Different white “objects”: waves, the moon, ice, salt, a newborn’s gown and swaddling bands. These objects serve as a pretext for discussing grief and death: the death of her elder sister shortly after her birth; the death of her mother; and the deaths of the people of Korea during their violent history. They also serve as a pretext for discussing pain: the pain of loss and the pain of migraines. This is a book that is difficult to summarise; short texts are scattered across the pages, each one connected to the others. As always with Han Kang’s poetic style, it is like walking on a clean, precise, sometimes harsh white cloud. A magnificent little book.
“Breath-cloud
On cold mornings, that first white cloud of escaping breath is proof that we are living. Proof of our bodies’ warmth. Cold air rushes into dark lungs, soaks up the heat of our body and is exhaled as perceptible form, white flecked with grey. Our lives’ miraculous diffusion, out into the empty air. “
Original title : 흰 / huin
Translated from Korean