There’s always something special about reading a Booker Prize winning novel (see the last Booker novel I reviewed https://books-booze-boxoffice.blogspot.com/2022/12/the-seven-moons-of-maali-almeida-shehan.html). We are very aware from the beginning that the book is critically acclaimed, and therefore know that there’s a high chance that lay-people like us, will either not relate to it, or will not like it. Imagine then my anticipation and guarded approach to a novel that is not just a Man Booker International Prize winner (2016), but also the Nobel Prize in Literature winner (2024).
The Vegetarian tells the story of Yeong-hye and her immediate family, and how her one decision of turning into a vegetarian and giving up all kind of meat, turns her and her family’s life completely upside down, triggering a series of disruptive incidents that pulls her and the people closest to her in different directions, and sets them on a profound and irreversible path towards destruction or redemption or both.
Did I like the book? I’ve realised that this is a difficult question to answer for a Booker novel. If ‘liking’ a book means did I enjoy reading it, was it entertaining, did it bring a smile on my face, was there fun and joy in it, the answer is ‘No’. But if ‘liking’ a book means did it move us, shake us, disrupt us, shock us, gave us an insight into the world and its many complex facets that we otherwise don’t see in our own livesthen the answer is an overwhelming ‘Yes’.
The story is told in three parts, each narrated in the first person by different protagonists in the story. The first part (The Vegetarian), is from the perspective of Mr. Cheong, Yeong-hye’s husband, who watches in frustration as his married life transforms from a highly ordinary one to a shockingly extra-ordinary one, as his wife slowly fades away from food, relationships, life and sanity. The second part (Mongolian Mark), is from the perspective of Yeong-hye’s brother-in-law (her sister’s husband), a wayward mal-adjusted artist, who becomes obsessed with the idea of creating an erotic masterpiece of body-painting and videography of Yeong-hye and himself, delivering the artistic satisfaction that had been eluding him all this while, but also ending his family forever. The third and the final part (Flaming Trees), is from the perspective of In-hye, Yeong-hye’s sister, who, now as a single mom, becomes the only care-giver for her sister, now in a psychiatric hospital, trying in-vain to rescue her from slowly decaying because of her refusal to eat anything at all; and in the process, finally giving into her own life’s pain, helplessness and imprisonment .
While it takes a while to really get into the book, taking some time to feel the translated Korean writing, the cultural context, and the slightly-bizarre story, it quickly has us hooked into a very subtle but deep reality of our modern day urban lives and the absurdity of the choices we make, who’s disastrous consequences we suffer all our lives. The magic of the book is that it moves from something completely un-relatable to something that is so-relatable that we eventually know it’s a story about all of us. The central premise of the story is a commentary on how far and disconnected man has become from not only nature but everything organic and real on this planet. In line with Yuval Noah Harari’s premise of our biology out of sync with our history, the book comments on the completely un-natural construct of our society that fundamentally conflicts with our animal nature. It shows us the mirror on the fact that despite years of championing individuality and personal choice, in essence we are still a society that promotes falling-in-line and choosing accepted norms, and has zero tolerance for a truly different path in life. The book digs up the inherent dark-ness hidden behind closed doors, from misogyny to child abuse to sexual dissatisfaction and dysfunctional relationships.
The fact that the novel is from of Seoul, perhaps the poster child for a 20th century developed Asian economy model, is extremely poignant. Seeing this along with other award winning Korean content (eg. Parasite, Train to Busan, even the last Korean book I read, Almond by Sohn Wong-Pyung), one can’t help feeling it as a potential ‘warning sign’ for the rest of us Asian countries, of how “not to”become a developed nation, 2047 or whenever! What’s that quote that says ‘don’t confuse development with progress’.
As the story comes to an end, the main thought we are left behind with and perhaps the biggest truth of our lives, is that of ENTROPY. Entropy is where our universe began and entropy is where it is headed. We know that the more we try to bring order and control to our lives, the more it slips away into disorder, randomness and uncertainty. The seemingly logical choices we make everyday only exacerbates the irreversibility of this entropy. And whether we like it or not, we are rapidly hurtling down a path of no-return. And the sooner we realise the inevitability of this truth, the sooner we can be free…. And that’s the genius and the award-worthiness of this fascinating novel.