RexLegendi reviewed Wit by Han Kang
Review of 'Wit' on 'Goodreads'
2 stars
The White Book (2017) by Han Kang contains fragmentary observations and thoughts on the author’s stay in Warsaw, her childhood and her sister who died within hours after birth, much in the style of [b:Flights|40218839|Flights|Olga Tokarczuk|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1530383948l/40218839.SY75.jpg|2014747] by Olga Tokarczuk and [b:Strangers I Know|62952116|Strangers I Know|Claudia Durastanti|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1665469154l/62952116.SY75.jpg|68420922] by Claudia Durastanti. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very impressed. At best, the fragments are poetic; I came across some interesting reflections. Most seem rather shallow or trivial, however. The theme of white objects works well at first (writing about breast milk, fog or ‘white laughter’), but eventually becomes boring. It just doesn’t work for me when a writer randomly takes something like a ‘wave’ to argue that nothing lasts forever.
Soms heeft mijn lichaam iets van een gevangenis, een compact, drijvend eiland dat door de drukte laveert. Een afgesloten ruimte met daarin alle herinneringen aan het leven dat ik heb geleefd …
The White Book (2017) by Han Kang contains fragmentary observations and thoughts on the author’s stay in Warsaw, her childhood and her sister who died within hours after birth, much in the style of [b:Flights|40218839|Flights|Olga Tokarczuk|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1530383948l/40218839.SY75.jpg|2014747] by Olga Tokarczuk and [b:Strangers I Know|62952116|Strangers I Know|Claudia Durastanti|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1665469154l/62952116.SY75.jpg|68420922] by Claudia Durastanti. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very impressed. At best, the fragments are poetic; I came across some interesting reflections. Most seem rather shallow or trivial, however. The theme of white objects works well at first (writing about breast milk, fog or ‘white laughter’), but eventually becomes boring. It just doesn’t work for me when a writer randomly takes something like a ‘wave’ to argue that nothing lasts forever.
Soms heeft mijn lichaam iets van een gevangenis, een compact, drijvend eiland dat door de drukte laveert. Een afgesloten ruimte met daarin alle herinneringen aan het leven dat ik heb geleefd en de moedertaal die daar onlosmakelijk mee verbonden is. Hoe hardnekkiger het isolement, des te levendiger de onverwachte flarden en des te zwaarder de druk ervan. Daardoor lijkt de plek waar ik heen vlucht niet zozeer een stad aan de andere kant van de wereld, als wel de diepere kern van mijn innerlijk.