Monday, February 16, 2026

Han Kang

 


Let me say at the start: I was not ready for that. I'd read, of course, about Han Kang, who won the Nobel Prize in 2024. But The Vegetarian, which is perhaps her most acclaimed novel, moved in directions I was not expecting. On the surface, this is a book about a woman who decides, seemingly out of the blue, to become a vegetarian. But that decision, over time, masks a related set of challenges involving physical and mental health. It wouldn't be saying too much if I revealed that the first part of the novel culminates with brutal attempts by main character's father -- the woman's father -- to force feed his daughter meat. The book progresses from there, but not always as I'd have imagined. The middle section of the novel includes a disturbing meditation on art, sexuality, and power; it's in that portion of the book that ideas of nature are introduced: these become more pronounced toward the end of novel, when the main character, Yeong-hye, imagines herself as a sort of tree, needing only water to survive. The Vegetarian is a disturbing novel about individual agency, social pressure, and the complex layering underpinning humanity sexuality. There's a lot happening here, and not all of it is pretty or pleasant. Under the polite veneer of Kang's novel -- of apartment living in contemporary Seoul -- is a very dark and unsettling set of circumstances. 

A poem for this morning …

Today’s Poem: My Heart Leaps Up (Hat tip, Dave Lull)

Monday, February 09, 2026

Perhaps we all should bother …

Why am I Bothering to Read Van Til?

Worth pondering …

Was Socrates Wrong?

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

 


There are novels which are so well constructed that their content, in the end, becomes secondary. That's certainly the case with The Leopard, Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's triumphant novel of Italian unification. Published in 1957, but taking as its focus events from the second half of the nineteenth century, The Leopard is a celebration of language and style. Lampedusa has a way of describing places, especially, with a complex layering: those places, of course, become characters in their own right. The Leopard, as I understand it, is considered one of the premier novels of modern Sicily: its history, personality, and geography are bound as one, an immovable entity confronting the realities of war and politics. At the heart of the novel is the Salina family: they who start at a princely perch and who end, fifty years later, three widowed women, caretakers of memories and dusted relics. The Leopard is not a perfect book; indeed, it felt too short; but its fabric, its language, and its characters are finely woven. This is a novel about the creation of heritage, memories, and lineage, and about how history stops for no one, not even the wealthy. I knew nothing, really, of Sicilian history during this period, but Lampedusa's language, alone, was worth the read.

Continuing

... 70 million years of history