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I don’t want to box this book in as just a tale about the Jeju Island April 3rd Massacre. If you’re expecting a history lesson packed with facts, you might end up more confused than enlightened. Han Kang’s writing is all about the people - especially women - and it’s drenched in raw emotions. The way she paints the scene using weather, objects, and imagery really grabs you and doesn’t let go.

Instead of fixating on a “massacre of civilians,�� it seems Han Kang is more interested in diving into the deep, lasting pain that survivors have had to carry. The book actually blends together 2 separate massacres in Korean history.

Potential Spoilers Ahead

It all kicks off with a dream - black trees, heavy snow, and seawater - that Han Kang actually experienced after finishing her earlier work, Human Acts, about the 1980 Gwangju Uprising. That haunting shadow follows the character Kyungha, who’s tormented by nightmares. Imagine lying in an overheated apartment, sweating through cold showers, drifting in and out of sleep while drowning in relentless, scalding nightmares. That’s how the uprising subtly weaves its way into her life.

As the story shifts into winter, Kyungha gets a call from an old friend, Inseon, who lives on Jeju Island. Inseon, having injured her finger while woodworking and now in a Seoul hospital, urgently needs help to care for her pet white bird, Ama. After battling through heavy snow and nearly impossible roads, Kyungha finally arrives at the wooden house - only to find Ama dead. This journey sets the stage for the first part of the novel, filled with Kyungha’s memories of Inseon, her rebellious past, her small but vivid family tales, and even hints of films about Vietnamese comfort women and the early days of Korean massacres.

The second part shifts into this almost surreal space between life and death. In a cabin buffeted by a blizzard, Inseon - who was supposed to be in a hospital - returns to narrate another horror: the Jeju Island Massacre (1948-1950) alongside the Korean War. 30,000 civilians died in the first year and nearly 300,000 in the second, including Inseon’s own family. These painful memories, pieced together from old newspapers, letters, and her mother Jeongsim’s fragmented recollections, build a raw tapestry of historical grief.

Then comes a brief third part that centers on a promise running throughout the book. Kyungha once mentioned to Inseon that maybe planting those dreamlike black trees and photographing their snow-covered stumps would help banish her nightmares. Inseon, already on that path, shows Kyungha the land set aside for that project. When Kyungha felt like giving up, Inseon reminded her, “But I’ve already started.�� Through this long, winding narrative, it becomes clear that Inseon’s quest is really about honoring those who died under brutal, dictatorial oppression.

Looking back after finishing the book, I realized something poignant: Inseon’s desperate call for Kyungha to save the pet was already too late - the bird was dead. Just like trying to undo history, some things can’t be fixed, though at least Kyungha made sure the bird got a proper farewell. Despite years of government silence and denial, the pain of the past still lingers, with families never stopping their search for missing loved ones.

There are some truly gut-wrenching moments in the book. For example, before we even learn that Inseon’s mother was a survivor, she casually mentions keeping a saw under her mattress to fend off nightmares - a detail that later hits you with its deep symbolic pain. Then there’s that disturbing scene where a young mother, in an attempt to help her bleeding sister, bites off her own finger and forces it into her sister’s mouth - a grim image that stays with you. And later, Inseon herself has to endure having her stitched finger pricked every few minutes in the hospital, a painful reminder that sometimes, suffering is just part of being alive.

I believe Han Kang spent over 7 years crafting this book not to lay out a historical account but to capture and preserve the raw, unfiltered pain of the past. The scene where Inseon gets her finger treated struck me the most - it showed a calm, resilient strength in the midst of suffering. It reminded me that while some people might have seemingly peaceful lives, others are battling storms we never see. Life is this quiet sorrow we all endure moment by moment, and in the grand scheme of things, goodbyes and endings don’t change that. The past lingers, unforgotten.

All in all, this is a captivating book with a lasting impact. It makes you feel what it’s like for those who suffer so deeply that even breathing can hurt, yet somehow, they still find the strength to move forward.

5 / 5 stars