Chapters (6)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States by Hogarth, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

HOGARTH is a trademark of the Random House Group Limited, and the H colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

Originally published in Korean as three separate novelettes and then compiled into a novel, 채식주의자 (Ch’aesikjuuija), published in 2007 by Changbi Publishers, Inc. Copyright © 2007 by Han Kang. This translation originally published, in somewhat different form, in Great Britain by Portobello Books, London. This edition is published by arrangement with Portobello Books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Han Kang, 1970–

[Ch’aesikchuuija. English]

The vegetarian : a novel / Han Kang; translated from the Korean by Deborah Smith.

pages cm

I. Title.

PL992.26.K36C4313 2015

895.73'5—dc23

2015002206

ISBN 9780553448184

eBook ISBN 9780553448191

Cover design by Christopher Brand

Cover photograph by 100/Moment/Getty Images

v4.1

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Part 1: The Vegetarian

Part 2: Mongolian Mark

Part 3: Flaming Trees

Part 1: The Vegetarian

Before my wife turned vegetarian, I’d always thought of her as completely unremarkable in every way. To be frank, the first time I met her I wasn’t even attracted to her. Middling height; bobbed hair neither long nor short; jaundiced, sickly-looking skin; somewhat prominent cheekbones; her timid, sallow aspect told me all I needed to know. As she came up to the table where I was waiting, I couldn’t help but notice her shoes—the plainest black shoes imaginable. And that walk of hers—neither fast nor slow, striding nor mincing.

However, if there wasn’t any special attraction, nor did any particular drawbacks present themselves, and there was no reason for the two of us not to get married. The passive personality of this woman in whom I could detect neither freshness nor charm, or anything especially refined, suited me down to the ground. There was no need to affect intellectual leanings in order to win her over, or to worry that she might be comparing me to the preening men who pose in fashion catalogues, and she didn’t get worked up if I happened to be late for one of our meetings. The paunch that started appearing in my mid-twenties, my skinny legs and forearms that steadfastly refused to bulk up in spite of my best efforts, the inferiority complex I used to have about the size of my penis—I could rest assured that I wouldn’t have to fret about such things on her account.