences are, in fact, simple and clear. There is no need to specify the subject, or even to keep to a strict word order. This one word – modified to denote that the subject is a singular, third-person male; the tense perfect, meaning it describes something that occurred at some point in the past; and the voice middle – has compressed within it the meaning ‘He had at one time tried to kill himself.’
...
She bites down on that sensation, the mere memory of which is chilling, and writes: διεφθ?ρθαι.
A language as cold and hard as a pillar of ice. A language that does not wait to be combined with any other prior to use, a supremely self-sufficient language. A language that can part the lips only after irrevocably determining causality and attitude.
??? ?? ???? ??? ?????? ??? ??? ??. ??? ? ??? ?????.
??? ??? ???? ??? ??? ???? ???. ???? ??? ?? ?? ?? ??, ?? ??? ?? ??? ??, ? ?? ?? ?? ??? ??? ???. ???? ???? ??? ?? ??? ??? ???? ????. ??? ?? ? ??? ??. ??? ?? ???? ??. ???? ? ??? ????, ??? ?? ??? ??? ???? ????? ?, ???? ?? ??? ? ? ??? ‘?? ??? ??? ??? ? ?? ??’? ??? ??? ??.
????? ??? ? ??? ???? ??? ??? ??.
διεφθ?ρθαι
?? ???? ??? ??? ??.
?? ?? ???? ???? ????? ???? ??, ??? ???? ??.
??? ? ?? ??? ??? ??? ??? ??? ??? ? ? ?? ??.
A street scene in Seoul, embellished with the visually impaired male main character's imagination:
People from all walks of life pass through this alley, in a shopping district on the outskirts of Seoul. A teenage girl wearing earphones, her school skirt clumsily hitched up. A middle-aged man with a shabby tracksuit and a paunch. A woman talking on her mobile whose stunning dress makes her look as though she ’d just stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. An elderly woman, with her white hair cropped short and a sparklingly embellished sweater, lighting her cigarette with a leisurely gesture. Someone somewhere is swearing viciously, and the smell of gukbap wafts from a restaurant. A kid on a bike whooshes past me, ringing the bell as loudly as he can.
Even wearing glasses with the highest power I could get, I still can’t make out the details of any of these things. Individual shapes and gestures blur together, and any clarity is brought about only through the strength of my imagination. The schoolgirl will be mouthing the words to the song she ’蝉 listening to, and her lower lip will have a small, bluish mark on the left, just as yours did. The middle-aged man’蝉 tracksuit sleeves will be grubby and worn to a shine, and the laces on his trainers, which would originally have been white, would have turned a dark grey from months of not being washed. Beads of sweat will be trickling down the temples of the boy on the bike. The old woman looks like quite a tough proposition; her cigarette will be some slender, dainty brand, and the twinkling shards of mother-of-pearl encrusted on her sweater will form the shape of a rose or hydrangea.
?? ???? ? ?? ???? ??? ??? ???? ????. ?? ??? ???? ?? ?? ???? ? ???. ???? ????? ??? ???? ?? ?? ??. ?????? ?? ???? ? ??? ???? ?? ???? ??? ?? ?? ??. ???? ? ???? ??? ??? ??? ?? ?? ???? ??? ?? ???? ???? ??? ??. ???? ????? ??? ????? ?? ??? ?????. ???? ? ??? ??? ?? ?? ??? ? ?? ???? ?????.
??? ??? ?? ??? ????, ? ?? ??? ??? ?? ?? ?? ????. ??? ???? ???? ???? ??, ???? ?? ??? ???? ?????. ???? ??? ??? ??? ?????, ???? ??? ??? ?? ??? ?????? ?? ?? ?? ????. ?? ??? ????? ??? ?? ?? ??????, ?? ??? ??? ?? ? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??? ??? ????. ???? ? ??? ?????? ???? ????? ?? ????. ??? ?? ??? ???? ??? ??? ????? ??? ??? ???, ??? ?? ?? ?? ????? ??? ?? ??? ????.
From the deserving winner of the 2024 Nobel Prize in Literature for her intense poetic prose that confronts historical traumas and exposes the fragility of human life
She leans forwards.
Tightens her grip on the pencil.
Lowers her head further
The words evade her grasp
Words that have lost lips,
words that have lost throat and breath remain out of reach. Like unbodied apparations, their forms evade touch.
A person lies prone in the snow.
Snow in their throat.
Earth in their eyes.
Seeing nothing.
A person stands next to them.
Hearing nothing.
? ??? ? ?? ??? ??.
???? ?雪.
????? ?.
???? ??? ???.
? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ??.
???? ??? ???.
Greek Lessons is Emily Yae Won and Deborah Smith's translation of ?? (Han Kang)'s novel ??? ?? (2011) and the fourth of her novels to be published in English (each translated by Smith) after:
????? (2007) translated at The Vegetarian
??? ?? (2014) translated as Human Acts (the literal translation is 'A Boy is Coming')
? (2016) translated as The White Book
Greek Lessons is a moving story told in finely-crafted, crystalline prose, infused with a blue light inspired by the Chagallian windows in Stephan zu Mainz. I initially found the novel hard to connect with, rather like the Ancient Greek, a language as cold and hard as a pillar of ice, around which the novel is centred, but it opened up on an immediate re-read. At first, with it's German-Korean setting and relative opacity, I almost felt I was reading ???, but it is ultimately unmistakably ??, infused with compassion and beauty, a book the author described as 'the sunniest of which I am capable'.
Overall, impressive and although not my favourite by the author, still a strong contender for the International Booker.
Some favourite passages:
Stephan zu Mainz
A place where the seemingly ice-steeped sunlight streams in through stained-glass windows in various gradations of blue. A place where Christ hangs on the cross without the slightest trace of suffering, his eyes lifted ingenuously towards heaven, and the angels step lightly through the air as though out for a casual stroll. Palm trees with dark and still darker green leaves sweetly unfurled. Bright-faced saints with pale blue-grey hair draped in paler blue-grey vestments. A space without a hint of sin or suffering, and which for that reason I’d felt was almost pagan: the church of St Stephan.
??? ??? ?? ??? ??? ????????? ???? ???? ?. ??? ??? ??? ???? ???? ??? ?????, ???? ???? ?????? ?? ? ?? ??? ??? ??? ????. ?????? ? ????? ????? ??? ??? ??? ?????. ??? ??? ???? ? ??? ??? ???? ?? ?? ??? ??????. ?? ?? ??? ??? ??? ??? ??, ? ??? ?? ?????? ?? ? ? ??? ??
On the female character learning ?? as a child:
When it came to language, that label might have been true. By the age of four, and without being taught, she had a good grasp of Hangul. Knowing nothing of consonants and vowels, she ’d memorized syllable combinations as entire units. The year she turned six, her elder brother gave her an explanation of Hangul’蝉 structure, parroting what his teacher had said. As she listened, everything had seemed vague, yet she ended up spending that entire afternoon in early spring squatting in the yard, preoccupied by thoughts of consonants and vowels. That was when she discovered the subtle difference between the? sound as pronounced in the word ?, na, and when pronounced in ?, nih; after that, she realised ? sounded different in ?, sah, than it did in ?, shi. Making a mental run-through of all the possible diphthong combinations, she found that the only one that didn’t exist in her language was?, ih, combined with?, eu, and in that order, which was why there was no way of writing it.
??? ?? ? ? ?? ??????? ???. ??? ? ?? ??? ??? ???. ?? ???? ?? ?? ?? ?? ???? ???? ?? ????. ??? ??? ??? ????? ???? ??? ??? ???? ?? ??? ?? ?? ?? ???. ??? ?? ??? ?? ??? ???????, ? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??? ??? ??? ?? ??? ??? ??? ??? ????? ???. ??? ‘?’? ??? ?? ?? ‘?’? ??? ?? ?? ???? ?? ??? ??? ?? ????, ??? ‘?’? ‘?’? ? ?? ?? ?? ???? ?? ????. ??? ? ?? ?? ????? ????? ??????, ?? ?? ??? ??? ?????? ???? ???? ???, ??? ??? ?? ??? ??? ?? ???.
After starting primary school, she began jotting down vocabulary in the back of her diary. With neither purpose nor context, merely a list of words that had made a deep impression on her; among them, the one she valued the most was?. On the page, this single-syllable word resembled an old pagoda:?, the foundation,?, the main body,?, the upper section. She liked the feeling when she pronounced it:? – ? – ?, s–oo–p, the sensation of first pursing her lips, and then slowly, carefully releasing the air. And then of the lips closing. A word completed through silence. Entranced by this word in which pronunciation, meaning and form were all wrapped around in stillness, she wrote:?.?. Woods.
?? ????? ?????? ??? ??? ??? ???? ?? ????. ???, ??? ?? ?? ?? ??? ?? ???????, ?? ??? ?? ??? ?? ‘?’???. ??? ?? ?? ???? ????. ?? ??, ?? ??, ?? ?? ??. ?-?-???? ??? ? ?? ??? ?????, ? ???? ??? ???, ????? ????? ??? ??? ????. ???? ??? ??. ???? ???? ?. ??? ?, ??? ?? ??? ???? ? ??? ??? ??? ??. ?. ?.
On the middle voice in Greek which was the :
διεφθ?ρθαι
Musing over the letters on the blackboard, she picks up her pencil and writes the word in her notebook. She hasn’t come across a language with such intricate rules before. The verbs change their form according to, variously: the subject’蝉 case, gender and number; the tense, of which there are various grades; and the voice, of which there are three distinct types. But it is thanks to these unusually elaborate and meticulous rules that the individual sentences are, in fact, simple and clear. There is no need to specify the subject, or even to keep to a strict word order. This one word – modified to denote that the subject is a singular, third-person male; the tense perfect, meaning it describes something that occurred at some point in the past; and the voice middle – has compressed within it the meaning ‘He had at one time tried to kill himself.’
...
She bites down on that sensation, the mere memory of which is chilling, and writes: διεφθ?ρθαι.
A language as cold and hard as a pillar of ice. A language that does not wait to be combined with any other prior to use, a supremely self-sufficient language. A language that can part the lips only after irrevocably determining causality and attitude.
??? ?? ???? ??? ?????? ??? ??? ??. ??? ? ??? ?????.
??? ??? ???? ??? ??? ???? ???. ???? ??? ?? ?? ?? ??, ?? ??? ?? ??? ??, ? ?? ?? ?? ??? ??? ???. ???? ???? ??? ?? ??? ??? ???? ????. ??? ?? ? ??? ??. ??? ?? ???? ??. ???? ? ??? ????, ??? ?? ??? ??? ???? ????? ?, ???? ?? ??? ? ? ??? ‘?? ??? ??? ??? ? ?? ??’? ??? ??? ??.
????? ??? ? ??? ???? ??? ??? ??.
διεφθ?ρθαι
?? ???? ??? ??? ??.
?? ?? ???? ???? ????? ???? ??, ??? ???? ??.
??? ? ?? ??? ??? ??? ??? ??? ??? ? ? ?? ??.
A street scene in Seoul, embellished with the visually impaired male main character's imagination:
People from all walks of life pass through this alley, in a shopping district on the outskirts of Seoul. A teenage girl wearing earphones, her school skirt clumsily hitched up. A middle-aged man with a shabby tracksuit and a paunch. A woman talking on her mobile whose stunning dress makes her look as though she ’d just stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. An elderly woman, with her white hair cropped short and a sparklingly embellished sweater, lighting her cigarette with a leisurely gesture. Someone somewhere is swearing viciously, and the smell of gukbap wafts from a restaurant. A kid on a bike whooshes past me, ringing the bell as loudly as he can.
Even wearing glasses with the highest power I could get, I still can’t make out the details of any of these things. Individual shapes and gestures blur together, and any clarity is brought about only through the strength of my imagination. The schoolgirl will be mouthing the words to the song she ’蝉 listening to, and her lower lip will have a small, bluish mark on the left, just as yours did. The middle-aged man’蝉 tracksuit sleeves will be grubby and worn to a shine, and the laces on his trainers, which would originally have been white, would have turned a dark grey from months of not being washed. Beads of sweat will be trickling down the temples of the boy on the bike. The old woman looks like quite a tough proposition; her cigarette will be some slender, dainty brand, and the twinkling shards of mother-of-pearl encrusted on her sweater will form the shape of a rose or hydrangea.
?? ???? ? ?? ???? ??? ??? ???? ????. ?? ??? ???? ?? ?? ???? ? ???. ???? ????? ??? ???? ?? ?? ??. ?????? ?? ???? ? ??? ???? ?? ???? ??? ?? ?? ??. ???? ? ???? ??? ??? ??? ?? ?? ???? ??? ?? ???? ???? ??? ??. ???? ????? ??? ????? ?? ??? ?????. ???? ? ??? ??? ?? ?? ??? ? ?? ???? ?????.
??? ??? ?? ??? ????, ? ?? ??? ??? ?? ?? ?? ????. ??? ???? ???? ???? ??, ???? ?? ??? ???? ?????. ???? ??? ??? ??? ?????, ???? ??? ??? ?? ??? ?????? ?? ?? ?? ????. ?? ??? ????? ??? ?? ?? ??????, ?? ??? ??? ?? ? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??? ??? ????. ???? ? ??? ?????? ???? ????? ?? ????. ??? ?? ??? ???? ??? ??? ????? ??? ??? ???, ??? ?? ?? ?? ????? ??? ?? ??? ????.
January 7, 2023
Reading a Han Kang book is a singular pleasure like no other. It's been a week since I finished GREEK LESSONS, and I can't stop thinking about it (and I don't want to). It's about two people who have lost their loved ones and are slowly being cut off from the world--a woman who has lost her voice and a man who can't see. Han Kang is a poet and a philosopher, and that shows in the beautiful precision of her prose and her thought-provoking exploration of the paradoxes of language, the senses, and human connection and intimacy. I really loved it.
June 14, 2023
? ? ? ? ? ? ?
3 ? stars
In a clinically detached prose Han Kang examines in exacting detail the experiences of two individuals whose ability to perceive the world and be able to express themselves, to interact with others, are impaired. Preoccupied with the notion and the reality of communication, perception, language, and sight these characters feel increasingly alienated from their everyday reality, unsure of themselves, their senses, and their bodies, and attempting to find a new way to occupy space, of navigating their world, by, in the case of the woman, distancing herself from that which was familiar, and, in the case of the man, retreating inward to recollect the past and to understand the origins and effects of his linguistic and cultural disconnect.
Unsparing and analytical, Greek Lessons is permeated by ambivalence. This atmosphere of unease and the characters’ aloofness succeed in making us feel a sense of estrangement from the text, which is compounded by the prose’蝉 impersonal way of addressing the characters and how events that should carry some emotional impact are delivered and/or recounted in a distinctly dispassionate way. Kang places her characters under a microscope, zeroing in on momentary discomforts and sensations, be it a character’蝉 dry lips or quivering eyelids. These close-ups are often uncomfortable, but they do succeed in conveying with precision the characters’ experiences. These coldly anatomical descriptions interrupt the characters’ introspections, which often amount to a lot of navel-gazing. Their preoccupation with the function and reality of a language, of linguistic barriers, of bilingualism, of ‘dead’ languages, of the way language and communication are necessary to navigate many spaces, and without it, one can find themselves on the margins, a passive spectator. The woman’蝉 difficulties in conveying and articulating her thoughts and feelings definitely resonated with me. She is unwilling or avoids explaining her ‘loss’ of language, and there was something like resilience in her silence, in her choice to remain opaque. I was reminded of a Georgian film I watched a while back, My Happy Family, which revolves around a middle-aged woman who decides to leave her husband and family to live by herself and throughout the film refuses to explain her choice or back down from it. Here of course the circumstances of the woman are quite different, soon after the death of her mother the woman loses a drawn-out custody battle over her eight-year-old son. Severed from her son, grieving the loss of her mother, the woman, a professor, falls once again victim to a ‘malady’ that results in a loss of speech.
Yet, her loss of language cannot be easily ascribed to these losses. Feeling disconnected from Korean, the woman attempts to approach the language anew. To do so, she distances herself from her mother tongue and chooses to study a dead language, ancient Greek. These classes are taught by a man who grew up between Korea and Germany, and because of this has long felt not only a linguistic divide but a self-divide, perpetually longing to belong, to feel at ease. For years he has been gradually losing his sight, and so he finds himself questioning how he can retain independence, observing the world around him with regret and yearning. He writes letters to his sister, recounting his childhood experiences, from the shock of moving from Korea to Germany to the pressure to ‘assimilate’, and he also reflects on past friendships and loves.
By switching between these two individuals Kang draws a parallel between their experiences and realities, as they both find themselves having to reevaluate new ways of perceiving and communicating with the world around them. There is, towards the end, a moment of kinship between the two, that felt startlingly poignant.
The narrative expounds on these two individuals' theoretical and personal ruminations, mirroring and juxtaposing their experiences and perspectives. Their reflections on languages, spoken and unspoken ways of communication, expression and perception, memory, grief, and the body (the way they fail and change us), are rendered all the more lucid by the author’蝉 unsparing style. Yet, despite how clinical and ascetic her style was, there are moments where Kang’蝉 prose is elevated by an elegiac, lyrical even, use of language.
Greek Lessons makes for a fascinating read. The two central characters remain slightly outside of our reach, despite the time we spend alongside them. The subject matter and language itself are the core of this novel, making it sure, intellectually and stylistically arresting but, except for a few moments, I felt not only at a remove but as if I was reading a textbook. I couldn't help but compare this unfavourably to two favorites of mine, Whereabouts and All the Lovers in the Night (both novels also explore loneliness in women who assume the role of observer). Nevertheless, I do admire what Kang achieves in Greek Lessons and I found the ending to be quite rewarding.
Some quotes:
My love for you wasn’t foolish, but I was; had my own innate foolishness made love itself foolish? Or is that I myself wasn’t at all that foolish, but love’蝉 inherent foolishness awakened any foolishness latent in me and eventually smashed everything to pieces?
[T]here had once been a word that encapsulated both beauty and the sacred, without their having yet fallen away from each other, just as colour and clarity had formed one body within another word—the truth of this had never before been brought home to me with such vibrant intensity.
Whatever their motivation, those who study Greek share certain tendencies. They walk and talk slowly, for the most part, and don’t show much emotion (I guess this applies to me too). Perhaps because this language is a long-dead one and doesn’t allow for oral communication. Silence, shy hesitation and reactions of muted laughter slowly heat the air inside the classroom, and slowly cool it.
What a strange thing one's flesh and blood is.
How strange are the ways that it brings us sorrow.
Ink overlays ink, memory overlays memory, bloodstain overlays bloodstain. Serenity over serenity, smile over smile, bears down.
Do you ever wonder at the strangeness of it?
That our bodies have eyelids and lips,
That they can at times be made to close from the outside,
and at other times to lock fast from within.
She knows that no single specific experience led to her loss of language.
Language worn ragged over thousands of years, from wear and tear by countless tongues and pens. Language worn ragged over the course of her life, by her own tongue and pen. Each time she tried to begin a sentence, she could feel her aged heart. Her patched and repatched, dried-up, expressionless heart. The more keenly she felt it, the more fiercely she clasped the words.
3 ? stars
“The lit fuse of the chilly explosive primed in her heart is no more. The interior of her mouth is as empty as the veins through which the blood no longer flows, it is as empty as a lift shaft where the lift has ceased to operate.”
In a clinically detached prose Han Kang examines in exacting detail the experiences of two individuals whose ability to perceive the world and be able to express themselves, to interact with others, are impaired. Preoccupied with the notion and the reality of communication, perception, language, and sight these characters feel increasingly alienated from their everyday reality, unsure of themselves, their senses, and their bodies, and attempting to find a new way to occupy space, of navigating their world, by, in the case of the woman, distancing herself from that which was familiar, and, in the case of the man, retreating inward to recollect the past and to understand the origins and effects of his linguistic and cultural disconnect.
Unsparing and analytical, Greek Lessons is permeated by ambivalence. This atmosphere of unease and the characters’ aloofness succeed in making us feel a sense of estrangement from the text, which is compounded by the prose’蝉 impersonal way of addressing the characters and how events that should carry some emotional impact are delivered and/or recounted in a distinctly dispassionate way. Kang places her characters under a microscope, zeroing in on momentary discomforts and sensations, be it a character’蝉 dry lips or quivering eyelids. These close-ups are often uncomfortable, but they do succeed in conveying with precision the characters’ experiences. These coldly anatomical descriptions interrupt the characters’ introspections, which often amount to a lot of navel-gazing. Their preoccupation with the function and reality of a language, of linguistic barriers, of bilingualism, of ‘dead’ languages, of the way language and communication are necessary to navigate many spaces, and without it, one can find themselves on the margins, a passive spectator. The woman’蝉 difficulties in conveying and articulating her thoughts and feelings definitely resonated with me. She is unwilling or avoids explaining her ‘loss’ of language, and there was something like resilience in her silence, in her choice to remain opaque. I was reminded of a Georgian film I watched a while back, My Happy Family, which revolves around a middle-aged woman who decides to leave her husband and family to live by herself and throughout the film refuses to explain her choice or back down from it. Here of course the circumstances of the woman are quite different, soon after the death of her mother the woman loses a drawn-out custody battle over her eight-year-old son. Severed from her son, grieving the loss of her mother, the woman, a professor, falls once again victim to a ‘malady’ that results in a loss of speech.
“Before she lost words—when she was still able to use them to write—she sometimes wished that her own expressions would more closely resemble inarticulacy: a moan or low cry. The sound of suffering through bated breath. Snarling. Humming in one’蝉 half-sleep to pacify a child. Stifled laughter. The sound of two people’蝉 lips pressing together, pulling apart.”
Yet, her loss of language cannot be easily ascribed to these losses. Feeling disconnected from Korean, the woman attempts to approach the language anew. To do so, she distances herself from her mother tongue and chooses to study a dead language, ancient Greek. These classes are taught by a man who grew up between Korea and Germany, and because of this has long felt not only a linguistic divide but a self-divide, perpetually longing to belong, to feel at ease. For years he has been gradually losing his sight, and so he finds himself questioning how he can retain independence, observing the world around him with regret and yearning. He writes letters to his sister, recounting his childhood experiences, from the shock of moving from Korea to Germany to the pressure to ‘assimilate’, and he also reflects on past friendships and loves.
“Even the occasional memorable event is soon erased without a trace under time’蝉 huge, opaque mass.”
By switching between these two individuals Kang draws a parallel between their experiences and realities, as they both find themselves having to reevaluate new ways of perceiving and communicating with the world around them. There is, towards the end, a moment of kinship between the two, that felt startlingly poignant.
“Sunspots explode, without a sound, in the distance. Hearts and lips touch across a fault line, at once joined and eternally sundered.”
The narrative expounds on these two individuals' theoretical and personal ruminations, mirroring and juxtaposing their experiences and perspectives. Their reflections on languages, spoken and unspoken ways of communication, expression and perception, memory, grief, and the body (the way they fail and change us), are rendered all the more lucid by the author’蝉 unsparing style. Yet, despite how clinical and ascetic her style was, there are moments where Kang’蝉 prose is elevated by an elegiac, lyrical even, use of language.
“If only she’d made a map of the route her tears used to take.”
Greek Lessons makes for a fascinating read. The two central characters remain slightly outside of our reach, despite the time we spend alongside them. The subject matter and language itself are the core of this novel, making it sure, intellectually and stylistically arresting but, except for a few moments, I felt not only at a remove but as if I was reading a textbook. I couldn't help but compare this unfavourably to two favorites of mine, Whereabouts and All the Lovers in the Night (both novels also explore loneliness in women who assume the role of observer). Nevertheless, I do admire what Kang achieves in Greek Lessons and I found the ending to be quite rewarding.
Some quotes:
My love for you wasn’t foolish, but I was; had my own innate foolishness made love itself foolish? Or is that I myself wasn’t at all that foolish, but love’蝉 inherent foolishness awakened any foolishness latent in me and eventually smashed everything to pieces?
[T]here had once been a word that encapsulated both beauty and the sacred, without their having yet fallen away from each other, just as colour and clarity had formed one body within another word—the truth of this had never before been brought home to me with such vibrant intensity.
Whatever their motivation, those who study Greek share certain tendencies. They walk and talk slowly, for the most part, and don’t show much emotion (I guess this applies to me too). Perhaps because this language is a long-dead one and doesn’t allow for oral communication. Silence, shy hesitation and reactions of muted laughter slowly heat the air inside the classroom, and slowly cool it.
What a strange thing one's flesh and blood is.
How strange are the ways that it brings us sorrow.
Ink overlays ink, memory overlays memory, bloodstain overlays bloodstain. Serenity over serenity, smile over smile, bears down.
Do you ever wonder at the strangeness of it?
That our bodies have eyelids and lips,
That they can at times be made to close from the outside,
and at other times to lock fast from within.
She knows that no single specific experience led to her loss of language.
Language worn ragged over thousands of years, from wear and tear by countless tongues and pens. Language worn ragged over the course of her life, by her own tongue and pen. Each time she tried to begin a sentence, she could feel her aged heart. Her patched and repatched, dried-up, expressionless heart. The more keenly she felt it, the more fiercely she clasped the words.
January 17, 2024
Sarebbe così difficile descrivere questo libro. ? onirico, delicato, ermetico, violento. Non penso di potergli fare giustizia con una recensione.
October 10, 2024
Durch einen Spiegel in einem dunklen Wort – die Stimme zurückfinden. (Literaturnobelpreis 2024)
Ausführlicher, vielleicht begründeter auf
Inhalt: 4/5 Sterne (zarte Liebesgeschichte)
Form: 5/5 Sterne (melodi?ses, lyrisches Herantasten)
Komposition: 3/5 Sterne (vorhersehbar, aber mit Liebe zum Detail)
Leseerlebnis: 4/5 Sterne (gl?nzendes Kleinformat)
Viele Romane streben heutzutage eine Literatur der kleinen Form an. Sie besteht in ?u?erst verdichteten Minimalszenerien, die sofort, ohne l?ngeren Aufschub, auf die Erz?hlidee eingehen, den inneren Konflikt thematisieren und auf nur wenigen Seiten dann, oftmals sogar berechenbar, diesen aufl?sen. Im Zentrum dieser Art Literatur steht oftmals ein bereits auf viele Weise tradierter Stoff wie bei Alan Lightman in ?“ Einsteins Relativit?tstheorie, oder bei Cees Nootebooms "", die japanische Teezeremonie. Bei Han Kangs ?Griechischstunden“ steht Platons Idee auf dem Programm, das ?bersinnliche, ?berzeitliche, das Nicht-Sichtbare:
Aber stimmt das überhaupt? Hat mich Platons Universum aus den Gründen fasziniert, die du angeführt hast [die drohende Blindheit] – und so, wie ich schon zuvor vom Buddhismus angezogen wurde, weil er sich mit einem einzigen Schnitt vom spürbaren Dasein losl?st? Weil es mir bestimmt war, den sichtbaren Teil der Welt zu verlieren?
In dem Roman ?Griechischstunden“ finden eine Lehrerin, die ihre Stimme verloren hat, und ein Lehrer, der fast vollst?ndig erblindet ist, zueinander. Mit verschiedenen Stilmittel inszeniert Kang dieses Kennenlernen zweier sehr zurückgezogener, sich versteckender, ver?ngstigender Menschen. Die behutsame Art, wie sie zueinander finden, gibt dem Buch die innere, klare Linie, die es ben?tigt, um um diese eine Wolke assoziativen Dichtens und Schwebens, eine Atmosph?re des Sich-Verlierens in der Sprache zu inszenieren:
Herz an Herz gepresst, kennt er die Frau immer noch nicht. Er wei? nicht, dass sie als Kind in den d?mmrigen Hof ihres Wohnhauses starrte und sich fragte, ob sie überhaupt das Recht hatte, auf dieser Welt zu sein. Er kennt den Panzer nicht, dessen Kettenglieder aus W?rtern ihren nackten K?rper wie tausend Nadeln stechen. Er wei? nicht, dass sich ihre Augen in seinen spiegeln und umgekehrt … bis ins Unendliche. Er wei? nicht, dass sie ihre bl?ulich-violetten Lippen fest geschlossen h?lt, weil all dies ihr Angst macht.
?Griechischstunden“ spielt auf der Klaviatur des bewusst-eingegangenen Verzichts, um durch diesen, durch den Abstand, durch diese Klinge, die Tr?ume von Realit?t, Worte von Bedeutung, Gefühle von Anschauungen trennt, das, was noch nicht ist, was nur sein k?nnte, eine besondere Bewandtnis zu verleihen. Wer jahrelang nicht spricht, dessen erstes Wort bedeutet etwas. Wer jahrelang flieht und fortrennt, bei dem bedeutet es etwas, wenn er stehenbleibt und sich zeigt.
Aber kannst du mir glauben, wenn ich dir sage, dass ich jeden Abend das Licht l?sche, ohne zu verzweifeln? Weil ich die Lider vor Sonnenaufgang wieder ?ffnen werde. Weil ich die Vorh?nge aufziehen und das Fenster aufrei?en werde, um den verhangenen Himmel durch das Mückennetz hindurch zu sehen. Weil ich in meiner Phantasie, nur in einer dünnen Jacke, das Haus verlassen und Schritt um Schritt auf düsteren Gehsteigen entlangwandeln werde. Weil ich beobachte, wie das Gewebe der Dunkelheit allm?hlich ausfranst, die bl?ulichen F?den sich auf meinen K?rper und die Stadt legen.
In dichter Atmosph?rik zieht Han Kang auf engsten Raum alle Register, die die Emotionen zweier Menschen bewegen, denen die Welt abhanden gekommen ist. Sie tr?umen von Platons Ideen als zeitenthobene Entit?ten, weil sie noch nicht im Kreislauf des Lebens Eingang gefunden haben. Sie tr?umen und wandern durch die Stadt ihrer Kindheit auf der Suche nach sich selbst, und Han Kang st?rkt ihnen mit ihren ?Griechischstunden“ den Rücken. Ein hoffnungsvolles, weites, sich ?ffnendes Buch, das mich über weite Strecken an erinnert hat, der eine ?hnliche freundliche und poetische Sicht auf die Welt zu haben pflegt.
Ausführlicher, vielleicht begründeter auf
Inhalt: 4/5 Sterne (zarte Liebesgeschichte)
Form: 5/5 Sterne (melodi?ses, lyrisches Herantasten)
Komposition: 3/5 Sterne (vorhersehbar, aber mit Liebe zum Detail)
Leseerlebnis: 4/5 Sterne (gl?nzendes Kleinformat)
Viele Romane streben heutzutage eine Literatur der kleinen Form an. Sie besteht in ?u?erst verdichteten Minimalszenerien, die sofort, ohne l?ngeren Aufschub, auf die Erz?hlidee eingehen, den inneren Konflikt thematisieren und auf nur wenigen Seiten dann, oftmals sogar berechenbar, diesen aufl?sen. Im Zentrum dieser Art Literatur steht oftmals ein bereits auf viele Weise tradierter Stoff wie bei Alan Lightman in ?“ Einsteins Relativit?tstheorie, oder bei Cees Nootebooms "", die japanische Teezeremonie. Bei Han Kangs ?Griechischstunden“ steht Platons Idee auf dem Programm, das ?bersinnliche, ?berzeitliche, das Nicht-Sichtbare:
Aber stimmt das überhaupt? Hat mich Platons Universum aus den Gründen fasziniert, die du angeführt hast [die drohende Blindheit] – und so, wie ich schon zuvor vom Buddhismus angezogen wurde, weil er sich mit einem einzigen Schnitt vom spürbaren Dasein losl?st? Weil es mir bestimmt war, den sichtbaren Teil der Welt zu verlieren?
In dem Roman ?Griechischstunden“ finden eine Lehrerin, die ihre Stimme verloren hat, und ein Lehrer, der fast vollst?ndig erblindet ist, zueinander. Mit verschiedenen Stilmittel inszeniert Kang dieses Kennenlernen zweier sehr zurückgezogener, sich versteckender, ver?ngstigender Menschen. Die behutsame Art, wie sie zueinander finden, gibt dem Buch die innere, klare Linie, die es ben?tigt, um um diese eine Wolke assoziativen Dichtens und Schwebens, eine Atmosph?re des Sich-Verlierens in der Sprache zu inszenieren:
Herz an Herz gepresst, kennt er die Frau immer noch nicht. Er wei? nicht, dass sie als Kind in den d?mmrigen Hof ihres Wohnhauses starrte und sich fragte, ob sie überhaupt das Recht hatte, auf dieser Welt zu sein. Er kennt den Panzer nicht, dessen Kettenglieder aus W?rtern ihren nackten K?rper wie tausend Nadeln stechen. Er wei? nicht, dass sich ihre Augen in seinen spiegeln und umgekehrt … bis ins Unendliche. Er wei? nicht, dass sie ihre bl?ulich-violetten Lippen fest geschlossen h?lt, weil all dies ihr Angst macht.
?Griechischstunden“ spielt auf der Klaviatur des bewusst-eingegangenen Verzichts, um durch diesen, durch den Abstand, durch diese Klinge, die Tr?ume von Realit?t, Worte von Bedeutung, Gefühle von Anschauungen trennt, das, was noch nicht ist, was nur sein k?nnte, eine besondere Bewandtnis zu verleihen. Wer jahrelang nicht spricht, dessen erstes Wort bedeutet etwas. Wer jahrelang flieht und fortrennt, bei dem bedeutet es etwas, wenn er stehenbleibt und sich zeigt.
Aber kannst du mir glauben, wenn ich dir sage, dass ich jeden Abend das Licht l?sche, ohne zu verzweifeln? Weil ich die Lider vor Sonnenaufgang wieder ?ffnen werde. Weil ich die Vorh?nge aufziehen und das Fenster aufrei?en werde, um den verhangenen Himmel durch das Mückennetz hindurch zu sehen. Weil ich in meiner Phantasie, nur in einer dünnen Jacke, das Haus verlassen und Schritt um Schritt auf düsteren Gehsteigen entlangwandeln werde. Weil ich beobachte, wie das Gewebe der Dunkelheit allm?hlich ausfranst, die bl?ulichen F?den sich auf meinen K?rper und die Stadt legen.
In dichter Atmosph?rik zieht Han Kang auf engsten Raum alle Register, die die Emotionen zweier Menschen bewegen, denen die Welt abhanden gekommen ist. Sie tr?umen von Platons Ideen als zeitenthobene Entit?ten, weil sie noch nicht im Kreislauf des Lebens Eingang gefunden haben. Sie tr?umen und wandern durch die Stadt ihrer Kindheit auf der Suche nach sich selbst, und Han Kang st?rkt ihnen mit ihren ?Griechischstunden“ den Rücken. Ein hoffnungsvolles, weites, sich ?ffnendes Buch, das mich über weite Strecken an erinnert hat, der eine ?hnliche freundliche und poetische Sicht auf die Welt zu haben pflegt.
February 1, 2025
A meditative novel on inability to speak and see, and the confines of language and belonging to a land and mother tongue
If that original silence had been similar to that which exists before birth, this new silence is more like that which follows death.
Maybe the least accessible by the 2024 Nobel laureate , and given one of her books is about ghosts and massacre and the other has high levels of misogyny and unsettling scenes, that is saying something. Probably closest to , at times almost poetry like in how spare it is. Decidedly not an easy read for such a slim book but very cinematographic at the same time.
Sense of displacement and alienation from one’蝉 own society and language, in Germany, pervades the book, while a woman loses her speech again during a class of ancient Greek.
If that original silence had been similar to that which exists before birth, this new silence is more like that which follows death.
The female main character lost the custody battle for her eight year old after a divorce, and her story is told in alternating chapters with the man losing sight. Her teacher is interested in while he is slowly losing his sight. He spend over 17 years in Germany, leading to meditations on the nature of mother language in a sense of being a stranger:
Now and then, words would thrust their way into her sleep like skewers, startling her awake several times a night.
Not being able to speak seems a constant in the works of Han Kang, and is in this work conveyed through a lot of metaphors. Inability to speak and to perceive the world in language, while Ran, sister to the teacher and opera singer, uses her voice for work.
Chapter 14, thinking of a dead friend and all the lost potentiality, is almost poetry like, as are the last two chapters.
Or chapter 16:
A person lies prone in the snow.
Snow in their throat.
Earth in their eyes.
Seeing nothing.
A person stands next to them.
Hearing nothing.
Somehow this book reminds me of the excellent movie Past Lives by Celine Song, in terms of melancholy vibes, and I think an arthouse movie would capture the visual descriptions of Han Kang well.
Quotes:
She knows that no single experience led to her loss of language.
He strains to distinguish between the lighter and darker darkness.
A silence like a snowdrift blanketing a blood-stained body. I was genuinely afraid that your silence would turn to actual death. Turn rigid, then glacial.
The first thing I perceive is time. I sense it as a slow, cruel current of enormous mass passing constantly through my body to gradually overcome me.
Sometimes she thinks of herself as more like some form of substance, a moving solid or liquid, than like a person.
What a strange thing one’蝉 own flesh and blood is. How strange are the ways that it brings us sorrow.
Simply because that wondering was sensually beautiful and touched the electrode inside me that responds to beauty.
You said, Dreaming of another world than this is a sin.
Something broke inside us
If that original silence had been similar to that which exists before birth, this new silence is more like that which follows death.
Maybe the least accessible by the 2024 Nobel laureate , and given one of her books is about ghosts and massacre and the other has high levels of misogyny and unsettling scenes, that is saying something. Probably closest to , at times almost poetry like in how spare it is. Decidedly not an easy read for such a slim book but very cinematographic at the same time.
Sense of displacement and alienation from one’蝉 own society and language, in Germany, pervades the book, while a woman loses her speech again during a class of ancient Greek.
If that original silence had been similar to that which exists before birth, this new silence is more like that which follows death.
The female main character lost the custody battle for her eight year old after a divorce, and her story is told in alternating chapters with the man losing sight. Her teacher is interested in while he is slowly losing his sight. He spend over 17 years in Germany, leading to meditations on the nature of mother language in a sense of being a stranger:
Now and then, words would thrust their way into her sleep like skewers, startling her awake several times a night.
Not being able to speak seems a constant in the works of Han Kang, and is in this work conveyed through a lot of metaphors. Inability to speak and to perceive the world in language, while Ran, sister to the teacher and opera singer, uses her voice for work.
Chapter 14, thinking of a dead friend and all the lost potentiality, is almost poetry like, as are the last two chapters.
Or chapter 16:
A person lies prone in the snow.
Snow in their throat.
Earth in their eyes.
Seeing nothing.
A person stands next to them.
Hearing nothing.
Somehow this book reminds me of the excellent movie Past Lives by Celine Song, in terms of melancholy vibes, and I think an arthouse movie would capture the visual descriptions of Han Kang well.
Quotes:
She knows that no single experience led to her loss of language.
He strains to distinguish between the lighter and darker darkness.
A silence like a snowdrift blanketing a blood-stained body. I was genuinely afraid that your silence would turn to actual death. Turn rigid, then glacial.
The first thing I perceive is time. I sense it as a slow, cruel current of enormous mass passing constantly through my body to gradually overcome me.
Sometimes she thinks of herself as more like some form of substance, a moving solid or liquid, than like a person.
What a strange thing one’蝉 own flesh and blood is. How strange are the ways that it brings us sorrow.
Simply because that wondering was sensually beautiful and touched the electrode inside me that responds to beauty.
You said, Dreaming of another world than this is a sin.
Something broke inside us
December 1, 2024
A subtle and delicate novel, as suggestive as elusive, about existential loneliness. Unspeakable emotions painted in watercolours.
September 30, 2023
Conocí a Han Kang con la publicación de ?La vegetariana? que por todo lo que conllevó su publicación y las diversas y tan enfrentadas opiniones que suscitó, estuvo sobre la palestra varios meses. Aunque todavía no he leído ese título ya que mi primer y hasta ahora único encuentro con su obra se presentó con ?Actos humanos?, que fue una lectura que me arrolló y se llevó parte de mí por la inusitada y reveladora capacidad de la autora de hablarnos sobre un acto atroz y sus inevitables consecuencias. Así he llegado a ?La clase de griego?, sin demasiadas expectativas (porque no ha dado tiempo a que exploten las redes con infinidad de rese?as), con la mente abierta y en absoluto preparada para lo que me iba a encontrar.
Dejadme que os ponga en contexto: tenemos a dos personajes, dos seres marcados por un dolor arrollador, que les bloquea, no les permite avanzar y les aísla de la rígida y marcada sociedad que no tiene espacio para personas diferentes. Una clase de griego los sitúa en un mismo escenario, aunque la conexión, más espiritual que física entre ellos, se cuece a fuego lento entre reflexiones, pensamientos y recuerdos rescatados de las tinieblas del alma de nuestros protagonistas. Sus situaciones, tan distintas entre sí, tienen un nexo común que conoceremos gracias a sus testimonios: la desesperación, la depresión y la triste soledad que los acompa?a en su existencia.
Han Kang escribe con una facilidad pasmosa, te envuelve y te acompa?a de la mano en una odisea de sentimientos sin querer detenerse en ofrecer una trama enrevesada o con el único fin de satisfacer al lector. Encarna el dolor, la pérdida con una sensibilidad que traspasa las páginas, homenajea el lenguaje y crea una unión intimista que no necesita de un excesivo y recargado estilo narrativo. Plantea numerosas preguntas, varias de ellas sin una respuesta concreta pero sumamente interesantes y profundas. He disfrutado y devorado esta novela, me ha cautivado lo poética que resulta la estrecha conexion de los personajes y las posibilidades que hay para comunicarse. Porque hay veces en las que sobran las palabras. Se incrementan mis ganas de seguir descubriendo la obra de esta escritora que sin duda se postula como una imprescindible de la literatura contemporánea.
Dejadme que os ponga en contexto: tenemos a dos personajes, dos seres marcados por un dolor arrollador, que les bloquea, no les permite avanzar y les aísla de la rígida y marcada sociedad que no tiene espacio para personas diferentes. Una clase de griego los sitúa en un mismo escenario, aunque la conexión, más espiritual que física entre ellos, se cuece a fuego lento entre reflexiones, pensamientos y recuerdos rescatados de las tinieblas del alma de nuestros protagonistas. Sus situaciones, tan distintas entre sí, tienen un nexo común que conoceremos gracias a sus testimonios: la desesperación, la depresión y la triste soledad que los acompa?a en su existencia.
Han Kang escribe con una facilidad pasmosa, te envuelve y te acompa?a de la mano en una odisea de sentimientos sin querer detenerse en ofrecer una trama enrevesada o con el único fin de satisfacer al lector. Encarna el dolor, la pérdida con una sensibilidad que traspasa las páginas, homenajea el lenguaje y crea una unión intimista que no necesita de un excesivo y recargado estilo narrativo. Plantea numerosas preguntas, varias de ellas sin una respuesta concreta pero sumamente interesantes y profundas. He disfrutado y devorado esta novela, me ha cautivado lo poética que resulta la estrecha conexion de los personajes y las posibilidades que hay para comunicarse. Porque hay veces en las que sobran las palabras. Se incrementan mis ganas de seguir descubriendo la obra de esta escritora que sin duda se postula como una imprescindible de la literatura contemporánea.
January 11, 2025
“It's a common belief that blind or partially sighted people will pick up on sounds first and foremost, but that isn't the case with me. The first thing I perceive is time. I sense it as a slow, cruel current of enormous mass passing constantly through my body to gradually overcome me.”
My first novel by Nobel prize winner Han Kang. It is a portrait of two middle-aged characters, one of whom is losing his sight. She also has her problems, finding herself struggling to speak. She decides to learn ancient Greek and the language teacher is the one losing his sight. It is set in Germany and South Korea. There is prose, poetry, philosophy and linguistics. There is a fair amount of Plato’蝉 theory of forms floating about as well. It is often delivered in small chunks and reads easily. Kang does have a very good eye for detail, here she describes her language instructor:
"The man standing by the blackboard looks to be in his mid to late thirties. He is slight, with eyebrows like bold accents over his eyes and a deep groove at the base of his nose. A faint smile of restrained emotion plays around his mouth...The woman gazes up at the scar that runs in a slender pale curve from the edge of his left eyelid to the edge of his mouth. When she'd seen it in their first lesson, she'd thought of it as marking where tears had once flowed."
The novel explores whether two damaged people can find some solace in each other. Of course nothing is ever simple and straightforward! Kang alternates between the two narrators and sometimes they seem to merge into each other. They also look back over their lives. A sense of sadness hangs over it all and there is plenty of pondering existential questions. I did enjoy this and the writing is good, well-translated I think. I also think it will lead me towards some of her other books.
My first novel by Nobel prize winner Han Kang. It is a portrait of two middle-aged characters, one of whom is losing his sight. She also has her problems, finding herself struggling to speak. She decides to learn ancient Greek and the language teacher is the one losing his sight. It is set in Germany and South Korea. There is prose, poetry, philosophy and linguistics. There is a fair amount of Plato’蝉 theory of forms floating about as well. It is often delivered in small chunks and reads easily. Kang does have a very good eye for detail, here she describes her language instructor:
"The man standing by the blackboard looks to be in his mid to late thirties. He is slight, with eyebrows like bold accents over his eyes and a deep groove at the base of his nose. A faint smile of restrained emotion plays around his mouth...The woman gazes up at the scar that runs in a slender pale curve from the edge of his left eyelid to the edge of his mouth. When she'd seen it in their first lesson, she'd thought of it as marking where tears had once flowed."
The novel explores whether two damaged people can find some solace in each other. Of course nothing is ever simple and straightforward! Kang alternates between the two narrators and sometimes they seem to merge into each other. They also look back over their lives. A sense of sadness hangs over it all and there is plenty of pondering existential questions. I did enjoy this and the writing is good, well-translated I think. I also think it will lead me towards some of her other books.
Read
December 26, 2024I didn’t hate this book, but I didn’t exactly like it either, although I wonder if it’蝉 more a translation issue. It’蝉 full of vaguely abstract sentences that don’t actually mean anything, like “does a fissure form in foolishness when it destroys truth?” The prose is elegant if a bit sterile, but the story lacks a beating heart.
October 11, 2024
Es un 3.8. Así de puntillosa es esta calificación. A ver, esta es una rese?a compleja de escribir, porque, como ya sabemos, Han Kang acaba de ganar el Nobel y no muchos están contentos. Lo que puedo decir es que tenía muy bajas expectativas y éstas han jugado a favor. Indudablemente había varios escritores y escritoras que se lo merecerían por su trayectoria. Y aunque Han Kang no haya sido uno de los nombres que aparecía en las quinielas, lo cierto es que no es por falta de calidad literaria que se podría cuestionar este premio, sino por los criterios de seleccion, cada vez más resbaladizos. Intuyo una necesidad de la Academia sueca cada vez más notoria de ser plurales como política fija. No digo ya inclusivos, que sería ya apelar a la palabra woke o progre a la que muchos tienen alergia. Aunque los criterios de la Academia intentan estar por encima de las ideologías binarias en boga, aún así terminan acogiéndose a ello, y creo que eso le hace un flaco favor a la autora (aunque va a vender como nunca) al prácticamente tomarla como patrimonio o representante de lo woke. Es decir, que Han Kang tiene una pluma literaria más que aceptable, que en esta novela particularmente sobresale la intención lírica en su visión de la construcción literaria, que esa voluntad de juntar narrativa y poesía está bien lograda, no obstante tampoco es sobresaliente o su estilo demasiado innovador o rupturista, pero, sobre todo, el que se le abandere (en silencio) por representar todas las ideas en boga actuales (disidencias, discapacidades, vegetarianismo, minorías, neurodivergencias, etc.) creo que desmerita su literatura, ya que si bien, no es difícil rastrear esas nociones en esta novela, lo cierto es que no es discursiva ni panfletaria en lo absoluto, y creo que su supuesta afinidad con aquellas ideas viene más por una visión occidental y políticamente correcta del asunto y no de la propia escritora (aunque podría equivocarme). En esta novela los protagonistas han perdido algo profundo en su identidad que se representa como la pérdida de un sentido: el habla en la mujer, la vista en el hombre. Estos dos seres, con esta especie de mutilación vital, se encuentran en un camino que se entronca a través de unas clases de griego que él dicta y que ella recibe. Aquí vamos conociendo su historia y el por qué llegaron a este punto. Pero todo esto como en un juego de cintas que se envuelven y desenvuelven según avanza la trama. Finalmente hay un halo que arropa toda la narración, que se debate entre la nostalgia, la desesperanza y lo desconocido.
Es la primera novela que leo de la autora, no podría decir mucho más de su obra pero, seguramente, si le dan el Nobel a alguien de cincuenta y cuatro a?os, tranquilamente se lo podían dar a C?rt?rescu o a Kraznahorkai... Pero este a?o tocaba mujer.
Es la primera novela que leo de la autora, no podría decir mucho más de su obra pero, seguramente, si le dan el Nobel a alguien de cincuenta y cuatro a?os, tranquilamente se lo podían dar a C?rt?rescu o a Kraznahorkai... Pero este a?o tocaba mujer.
January 11, 2023
7th book of 2023.
As The Vegetarian deals with a woman slowly being ostracised from her family and even society after choosing to remove meat from her diet, Greek Lessons deals with two characters facing their own forms of loneliness and removal from the world: this time in the forms of blindless and losing one's voice.
A Greek lecturer has always known he will go blind, and a woman, a student of Greek, at one point loses the ability to speak. Most of the book is quite abstract. The Greek professor's parts are in first and second person, recounting time in Germany, addressing an old friend/lover. The woman's parts delve into an ex-husband, a child no longer under her care. In the final third or so of the book the two characters properly come together in a long scene involving a trapped bird. Kang writes poetically but simply. One gets the impression that a lot is going on behind every sentence, every scene. By the end though I found the story of the blind man and the mute coming together fairly inconsequential. The exploring of the Greek language and letters was interesting, bits of Plato, etc., and helped the theme of communication and language, which the novel is above all else, about. A strange lonely sort of book. Thanks to Penguin for the advance copy for review.
As The Vegetarian deals with a woman slowly being ostracised from her family and even society after choosing to remove meat from her diet, Greek Lessons deals with two characters facing their own forms of loneliness and removal from the world: this time in the forms of blindless and losing one's voice.
A Greek lecturer has always known he will go blind, and a woman, a student of Greek, at one point loses the ability to speak. Most of the book is quite abstract. The Greek professor's parts are in first and second person, recounting time in Germany, addressing an old friend/lover. The woman's parts delve into an ex-husband, a child no longer under her care. In the final third or so of the book the two characters properly come together in a long scene involving a trapped bird. Kang writes poetically but simply. One gets the impression that a lot is going on behind every sentence, every scene. By the end though I found the story of the blind man and the mute coming together fairly inconsequential. The exploring of the Greek language and letters was interesting, bits of Plato, etc., and helped the theme of communication and language, which the novel is above all else, about. A strange lonely sort of book. Thanks to Penguin for the advance copy for review.
March 27, 2025
That you were so enraptured by language as to recall it as your earliest memory—isn’t this because you were instinctively aware that the circuit connecting language to the world is something that only just holds together, something in constant danger of failing? In other words, unconsciously, did you find that fascination to be somehow similar to your sense of the world’蝉 contingency?
I will start with a little story of myself, so for a proper (though still rambling) review, skip a few (5) paragraphs.
This is Cuba, early 2010s, which means no internet or way to connect to the outside world. One couldn’t choose what to watch, in case of course you wanted to watch TV, that was entirely up to you but in an island paralyzed in time, there was basically no other way of entertainment. I was 11 or 12 by that time, and I was consumed by whatever book I could find (mostly biased history books) and the same few movies and TV shows that ended and started again in the limited three channels that we had. Then my parents bought me a computer, and there was this "virtual library" that was passed around which contained mostly classics and romance books, there was also an outdated Wikipedia with a 2009 database that I could spend hours and hours reading and jumping from one article to another. I loved languages and since I had basically taught myself English, through the repetition of said movies and TV shows, I wanted to learn other languages too, but I lacked consistency and resources.
Then, around that time one channel passed a k-drama for the first time. I remember running home from school to watch it every day, and there was born an incipient fascination for the language. I (barely) learned Hangeul through my loyal friend, Wikipedia, but again, I couldn’t go beyond that stage due to lack of resources. If you were lucky maybe you could find a French or German, or even Russian course, but Korean? That wasn’t useful for Tourism. So, as swiftly as it came, so went my passion and I always regretted not trying harder to learn it.
Fast forward to the pandemic, now the country had started taking tiny steps to create a better (and controlled) system to provide internet for its citizens. It was still incredibly slow and expensive but it was an improvement, and it allowed me to reconnect with the language in an unexpected way. After having had next to no exposure to Korean culture in any way since that time, I discovered BTS. They were a balm of comfort for my deteriorating sanity in the lights of horrendous and uncertain times, providing not only an escape or entertainment, but a safe place for me to explore the world that had once been so intriguing to me. They had not only extremely synchronized choreographies, and shiny outfits, but the most important thing I value in music: lyrics. Genuinely good lyrics are poetry, and poetry is literature. They evolved my curiosity into respect and devotion for a language that I find so poetic and mystic.
The leader of the group, Kim Namjoon is an avid reader, and often recommends the books he loves. He has been named as one of the most important people to revitalize Korean Literature, and thanks to him I was able to discover captivating literature that has changed the way I see the world. One of the books was The Vegetarian by Han Kang. Like I said in my review, it was the first time I felt the need to put down my thoughts on a book, long before I discovered goodreads. Her understanding of the human soul, of women, her use of non-violence to highlight how much violence there is in this world.
It was only serendipitous luck that I found out about her winning the Nobel Prize, through the same person that introduced me to her writing. After being out of power and online service for God knows how many hours, coming online and seeing she had won, it was a moment of absolute bliss against the darkness. And of course, I took it as a sign that I needed to read the only book of hers I hadn’t read.
Greek Lessons is a love letter to language at its core. Kang redefines language as a way to communicate, to build relations, to feel less alone, but not in the same way as we usually think about it.
Language worn ragged over thousands of years, from wear and tear by countless tongues and pens. Language worn ragged over the course of her life, by her own tongue and pen
Two people. That on the surface have nothing in common, find each other when they need it the most.
A woman who does not speak. The circumstances for it are undefinable. She doesn’t want to take up space. She has lost words as a response to losing everything else. She chooses to abandon words (but not language, never language) before it is completely taken away from her like everything else, as if in the decision of losing words she is holding onto it. She wants to disappear within the creaks of a world that is foreign and unkind, but is the only world she knows. She is afraid.
A man who cannot see. At least not entirely. He is trying to grasp the last blurry visions before it turns into shadows. He can’t do anything about it. He can’t absorb every color, gaze at every landscape, and memorize the faces of every loved one. One day he will only have his dreams to visit and see. He is afraid.
And then, these two people meet…
Everything appears as fragments, scatters as fragments. Disappears. Words grow a little more distant from the body.
A kaleidoscope is an optical device consisted of mirrors that reflect unique images to each viewer. In different lights one can see different patterns, and once it changes it is never quite the same again. Some try to hold onto that moment when what is reflected has become familiar, scared to be left to discover a new pattern and start the recognition process all over again, others embrace the change following the thrill of discovering new things. The characters become kaleidoscopes to each other, even when the conditions are far from ideal, they find a way to communicate crafting a language of their own. When one sense starts to fade, the rest strengthen, but in a way it feels they’ve become each other’蝉 missing sense. Two devices that found a way to intertwine and turn themselves into a beautiful abstract landscape.
In a place that had neither light nor sound.
You were not visible.
And I was not visible.
You did not make a sound.
And I did not make a sound
I will start with a little story of myself, so for a proper (though still rambling) review, skip a few (5) paragraphs.
This is Cuba, early 2010s, which means no internet or way to connect to the outside world. One couldn’t choose what to watch, in case of course you wanted to watch TV, that was entirely up to you but in an island paralyzed in time, there was basically no other way of entertainment. I was 11 or 12 by that time, and I was consumed by whatever book I could find (mostly biased history books) and the same few movies and TV shows that ended and started again in the limited three channels that we had. Then my parents bought me a computer, and there was this "virtual library" that was passed around which contained mostly classics and romance books, there was also an outdated Wikipedia with a 2009 database that I could spend hours and hours reading and jumping from one article to another. I loved languages and since I had basically taught myself English, through the repetition of said movies and TV shows, I wanted to learn other languages too, but I lacked consistency and resources.
Then, around that time one channel passed a k-drama for the first time. I remember running home from school to watch it every day, and there was born an incipient fascination for the language. I (barely) learned Hangeul through my loyal friend, Wikipedia, but again, I couldn’t go beyond that stage due to lack of resources. If you were lucky maybe you could find a French or German, or even Russian course, but Korean? That wasn’t useful for Tourism. So, as swiftly as it came, so went my passion and I always regretted not trying harder to learn it.
Fast forward to the pandemic, now the country had started taking tiny steps to create a better (and controlled) system to provide internet for its citizens. It was still incredibly slow and expensive but it was an improvement, and it allowed me to reconnect with the language in an unexpected way. After having had next to no exposure to Korean culture in any way since that time, I discovered BTS. They were a balm of comfort for my deteriorating sanity in the lights of horrendous and uncertain times, providing not only an escape or entertainment, but a safe place for me to explore the world that had once been so intriguing to me. They had not only extremely synchronized choreographies, and shiny outfits, but the most important thing I value in music: lyrics. Genuinely good lyrics are poetry, and poetry is literature. They evolved my curiosity into respect and devotion for a language that I find so poetic and mystic.
The leader of the group, Kim Namjoon is an avid reader, and often recommends the books he loves. He has been named as one of the most important people to revitalize Korean Literature, and thanks to him I was able to discover captivating literature that has changed the way I see the world. One of the books was The Vegetarian by Han Kang. Like I said in my review, it was the first time I felt the need to put down my thoughts on a book, long before I discovered goodreads. Her understanding of the human soul, of women, her use of non-violence to highlight how much violence there is in this world.
It was only serendipitous luck that I found out about her winning the Nobel Prize, through the same person that introduced me to her writing. After being out of power and online service for God knows how many hours, coming online and seeing she had won, it was a moment of absolute bliss against the darkness. And of course, I took it as a sign that I needed to read the only book of hers I hadn’t read.
Greek Lessons is a love letter to language at its core. Kang redefines language as a way to communicate, to build relations, to feel less alone, but not in the same way as we usually think about it.
Language worn ragged over thousands of years, from wear and tear by countless tongues and pens. Language worn ragged over the course of her life, by her own tongue and pen
Two people. That on the surface have nothing in common, find each other when they need it the most.
A woman who does not speak. The circumstances for it are undefinable. She doesn’t want to take up space. She has lost words as a response to losing everything else. She chooses to abandon words (but not language, never language) before it is completely taken away from her like everything else, as if in the decision of losing words she is holding onto it. She wants to disappear within the creaks of a world that is foreign and unkind, but is the only world she knows. She is afraid.
A man who cannot see. At least not entirely. He is trying to grasp the last blurry visions before it turns into shadows. He can’t do anything about it. He can’t absorb every color, gaze at every landscape, and memorize the faces of every loved one. One day he will only have his dreams to visit and see. He is afraid.
And then, these two people meet…
Everything appears as fragments, scatters as fragments. Disappears. Words grow a little more distant from the body.
A kaleidoscope is an optical device consisted of mirrors that reflect unique images to each viewer. In different lights one can see different patterns, and once it changes it is never quite the same again. Some try to hold onto that moment when what is reflected has become familiar, scared to be left to discover a new pattern and start the recognition process all over again, others embrace the change following the thrill of discovering new things. The characters become kaleidoscopes to each other, even when the conditions are far from ideal, they find a way to communicate crafting a language of their own. When one sense starts to fade, the rest strengthen, but in a way it feels they’ve become each other’蝉 missing sense. Two devices that found a way to intertwine and turn themselves into a beautiful abstract landscape.
In a place that had neither light nor sound.
You were not visible.
And I was not visible.
You did not make a sound.
And I did not make a sound
April 27, 2023
Beautiful writing and interesting ideas, but a bit too abstract and skipping too much from one thought to another. I just couldn’t connect. Thank you Hamish Hamilton and Netgalley for an ARC.
April 1, 2025
Wed?ug mnie troch? niewykorzystany potencja?. Po rereadzie, w polskim t?umaczeniu, daje jeszcze ni?sz? ocen?, bo nie dostrzegam w niej absolutnie nic.
Shelved as 'dnf'
June 24, 2023This is a book I want to come back to someday because I think if I was in the mood I would really like it. For whatever reason, right now I don't feel motivated or excited to pick it up at all so I'm putting it aside.
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