The Vegetarian: Winner of the 2024 Nobel Prize in Literature

A book of three parts, with each part told from the perspective of a different family member of The Vegetarian, who is sequentially depicted as a wife, sister-in-law, sister. Central to the plot is the descent of The Vegetarian’s mental well-being from ostensibly healthy to hospitalised and verging death. Parallel to that we see each of the revolving character’s own perceptions and dealings with mental health, both their own experiences and their reaction to The Vegetarian’s. I enjoyed the exploration of the transition from dream to hallucination, and the discussion of choice and agency in taking control or giving into dreams. The themes of fetishisation and consent were fascinating and important but disturbing and difficult to read at points, and evoked an uncomfortable dissonance as art and horror clashed. I think this is a 3.5 star read for me, cleanly written, thought provoking and at points beautiful. But I lacked any true deep connection or care for any of the characters - I wanted them to be well, sure, and I was interested, but my heart wasn’t throbbing in the way I know a story like this could make if told differently - possibly because we skipped perspective across the three parts, leaving me without any enduring true attachment or affection for any of them.Overall, a solid read but not one I’ll sing about from the rooftops.

This was very interesting to read. I am interested to see others take on the ending. The way this book has been written it is understandable that everyone has taken a different perspective of the meaning.I might have found my new favourite author

The Vegetarian is a strange novel. It starts out in a low key manner – Korean housewife Yeong-Hye has decided to stop eating meat and this causes some distress to her meat-loving husband. Being set in a society in which marriages are often made by arrangement rather than through love; and in which women are expected to obey their husbands, it poses some interesting cultural questions. Just how far should the will of the individual prevail against the strong social expectations of family? And how about if we throw in the husband’s employer’s expectations too?But a third of the way through, the narrative perspective changes. The reader realises that the first section was narrated in fairly chatty fashion by Yeong-Hye’s husband. The second section is altogether darker, narrated by Mr Cheung, Yeong-Hye’s brother in law. Mr Cheung is an aspiring conceptual artist who has a fascination with flowers and birthmarks. He selects Yeong-Hye to feature in a video artwork.And the third section is narrated by Yeong-Hye’s sister. By this point things are very weird indeed. Yeong-Hye’s idiosyncrasy is no longer just a matter of personal indulgence; it is clear that she wishes to become a tree. This ambition is harming her and those around her. It is hard to understand just what the author was trying to do. Was Yeong-Hye’s condition some deep allegory or was it just an exercise in demonstrating that every reader has a line beyond which personal expression should not be allowed to cross? The questions of conformity raised in the first section still pertain, but now the answers are different.The Vegetarian is a short novel that is initially engaging, but for this reader at least it became significantly less engaging once the line had been crossed and we could no longer see Yeong-Hye as a harmless individual. As it becomes less engaging, it also becomes less easy to follow; more fractured. It is an interesting work, but not sure the gain quite outweighs the pain.

I was determined to read one of the Man Booker Prize shortlisted books this year and I took my time choosing which one to read. I'm glad I chose this one.This book is odd. I can't skirt around that issue. You will either love this book or you will detest it; and I can see both sides of view. I, personally, quite liked this.Just a background to this story: arranged marriage is somewhat common in South Korea, though this is mostly in rural areas than anything else. Women and men have traditional gender roles and women are expected to be obedient to the men in their lives (husband, father etc). Vegetarianism is still not a common practice. This is a very general background and, of course, does not apply to all South Koreans.The book, on the outside, looks at one woman's choice to become a vegetarian, but really it is about mental illness and the constraints of society on a woman. It examines the impact of mental illness of the people around the woman rather than of the woman itself.The book is written in 3 sections and each section tells the story from the perspective of someone connected to Yeong-hye (the main character).It starts with Yeong-hye's husband and his initial reaction to her desire to become vegetarian. Her actions and refusal to obey her husband and father see her break social norms and she becomes somewhat of an outcast. The narrative here is rather easy to read and a part of me felt for her husband, initially.The second section is written from the perspective of Yeong-hye's brother-in-law who develops an unhealthy obsession with Yeong-hye after her admittance to a psychiatric hospital. I saw real parallels between his obsession of Yeong-hye and Yeong-hye's obsession with trees and flowers. This part of the book is erotic and looks at the exploitation of Yeong-hye mental state.The third section is written from the perspective of Yeong-hye's sister. It is such a depressing and dreary read that sees the aftermath of Yeong-hye's illness on her family. I think it is quite fitting and it is here that I realised that the narrative over the 3 sections gradually became darker and more difficult to process. This, to some degree, mirrors the erosion of Yeong-hye mental state.I love how this book was written, but the ending really spoilt it for me. I didn't really understand it and did not answer any questions I had.