My first foray into Han Kang, Greek Lessons was an impulse pick from the library shelf. Having studied Ancient Greek, I was drawn to the premise solely for that reason—after all, it’s in the title. Still, this is a novel more about the role of language in how we relate to others, and ancient Greek being the specific medium of that exploration is ultimately neither here nor there. (Though there are some nice one-liners that explore the nuances of ancient Greek, so she must have done the research, or at least had consulted someone who has.)

The characters were a bit strange, admittedly; the protagonist is a middle-aged woman who seemingly goes mute without explanation. She has gone through a messy separation with her husband and has a child she can only see occasionally; like her world, her language closes in around her, cutting her off from other human beings. In the midst of this, she enrolls in a Greek course, hoping that her brain’s engagement with language will revive her ability to speak, as it had done in her teens.

She meets the lonesome Greek tutor, who is himself a mysterious and especially lonely middle-aged man. Having returned from living abroad (Germany), the tutor is also somewhat removed from his fellow humans—in his case, being a returnee for whom Korea is a former home, in which he has to constantly adjust. And of course, the tutor is slowly going blind, because who doesn’t love a symmetrical sort of character study.

I’m not sure I entirely liked this one; to be sure, the plot was intriguing and it kept me guessing. The vignettes of the past were weaved together with the present narration a bit abruptly, like the nature of memory itself (jarring, obtrusive at times, fragmented). This is more a philosophical novel about ideas, rather than focusing on a strict plot. I either hate or love these types of books, and unfortunately in this case, I think it missed the mark.

I enjoyed the themes about language, memory, and thought, all wrapped up in discussions of how we relate to others in our lives. But I didn’t find the way it was explored here all that convincing; the characters felt static, purposeful but not nuanced. Their histories also were presented in a confusing way; the perspective or timeline would shift easily, with little notice or marker. It was a kind of a fever dream of a novel. Perhaps my expectations were just not set in the right mode to appreciate this novel more.

I do still hope to read Kang’s other book, The Vegetarian, especially now that I am more aware of her style and will perhaps be better prepared for it.