48 pages • 1 hour read
Han KangA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The unnamed Writer, a stand-in for Kang herself, remembers that just before the Gwangju Uprising, she and her family moved to the outskirts of Seoul. One night, she overhears her father talking on the phone about a boy, one of his former students, whose family moved into their hanok (a traditional Korean house) after they moved. The hushed way Kang’s parents talk about the boy stirs her childlike curiosity. That summer, two men come and search their new house, and Kang’s paternal uncle warns Kang’s father that he thinks their line may be tapped. She remembers more snatches of conversation during the Thanksgiving festival that autumn, of people tortured and killed.
Years later, Kang’s father brings home a photograph book of the Gwangju Uprising, published and sold in secret. Although he keeps it out of the reach of his children, while the adults are watching the news, young Kang sneaks the book out and looks at the images. Upon seeing the photograph of the woman with the bayonet slash across her face, something inside of her is broken.
As an adult, Kang returns to Gwangju to do research for Human Acts. She has become preoccupied with the question of why she lived while Dong-ho died. The floor of the gymnasium where Dong-ho volunteered is torn up, the entire Provincial Office being under construction. But Kang sits there until sundown, meditating on Dong-ho. She tries to return to the old hanok she spent the first nine years of her life in, but it’s been torn down and replaced with a prefab. She finds Dong-ho’s older brother, and he gives her permission to tell his brother’s story, saying it is what his mother would have wanted.
Kang carries on with her research in Gwangju, visiting the Research Institute at Jeonnam University, the Cultural Foundation, and finally D Middle School, where she sees a picture of Dong-ho for the first time. She cannot match his face to other images she sees in her research, pondering how similar boys of this age look “poised for the growth spurt into manhood” (205). After two months of intensive research, however, she feels unable to continue with her project. Kang is being tormented by nightmares—of soldiers, of being unable to save the victims of the Gwangju Uprising, of being unable to reach the past.
Kang struggles to reckon with the extremity of the violence, stating that on the morning of May 21, dictator Chun Doo-hwan was prepared to subject the city to aerial bombardment if the Provincial Office held out. She notes the extreme measures used against civilians: flamethrowers, lead bullets, bayonets. On January 2009, she watches a violent encounter with riot police against activists and tenants on the news, which leaves six dead, and she thinks of how she has come to identify every violent struggle of the powerless against the powerful with Gwangju.
In the Epilogue, Kang reveals her motivation behind writing Human Acts. Although the Writer goes unnamed throughout this section, the intimate details shared are directly taken from Kang’s life and experiences. By using her personal experiences, Kang explores the theme of humankind’s responsibility to bear witness to tragedy. Through her personal experiences and research of the Gwangju Uprising, Kang highlights the importance of remembering and telling the stories of those who have suffered and died unjustly. She reflects on her own memories of the uprising and the impact it had on her as a child, as well as her later visits to Gwangju to learn more about the events and people involved. For her, the motivation to tell these stories comes from something deeply personal—the horror and profound sympathy she feels upon seeing photographs of the atrocities committed against innocent civilians. When Kang sees a photograph of the woman with a bayonet slash (presumably the same woman from Chapter 1, whom Dong-ho debated being Jeong-dae’s sister, Jeong-mi), “Soundlessly, and without fuss, some tender thing deep inside me broke. Something that, until then, I hadn’t even realized was there” (202). Rather than coming off as a detached historian or an ego-driven professor, Kang shows that her project, the novel, is something personal and meaningful to her.
However, Kang grapples with the Gwangju Uprising’s extreme violence and the feeling of being unable to truly understand or convey the experiences of those who suffered. Her research of the brutal tactics used against civilians during the uprising revealed that the government had been prepared to massacre Gwangju should the protesters have successfully resisted. When she first learns of Dong-ho’s death by listening in on her parents’ conversations, his name is punctuated by silences: “Why, just before that boy’s name was uttered, did an unaccountable silence wedge itself in?” (198). This silence is a powerful indication of how human language fails to fully capture the pain caused by atrocities.
In order to combat this silence, Kang allows herself to feel wholeheartedly—and she writes. Her horror and profound sympathy are both important reactions to the Gwangju Uprising, as the ability to connect to others’ pain is what leads to healing, and in ideal circumstances, the prevention of repeated atrocities. Kang’s documentation of various people who were involved in the uprising puts Chapter 4’s lesson in practice. In Chapter 4, the unnamed prisoner reiterates the importance of recognizing our own potential for evil, with a way of doing this being the preservation of history through writing (rather than censoring content or ignoring the truth out of discomfort).
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