Human Acts is about tragedy. It’s also about people. And humanity. One of the working titles for the English translation of the novel (by Deborah Smith) was Uprisings – a reference to both the literal uprising, as well as the metaphorical uprisings throughout the novel. However, I think Human Acts was a perfect title for the novel; it reflects the searing humanity you face by not only the events, but all of the characters.
On the outside, the novel is about the Gwangju Uprising in Gwangju, South Korea in May of 1980. There are six chapters and an epilogue, each taking the perspective of a different character. The first chapter features Dong-ho, a middle school boy whose death at the end of the chapter is the inciting incident for the rest of the novel. Each of the chapters features a character impacted by Dong-ho’s death, whether directly or by a chain of events. The novel spans thirty years, with the epilogue taking place in 2010 following a writer tracing the events of Dong-ho’s death.
Han Kang uses language in an incredible way, a way most English speakers won’t get to experience. The translator describes the way Kang’s changing dialects impacts the Korean version of the novel: the class differences between each character, once again unfolding a different aspect of the ripples of the Gwangju Uprising. Upon reading some of the more negative reviews on this book, I found a few disgruntled readers because of Kang’s use of the second-person. In my own fiction, I use the second-person a lot, so I’ve grown pretty used to it. However, for the newer reader, second-person can be quite jarring, especially when used for extended periods. However, it was the second-person that developed the story in a way other perspectives could not. Dong-ho’s chapter is in the second person, and you are forced to recount the moments before a child’s death (if you’ve read the synopsis beforehand at least). Kang places you at the most intimate moments of a person’s life – their death. She does not shy away from the tragedy that surrounds the massacre, intending to mold a relationship with it and the reader.
Kang’s craft isn’t only seen in her use of the second-person however. In the fifth chapter, “The Factory Girl, 2002,” we flash between what we remember, the uprising itself, and the present. It’s these flashes that remind the reader the importance of memory and history, especially as the character struggles to record her personal history during the massacre and its aftermath – which we later learn was incredibly violent and inhumane.
My favorite chapters were chapter four, “The Prisoner, 1990,” and chapter six, “The Boy’s Mother, 2010,” which coincidentally were the chapters that made me cry the most. With “The Prisoner, 1990,” I liked it purely for emotional reasons. It was so incredibly sad, and we also got to follow the life of another character close to Dong-ho, seen through the eyes of his friend. In “The Boy’s Mother, 2010,” we follow Dong-ho’s mother as she continues to grieve her youngest son, as well as the impacts felt on the rest of her family, even thirty years later. This chapter especially resonated with me as it reminded me that grief and grieving is not linear, and for many, especially mothers, it will always last. There was a charm to this chapter, in which the mother imagines seeing her son in public, though she knows it’s impossible, she still holds on to the hope that her son will one day come back to her.
In the introduction of this novel, the translator mentions the amount of novels written about the Gwangju Uprising, and how Kang wanted to steer away from the stereotypical. This novel brought up what it means to write about such a historically violent event, especially in a space where many renditions of the story exist. Amongst all the violence and brutality, Kang brings something new to the table.
The greatest feat of this novel is the intimate humanity the readers get to experience through each chapter. At its core, Human Acts is about the death of a single boy. And it’s the focus on the one death that makes this novel incredibly impactful. Though the novel features many deaths, it’s Dong-ho’s that seeps through the many lives in this novel. Kang pays tribute to Dong-ho’s death; where often many writers focus on the magnitude of the event, she focuses on the impacts of just one, leaving the rest up to the reader’s interpretations.
Kang’s masterful use of craft reflects what many attempt to – and often fail at – achieving: true humanity (human acts, if you will). This novel perfectly toes the balance between violence and sincerity, and in doing so, paints a perfect portrait of the Gwangju Uprising and the lives affected.