Greek Lessons by Han Kang
Hand to heart, Han Kang’s transgressive novel The Vegetarian (2015) didn’t just change my literary palate – it rattled it to the core. As a synchronous vegetarian, it had been the novel’s bold title that initially drew me in, but it was the glacial horror, its lingering grotesquery and raw sincerity that eventually spat me out, uttering: “what the hell did I just read?” In the book, Kang expertly wielded a delicate balance between tension and control, keeping me on the edge of my metaphoric seat, waiting for a wobble that never arrived. So, you can imagine the happy dance I did when Kang’s 2011 novel Greek Lessons was finally translated into English.
Kang's exploration of human connection has been a recurring theme in her previous novels The White Book (2017), Human Acts (2016) and my aforementioned favourite, The Vegetarian. In an interview, the author boils her tendency to trace the plight of loss and solitude to her enduring questions about being human. In this regard, Greek Lessons is no different. Humanity is explored through two lonely characters: the silent, unnamed mother and her sensitive language lecturer who is progressively going blind.
In the novel, the mother character has “lost the passage that led to speech” likely attributed to a series of visceral memories: her own mother’s corpse, a scarring dog attack and, the catalyst, losing custody of her son in a messy divorce. What remains constant, however, is her fascination with letters and phonemes. It is this that drives her towards her linguistic rebellion: the study of a contemporarily redundant language, Ancient Greek.
Her motionless existence echoes the insurgence of Yeong-Hye, the protagonist of The Vegetarian, in her abandonment of conventional civilised life. These “insubordinate women" defy societal expectations not through violence, but through unwavering silence. I’m an advocate for Kang’s mastery when it comes to exploring agency, personal choice, submission and subversion, and she does not disappoint in Greek Lessons. The mother's routine may seem dull, but as she sits in her darkened apartment, walks until she can no longer walk and attends her Greek lessons, there is a fundamental power and defiance in her actions.
The teacher's story is conveyed through first-person narration, comprised of letters and soliloquies. Nostalgia permeates his tale, along with a murmur of desperation for a woman he once loved. Kang pays meticulous attention to visual imagery and flashbacks, capturing his primeval grip on the memories that he clings to like the “ice-steeped sunlight” through stained glass windows, or a black and white image of Borges. Here the prose feels meandering and a little self-indulgent (sorry Kang). Even so, it wasn’t long before I was drawn back into the narrative compelled by both character’s steadfast determination and their profound yearning for agency, particularly as they discover solace in each other.
“You were not visible. And I was not visible. You did not make a sound. And I did not make a sound.”
Kang's roots as a poet are evident in her dance with language, effortlessly weaving together elements of romanticism inspired by Greek philosophers like Plato and Socrates. Her prose carries a rhythmic quality, and she fearlessly ventures into uncharted territories of syntax and evocation. It is in these moments that Kang, alongside her talented translators Deborah Smith and Emily Yae Won, shine, crafting a delicate equilibrium between intimacy and distance, beauty and horror.
The novel's initial text presents itself simplistically, gradually evolving into contemplative meditations reminiscent of Kang's previous work, The White Book. This deliberate choice mirrors the eventual silence of the characters as they fade into linguistic shadows. While I presume this was an intentional artistic decision, I must admit that it was during this transition that my attention waned, making it challenging to maintain a sense of intimacy with the characters. It felt as if I was slowly being detached from them, like a subtle and bittersweet breakup.
In Greek Lessons, Han Kang continues to captivate readers with her profound exploration of language, connection and the loss we suffer as humans. While this novel may not have surpassed my personal love for The Vegetarian, I have no doubt that countless readers will adore Kang's latest addition to her literary oeuvre for its graceful portrayal of the enduring connections we forge through shared language.
“Language… is an infinitely more physical way to touch. It moves lungs and throat and tongue and lips; it vibrates the air as it wings its way to the listener.”
Nina Culley is a writer and horror enthusiast based in Naarm. She’s the Studio Manager and Director of Melbourne Young Writers' Studio where she also teaches creative writing. Her works have appeared in Kill Your Darlings, Aniko Press and Eureka Street.