【by Hyeryung Hwang, Dec. 2024】
In previous work, I have examined the aspiration of peripheral nations to gain recognition in the global literary arena, using Han Kang’s The Vegetarian (2007), which won the 2016 Man Booker International Prize, as a case study.[1] I observed that while the initial response from Korean readers was one of celebration, it was soon followed by confusion, with many questioning what, if anything, about the novel could be considered “Korean,” apart from its authorship and its focus on a Korean woman. This question prompted me to investigate the paradoxical and homogenizing forces shaping world literature, particularly how the global literary marketplace, with its standardized aesthetic criteria, influences literary trends. This line of inquiry led me to a further question: Why was The Vegetarian selected for the prize over Human Acts (2014), a novel with more overtly political themes that had stronger resonance with the Korean audience? It has also emerged that Han Kang was placed on a government blacklist for her writing on the Gwangju Massacre in the book, and that President Park Geun-hye, who was later impeached and imprisoned, refused to offer congratulations after Han Kang’s Booker win. Han Kang herself has remarked that the style she used in The Vegetarian no longer reflects her current artistic direction, suggesting that she does not view this novel as her ideal form of literature. While this issue is specific to Han Kang’s work, it also speaks to broader questions about the role of literary awards and the dynamics of the global literary economy.
As Stephen M. Levin discusses in his 2014 essay, “Is There a Booker Aesthetic? Iterations of the Global Novel,” the Booker Prize reflects and reinforces the global literary system that shapes the circulation of cultural products today.[2] Levin argues that the prize both creates “new modes of elision” and “new figurations of the global,” contributing to what Louis Menand calls a “world-literature prototype” (478). The Western acclaim for The Vegetarian exemplifies broader trends in the global literary market, where works from peripheral regions are often filtered and validated by Western institutions—publishers, prize committees, critics, and film distributors—thereby endorsing the aesthetic values of the literary core. In her article “At the Gates of Babel: The Globalization of Korean Literature as World Literature,” Jenny Wang Medina explores the contradictory expectations placed on Korean literature within the global literary sphere.[3]
Because access to North Korea is limited, South Korean literature is expected to speak for both countries; it should allude to pre-modern “traditional” culture, while also marveling at the technological advances in the last 40 years; it should show women struggling against and attempting to overcome an oppressive patriarchy (which is inevitably included as criteria for any “foreign” or non-Western literature); and it should also be easily relatable to its closest neighbor countries (Japan, China, and most recently, Vietnam) while simultaneously explaining how it is different. (411)
The Vegetarian is a prime example of a work that aligns with these complex, often contradictory expectations. Its thematically rich and structurally innovative narrative, combined with a title that evokes a minority or countercultural perspective, lends itself easily to critiques of gender and sexuality in South Korean society. This approach resonates with Western audiences, drawing comparisons to canonical works such as Franz Kafka’s “A Hunger Artist,” Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper,” and Herman Melville’s “Bartleby, the Scrivener.”
The announcement of Han Kang’s Nobel Prize in Literature, along with the committee’s praise for her latest novel, We Do Not Part (2021), and the increasing global recognition of works by Korean female authors, therefore, marks both a surprise and a welcome shift. For years, many in Korea have viewed the country’s strong emphasis on literary realism as a double-edged sword. While realism has long been a defining feature of Korean literature, there has been concern that its regional specificity might hinder the acceptance of Korean works in the global literary market. It is not uncommon for peripheral countries to attempt to overcome this aesthetic “distance” from the literary core, striving for recognition by aligning with more established Western traditions. However, the recent success of Korean authors who are revitalizing the tradition of realism suggests that their growing visibility and acclaim may stem less from efforts to conform to a global literary canon and more from their ability to transcend national agendas. By focusing on universal themes and exploring broader human experiences, these authors are able to bypass the constraints of national identity, allowing their works to resonate with a wider global audience. This detachment from the pressure of representing Korea as a cultural entity has allowed them to engage with the international literary scene on their own terms, contributing to their growing influence. In fact, their success seems to be driven less by state-backed initiatives—such as those from the Korean Literature Translation Institute (KLTI) or the Daesan Foundation—and more by a natural, organic engagement with the international literary world, unburdened by the need to align with a specific national or political agenda.
Korean literature has attracted increasing global attention in recent years, largely fueled by the broader cultural phenomenon of the Hallyu wave. This surge in interest is reflected in the international recognition of works such as Hwang Sok-young’s Mater 2-10 (2020), which was shortlisted for the 2024 International Booker Prize, as well as the success of Cheon Myeong-kwan’s Whale (2004) and Chung Bora’s Cursed Bunny (2017), both also shortlisted for the same prestigious award. Han Kang’s international acclaim further underscores this growing recognition, with her The Vegetarian (2007) winning the 2016 International Booker Prize and her more recent Nobel Prize in Literature in 2024. A particularly notable aspect of this global attention is the increasing prominence of works by Korean women authors. Writers such as Cho Nam-Joo, with Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 (2016), Han Kang’s Human Acts (2014) and We Do Not Part (2021), Shin Kyung-Sook’s I Went to See My Father (2021), and Kim Hyesoon’s poetry collection Phantom Pain Wings (2019) have captured the imagination of readers, especially in the English-speaking world. Phantom Pain Wings is particularly noteworthy, having won the U.S. National Book Critics Circle Award in 2020, a historic first for a Korean writer in that category. These women authors are not only enriching the contemporary Korean literary landscape but also reshaping it. Once dominated by male voices, Korean literature is undergoing a transformation, with female writers at the forefront of this shift, driving the evolution toward a more inclusive and diverse tradition. Through their unique perspectives and powerful storytelling, they are not only forging a new literary history but also establishing themselves as pivotal figures in the global literary community.
While these Korean authors share a common thematic concern—grappling with the oppressive patriarchal structures largely beyond women’s control—labeling their works as merely “women’s literature” would be both reductive and a disservice to their broader artistic achievements. These writers are increasingly becoming central figures in the Korean literary landscape, and their success cannot be attributed solely to their focus on gender. The growing global interest in Korean feminism, which has emerged at a particularly opportune moment, is certainly a factor in their rising prominence. Yet, it is their stylistic distinctiveness that truly sets them apart, using their unique voices as powerful tools to challenge pervasive gender norms, examine the complexities of women’s identities, and critique the reductive portrayal of women as a homogeneous group. At the same time, it is crucial not to overlook how these authors are revitalizing the tradition of realism in entirely new ways, creating what I would like to call “(semi-) peripheral neo-realism.” This innovative approach to realism reflects the unevenness—both structural and historical—of the peripheral conditions from which they write. By reimagining realism, they reclaim its potential to engage with specific Korean social realities, while also confronting the limitations of conventional narratives; rather than presenting a singular, monolithic grand narrative of Korean history, these authors push the boundaries of realist storytelling, emphasizing its political and ethical dimensions. Deeply attuned to the historical continuity of Korean literary themes, they navigate a delicate balance between their commitment to historical truth and their desire to transcend the limits of a national literary project. For example, Human Acts and We Do Not Part confront the trauma of historical events like the Gwangju Uprising of 1980 and the Jeju April 3rd Massacre, while I Went to See My Father reflects on the lingering scars of World War II and the Korean War. In Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982, the focus shifts to the incongruity between South Korea’s rapid economic development and its persistent gender inequality, a critique that resonates deeply with both domestic and international audiences. Through these works, the authors engage in a complex dialogue, balancing their loyalty to Korea’s historical realities with their desire to free their writing from the constraints of nationalist frameworks. In doing so, they chart a new course for realist literature—one that is politically charged, ethically engaged, and oriented toward a more inclusive and expansive literary community. Their work not only challenges the status quo but also redefines literature’s capacity to address universal human concerns, all while remaining grounded in the specific socio-historical context of contemporary Korea.
In “Women’s Literature in South Korea After ‘Feminism Reboot’” (2024), Kim Mijung outlines the new realist characteristics emerging from the works of contemporary Korean female writers since the 2010s.[4] These writers, she argues, have reshaped the landscape of realism by emphasizing the dismantling of the masculine totality that traditionally dominated Korean literature. They have reimagined the conventions of realism, adapting it to the socio-political realities of the present, and, in doing so, have reconstructed the present through fragments of the past to envision a new future. Kim highlights the way these writers stress the importance of engaging with history without completely abandoning it, advocating for a mode of realism that serves as “a guide for the future, however slight it may be” (17). They are responding to the acute social and political crises of contemporary Korea, where issues such as deteriorating social equality, regressive forms of democracy, and a shocking rise in suicide rates have exposed deep, festering wounds in the fabric of society. In the face of such overwhelming social challenges, these women authors have crafted new forms of literature—works that communicate the harsh realities of contemporary life with clarity and urgency, while remaining unflinchingly committed to realism as a vital literary mode. They demonstrate that realism is not exhausted or obsolete, even in a time when the very possibility of meaningful literature might seem in question. Instead, it remains a potential vehicle for reimagining the social value of literature and its role in shaping public consciousness. Kim’s analysis highlights the dynamic interplay between past, present, and future in contemporary Korean women’s literature. As she observes, in this literature, “past, present, and future are writing one another at the same time, and in doing so, it is changing the old paradigm of literature” (22). This simultaneity, she argues, challenges traditional literary paradigms and reshapes the way literature can serve as both a mirror to society and a response to its evolving needs. These authors, then, are not only pushing the boundaries of realism but are also pioneering a new literary path—one that acknowledges the weight of history while carving out space for fresh forms of social critique and collective imagining.
AUTHOR
Hyeryung Hwang (Ph.D.) is Assistant Professor of World Literature in the Department of Liberal Studies at the California State Polytechnic University, Pomona, USA. Hwang is a multidisciplinary teacher-scholar with research and teaching experience in the fields of world literature and cinema, theories of imperialism and colonialism, and peripheral aesthetics and politics. Her research projects, drawing on both East Asia and South America, investigate what it means that the aesthetic choices of an older realism have been persistently replicated in the global periphery, exploring how the heterogeneous forms of peripheral neo-realism envision an alternative cultural analysis of global capitalism. Her recent publications include “Revisiting the Realism/Modernism Debate: Marxist Thought and the Ethics of Representation” (Journal of Criticism and Theory 29.1, (Spring 2024, Korea), “J.M. Coetzee and the Place of Realism” (The Midwest Quarterly, Spring 2022), “After Magic: Juan Gabriel Vásquez’s The Sound of Things Falling and Narco-Realism” (The Midwest Quarterly 61.2, Spring 2020), “Peripheral Aesthetics after Modernism: South Korean Neo-realism and Chang-dong Lee’s Poetry” (The Global South 11.1, Spring 2017) and “Deleuze, Affect Theory, and the Future of Realism” (Telos 181, Winter 2017).
NOTES
[1] See Hyeryung Hwang, “Peripheral Aesthetics after Modernism: South Korean Neo-realism and Chang-dong Lee’s Poetry,” The Global South,11.1, Spring 2017, 30-56.
[2] Stephen M. Levin, “Is There a Booker Aesthetic? Iterations of the Global Novel,” Critique: Studies in Contemporary Fiction, 55.5, 2014, 477–93.
[3] Jenny Wang Medina, “At the Gates of Babel: The Globalization of Korean Literature as World Literature,” Acta Koreana, 21.2, 2018, 395-421.
[4] Mijung Kim, “Women’s Literature in South Korea After ‘Feminist Reboot,’” Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & Culture, 17, 2024, 11-22.