The Private Life of Plants is about the ways in which desire can both worsen and mitigate our flaws. We meet amputee sons whose mothers cart them from brothel to brothel; we meet brothers who love their brother's lovers, and whose lovers in turn are stolen away by the husbands of their sisters. Sexuality in all its ugliness and wonder is put under the microscope by Lee Seung-U, who reminds us that love may come in various forms, but that it is, nonetheless, a force that unifies us all . . . whether we like it or not.
1959년 전남 장흥에서 태어나 서울신학대학교를 졸업하였고, 연세대학교 연합신학대학원에서 공부하였다. 1981년 '한국문학' 신인상에 '에리직톤의 초상'이 당선되어 등단하였으며, 소설집 '구평목 씨의 바퀴벌레', '일식에 대하여', '미궁에 대한 추측', '목련공원', '사람들은 자기 집에 무엇이 있는지도 모른다', '나는 아주 오래 살 것이다', '심인 광고'와 장편소설 '에리직톤의 초상', '가시나무 그늘', '생의 이면', '내 안에 또 누가 있나', '사랑의 전설', '태초에 유혹이 있었다', '식물들의 사생활', '그곳이 어디든', '한낮의 시선', '지상의 노래' 등이 있다. 1993년 '생의 이면'으로 제 1회 대산문학상, 2002년 '나는 아주 오래 살 것이다'로 제 15회 동서문학상, 2007년 '전기수 이야기'로 제 52회 현대문학상, 2010년 '칼'로 제 10회 황순원문학상 수상.
Lee Seung-u’s The Private Life of Plants (translated by Inrae You Vinciguerra and Louis Vinciguerra) is the story of a family with some tough times behind them. It’s told by Ki-hyeon, a thirty-year-old man with a chequered history, who moves back home after several years away. He rejoins his mother, his quiet father and his brother, who lost the use of his legs after an accident during his military service, and if he isn’t exactly welcomed back with open arms, Ki-hyeon manages to settle back into life in the family home with few real difficulties.
Having no other work on the horizon, he decides to make a new career for himself as a private investigator, and is rather surprised when one of his first assignments turns out to be a request to trail his own mother. He decides to take it on, and it proves to be the start of a momentous chain of events. By following her, he is to discover more about his family (and its history) and perhaps bring them closer together as a result.
Strangely enough, the back-cover blurb tells a different story:
The Private Life of Plants is about the ways in which desire can both worsen and mitigate our flaws. We meet amputee sons whose mothers cart them from brothel to brothel; we meet brothers who love their brothers’ lover, and whose lovers in turn are stolen away by the husbands of their sisters. Sexuality in all its ugliness and confusion is put under the microscope by Lee Seung-u, who reminds us that love may come in many forms but that it is, nonetheless, a force that unifies us all… whether we like it or not. (Dalkey Archive Press, 2015)
Immediately, I was expecting either a sexual work, such as Jang Jung-il’s When Adam Opens His Eyes, or a knockabout family romp like Cheon Myeong-kwan’s Modern Family. While there are certainly elements of those books here, that’s really not what Lee’s novel is about. Instead, it’s an interesting, slow-burning work with a number of sub-plots, well crafted and always intriguing.
The main focus of the novel is on family, with the writer stripping clear illusions of a happy, harmonious home life. Ki-hyeon has always had an uneasy relationship with his family, overshadowed by his intelligent, hard-working sibling. As a teenager he’s jealous not only of his mother’s affection but also of Woo-hyeon’s beautiful girlfriend, and when we return to the present day, we can add a sense of guilt to the mix. He feels that his brother’s disability is somehow his fault – and, funnily enough (indirectly, at least), he may well be right.
It’s not just the relationship with his brother that’s strained, though, as he struggles to relate to his parents, too. His mother is polite, but distant, which makes her sudden request to have Ki-hyeon deal with Woo-hyeon’s sexual needs even more bizarre. As for the father, he’s an elderly man who has completely withdrawn from the outside world, caring only for watching paduk games on TV and looking after the plants in the garden. As their housekeeper remarks, this is a family in name only. In truth, they’re merely a collection of strangers living under the same roof.
The further you get into The Private Life of Plants, the clearer it becomes that this is a book about secrets, which Lee cleverly introduces and reveals, one by one. As Ki-hyeon notes:
I realised that I didn’t know my father very well and I soon asked myself how much I knew about my mother and brother. I quickly came to the conclusion that I knew next to nothing about anyone in my family. We shared some space and a little time together, that’s all; it was sad. (p.65)
Many of these secrets relate to relationships. There are several love triangles here, and they are often fraught and tense. The writer shows the darker side of obsession, particularly unrequited love, eschewing the temptation to paint the relationships he describes in a rosy light.
Of course, like many Korean novels, this one is a commentary on wider society, too. Life in Korea can be brutal at times, and Lee wheels out common tropes of military violence, government oppression and the use of power for personal gain. What makes this more affecting than clichéd is the way we follow the consequences of the actions and see how they affect Lee’s characters. Woo-hyeon is the most obvious example here, but Ki-hyeon is to realise that his mother, father and even his brother’s ex-girlfriend, Soon-mee, are caught up in events they have no control over. Every step he takes closer to the truth sees him uncovering more hurt and abuse.
The Private Life of Plants is well-written, and the Vinciguerras (who have had a hand in several of the Library of Korean Literature titles) have done excellent work. One of the most successful features of the book is the voice of Ki-hyeon himself, an ambiguous figure who has his own fair share of failings. We’re forced to rely on his side of the story to keep up with what’s going on, but there’s frequently a nagging suspicion that he’s not telling us the whole truth.
Despite the subject matter, Lee and his translators occasionally provide a softer tone. One part of the book in particular, when Ki-hyeon follows his mother at the request of his ’employer’ and tracks her down far from the capital, has a slightly magical air, reminding me of the work of Haruki Murakami or Hiromi Kawakami’s novel Manazuru. The writer never strays too far into the area of magical-realism, but there are several enjoyable oases of calm scattered through the mainly realistic novel, reminders that life does have its softer side.
There’s certainly more to The Private Life of Plants than the blurb suggests, and it deserves more than being buried in a university library (which is where I found it…). The title might seem a little strange, but it does play on an important theme, with several of the main characters fascinated by nature – especially Ki-hyeon’s father:
“Yes, plants are alive with emotions. They feel pain, sadness, and happiness. And they know by instinct whether a person lies or speaks the truth. A feigned love doesn’t provoke a reaction from them. As with people you should be truthful when communicating with plants.” (p.91)
In reality, though it’s communication with people that’s key here. Lee’s moral, if there is one, is that it’s never too late to start talking – particularly when you’re family…
İki bacağını da askerde kaybeden bir ağabey, sır sakladığı yüzünden okunan bir anne, sessizce bahçesiyle ilgilenen bir baba. Ve hepsine aynı mesafede -çok uzakta- duran Keehyun. Uzun zaman sonra eve döner Keehyun. Depremi önceden sezercesine. Zamanlaması öyle yerindedir ki yapbozun son parçası da tamamlanacaktır sanki. . Bitkilerin Özel Hayatı’nda Lee Seung U ikiden bir olmayı, kök salmayı, bağırmak istedikçe sesi kısılan kalabalığı ve yarım kalmayı anlatıyor. Aslında öyle güzel bir yerden yola çıkıyor ki yazar.. Lakin duraklar ve yol o kadar da tat vermiyor.. Sadece aile-ikili ilişkiler ve birey-toplum arasında kurulması istenen bağı zihinde canlandırmak için okunabilir. Çok daha keyifli bir kitap olabilirdi Bitkilerin Özel Hayatı~ Ufak da bir not düşeyim: Yazarın bir başka eseri de dilimize kazandırılırsa okumak isterim, manzaraya baktığı açıyı sevdim çünkü.. . Tayfun Kartav çevirisi, Gökçen Yanlı kapak tasarımıyla ~
3,5 stars I really enjoyed this short novel about a family trying to find back together after tragedy. It's a great story of sacrifice and forgiveness.
A pretty far out story by Korean standards, similar in some ways to Han Kang’s The vegetarian. It got off to a good start and held by interest to the end. Still, I thought it had some shortcomings, including near exclusive focus on the protagonist/first person narrator and his thoughts and feelings, lack of depth and agency in the other characters, over-long speeches, and in general too much tell and not enough show. (Also less sex than the blurb would suggest, though certainly not none.) Worth a read for those not put off by the subject matter.
Baştan belirtmekte sakınca görmeyecek kadar sevmedim. Aile bireylerinin sırları, kayıpları, suçluluk hislerinden çıkan psikolojik durumlar, aile bireyleri arasında olan ilişkiler, aşk hatta yer yer mitler ve iyileşmeyi ağaç olmak metaforu şeklinde kullanılarak sunulan bahçe tasvirleri. Açıkcası ilgi çekici bir hikaye ama anlatım dilinin dümdüz ve karakterlerin aile bireyleri olmasına rağmen bağlarını anlamayacak kadar derinliği olmadığı bir roman. Akışta bir anda olan gelişimini göremediğimiz durumlar var. Kısacası hikayenin derinliği ve dilinin bir olayı yok. Kendini okutuyor ama geriye bir şey kalmıyor.
식물들의 사생활 by 이승우 (Lee Seung-u) was translated into English as The Private Live of Plants (a literal translation of the title) by the husband and wife team of Louis and Inrae You Vinciguerra.
I have previously read, and enjoyed, 이승우's Reverse Side of Life (link). That was a very literary novel, indeed a novel about literature, but The Private Live of Plants is rather different. It's ultimately a (dysfunctional) family drama and poetic love story, albeit a very off-beat one.
The novel has an intriguing opening:
"'Why are you laughing?' asked the lady of the night, wide-eyed."
And the first half of the novel sets up the rather involved story. From the blurb on the back of the novel:
"We meet amputee sons whose mothers cart them from brothel to brothel; we meet brothers who love their brothers' lover, and whose lovers in turn are stolen away by the husband of their sisters.". And one could add that we meet a son who is hired as a private detective to tail his own mother; a waitress in a upscale restaurant cum Gentleman's club who ends up as the owner; a husband who is more of a guardian angel to his wife than a lover as she, with his knowledge, has always loved someone else; a photographer who causes his friends to be arrested and tortured; and a powerful man separated from his lover when his brother-in-law accuses him of pro-communist agitation and forces him into political exile overseas.
The grammar of the blurb, with the plurals ("brother who ") is misleading as it would suggest a collection of multiple stories rather than, what we have, which is one coherent, albeit complex, tale.
The novel is narrated by Ki-hyeon, who runs a rather unsuccessful private detective agency, until he receives his first big assignment:
"one day a man, without identifying himself (I didn't yet know who he was), called in response to one of my flyers. He wanted to hire me as an investigator and the person he wanted me to report on was my own mother...it sounds ridiculous but it's true."
As the novel progresses, both in flash back and forward in time, we discover who exactly the hirer was and why and much more besides. Indeed at first it feels that one is reading a detective mystery tale.
But as it progresses, the novel also evolves to a sentimental, albeit still quirky and highly entangled, love story.
The symbolism of plants for human emotions features heavily, indeed entanglement is key to that. At a pivotal moment in the tale, Ki-Hyeon's father ignores a direct question about Ki-Hyeon's mother and her love life and instead:
"Father said in a calm voice, 'Trees have emotions. Touch this leaf' ... 'Plants can read human minds,' he explained, as serious as if he were giving a science lesson. 'It's inexplicable, but I've heard that plants have keen awareness, beyond the five senses. I once read an article about oak trees trembling in fear as a woodman approached and about red radishes becoming pale with terror as a rabbit neared. Yes, plants are alive with emotions. They feel pain, sadness and happiness. And they know by instinct whether a person lies or speaks the truth. A feigned love doesn't provoke a reaction from them. As with people, you should be truthful when communicating with plants.'"
And towards the novels end the love stories of Ki-Hyeon's father, mother and her lover, and of Ki-Hyeon, his brother Woo-hyeon and his ex-girlfriend Soon-mee, become increasingly parallel, interlinked and symbolic. Ki-Hyeon takes Soon-mee to a key place in his mother's life, a real physical scene that directly echoes a dream she had just had, and tells her:
"That palm tree, its seed washed up on the shore about thirty-five years ago. When it reached this spot, after its long journey across the ocean, a man and a women were staying here. They loved each other but they knew their love could not survive in the real world. And so they wanted to leave that world. And this was their place of refuge. But their love was thwarted. What grew in this place instead of their love was the seed of the tropical tree they had planted. And you're looking at it. You're looking at the aspirations and dreams that they planted along with the seed. You're looking at their frustrated love, transformed into a tree."
A song that Soon-mee wrote for Woo-hyeon also features heavily throughout the novel:
"I gave me heart to you. But here I've stood for such a long time without even a glance from you. How much longer will I stand here waiting for you? Before I melt away, like snow without a trace, take my heart, my photographer."
Overall, an interesting and at times powerful novel but one that didn't quite cohere for me. The quirky mystery side of the tale sat a little uneasily with the mythical love story, and the plant symbolism was laid on a little too thickly at times.
This book started out with a lot of potential, but personally I felt that none of it was reached. The prose was too straightforward; I didn’t need every single meaning spelled out for me. Eventually, plot points became predictable and I felt that the story could have been told much more quickly and simply and it still could have been effective. As it was, the same point was made over and over. I do understand and appreciate the elements of Korean literature, but this novel just didn’t resonate with me personally.
Todos los árboles son la encarnación de amores frustrados.
La experiencia fue como recibir un puñetazo en el rostro e ir cayendo, pero al momento de tocar el suelo, no caes en el suelo, sino que sientes el tacto suave del algodón. A mi gusto, es bueno y entrañable.
Read this right after finishing Murata’s Earthlings, and for some reason (that I can’t as of now put a finger on) – Lee’s novel reminded me of hers. Not the themes, or the plot. Not even the style. But that gross, uncomfortable feeling that both novels carry. The first quarter of Lee’s novel was a serious mess (but a rather well-composed mess). It was almost unbearable for me even though I've read a fair amount of ‘transgressive’/bizarre fiction. I was about to stick it in my DNF pile after the first pages, but (again, I am unsure why that is) I stuck with it until the end. Some reviews/readers considered Lee’s novel (the ending) as a ‘feel-good’/heartwarming novel at its core, and I strongly disagree with that.
I like open/loose endings when done well, but this felt like a lot was unresolved. There was a rather clear ‘closure’, but I felt like it was a bit ‘sickening’ (for a lack of a better word). There was no proper confrontation(s), and each character simply ‘moved on’ and felt ‘comfortable’ with each other. Surely, an indefinite cycle of ‘toxic’ relationships (to put it plainly), undoubtably. ‘Toxic’ breeding ‘toxic – inter-generationally. As much as this mimic a lot of ‘real-life’ domestic conflict – or the way people tend to ‘resolve’ familial issues, I personally find that absolutely nauseating and offensive – both in fiction and otherwise. It makes me question the (personal) views of the writer.
Also, a rather clever play on classic ‘folk tales’/myths (albeit lightly used/referenced), but the translation was a bit of a bad cringe on and off – particularly the idiomatic lines/expressions (clichés and whatnots). I often enjoy translations that are done by more than one translator, but this particular work didn’t feel like it has any ‘cohesion’ to it. Ironically the translation work was done by a ‘couple’ (or at least that was how they were introduced in the book). The reason I was able to make it through the end might be because of the beautiful construction of the setting. I thought the ‘road trips’ (albeit brief) were particularly well-written.
Je ne sais pas par où commencer, j’ai envie de dire vraiment pas mal de choses, mais je vais faire court. Ce livre est émouvant et prenant, il nous amène à poursuivre des récits intrafamiliaux, des relations complexes où nous essayons d’abord de trouver le méchant de l’histoire, le coupable de tout ce malheur qui s’abat sur les protagonistes (je ne sais même pas si c’est le terme pour eux, tant ils ne font que suivre un chemin qui était perdu dans les ténèbres et s’est soudainement éclairé pour leur exposer la vérité.). Et au final, nous comprenons qu’il n’y a pas de réels coupables parmi les principaux, tous ont lutté ou lutte encore pour comprendre qu’elle est leur place dans le monde réel, comment y faire face, l’accepter ou simplement la récupérer
Un livre portant également sur l’amour qui s’y dessine sous bien des formes, et cela, dans un univers à la limite de l’onirisme par toutes ces métaphores liées à la nature, aux arbres, aux plantes (notons également la présence de la mythologie et des fameuses métamorphoses.). Des amours qui se nouent et se dénouent avec la pudeur que nous attribuons aux cultures asiatiques.
C’est un livre qui a réussi à m’émouvoir au plus au point sans avoir à me faire pleurer. Il m’a vraiment emporté dans les cœurs des personnages, un à un, et m’a fait vivre pleinement le cheminement interne du narrateur. J’en ai l’estomac encore remué.
narration en première personne d'un frère cadet qui a toujours vécu à l'ombre de son grand frère, selon lui préféré et plus valorisé par leurs parents. Ce frère a un accident (il perd ses jambes) qui remet en cause cette belle vie qu'il était en train de construire, il ne sait plus qui il est et est traumatisé à vie. Il y a presque aucune communication entre les membres de la famille, donc le roman fait toujours références aux sentiments les plus profonds que nous pouvons éprouver, mais qu'on garde pour soi. Ces sentiments, ces pensées qui deviennent des secrets. Tous les personnages cachent des choses et ils pensent souvent protéger les autres comme expression de leur amour, alors que l'amour ne se fait pas forcément sentir. C'est bien le partage, la fin des secrets qui pourrait les unir - comme dans la scène du diner fait par le père (que moment lindo, cara) où chacun a sa place à table et dans la famille, ils ont tous des histoires communes, et finalement une Histoire commune.
L'auteur a recours souvent à la mythologie, à l’imaginaire, au fait qu’on recours souvent aux images et à des choses qui n’existent pas ou qui n’ont pas eu lieu pour mieux comprendre la réalité et ce qui a bien lieu devant nos yeux: donc y’a des références à la bible, à la mythologie grecque…
y’a aussi une ode à l’amour platonique avec laquelle j’ai un peu du mal, que je comprends pas très bien parce que justement c’est un truc qui n’a rien à voir avec la réalité, comment pourrait-on vivre de ça ? Continuer à éprouver un tel sentiment depuis tellement de temps ?? alors que la vie continue, le temps passe, on change, les autres changent... voilà, j'comprends pas trop. Je trouve un peu far-fetched, mais enft le roman explore les différents types (fraternel, filial/parental, romantique, platonique...) et les différentes expressions de ces amours.
(merci à VMN pour ce cadeau de noël, pela atenção e pelo carinho)
On m’a tant vanté les mérites de ce roman ! Autant vous dire que je suis quelque peu déçue. Objectivement, c’est un roman très bien écrit et l’histoire est intéressante. Je ne sais si le moment n’était pas le bon ou si les thèmes ne sont pas -encore- pour moi, mais je n’ai pas été touchée plus que cela. J’ai même failli arrêter suite à la violence du premier chapitre. Ca, c’est ce que je me suis dit lors de la première partie.
Malgré tout, je ne regrette pas de l’avoir lu, pour la simple et unique raison que j’ai apprécié la fin, tout particulièrement un passage marquant et très touchant entre un père et son fils. J’ai encore les images en tête et je crois que je ne les oublierai pas de sitôt. Voici un passage qui, encore aujourd’hui, me noue la gorge par sa justesse et sa beauté :
« Je me suis senti envahi de compassion pour mon frère. Il souffrait d’avoir renoncé à occuper une place en ce monde, il souffrait davantage encore de devoir se supporter tel qu’il était. Il voulait transcender sa condition, devenir pur esprit, échapper enfin aux lourdes contingences de sa vie. »
On a ici un roman qui évolue crescendo. Dans la violence d’abord pour glisser doucement dans la compassion, à mesure que son personnage mûrit. Pour ma part, je me le note à relire, un jour où je serai dans de meilleures dispositions pour l’apprécier peut-être.
Une impression mitigée, avec une narration très détaillée, donc assez lourde, un peu comme ça: "j'ai fait et j'ai pensé ça, et je me demandais pourquoi il avait dit ça et après j'ai fait ça". En plus le déroulement de l'histoire paraît, malgré cette narration "fleuve", assez chaotique, les relations entre les épisodes ne sont pas toujours évidentes. Mais (hé oui, il y a un mais), des petites perles de poésie, de sentiments apparaissent ici ou là, et puis l'histoire gagne en cohérence, on comprend mieux où on va, les relations entre les personnes, leurs caractères s'éclaircissent et ça devient tout à fait charmant et beau. Autant de poésie dans une narration aussi détaillée (pointilliste, presque), c'est incroyable, mais c'est vrai, et c'est agréable.
Ce livre est ma première approche de la littérature coréenne. Je l'ai ouvert sans attente particulière si ce n'est une vague idée de l'histoire - donnée par la quatrième de couverture.
Les premières pages m'ont troublée. Je ne m'attendais à rien, mais certainement pas à cela. Le style est réaliste, les mots utilisés sont justes, l'auteur ne fait pas appel à des synonymes ou de longues phrases pour s'exprimer. Les termes utilisés sont directs et sans pudeur.
Ce livre, je pense, peut ne pas convenir aux personnes qui ont tendance à éviter de voir la réalité en face, ces personnes qui préfèrent voir ce qui se passe d'une manière détournée, moins dure, moins réelle, pourraient être choquées par l'honnêteté de cette oeuvre.
L'histoire en elle-même n'est pas facile à résumer, il m'est même impossible de la raconter à mon entourage, car en dire quelques mots serait déjà en dire trop.
Bien que troublée, je n'ai pas refermé définitivement le livre, je l'ai plutôt dévoré. Je voulais connaître la suite, suivre le personnage principal jusqu'au bout.
Je conseillerais ce livre à tous ceux qui cherchent un récit court et captivant, et qui n'ont pas peur de la réalité. Nous ne vivons pas dans un conte de fées, mais certaines caractéristiques de ces derniers se retrouvent dans nos vies, elles se traduisent simplement sous une autre forme.
Nach Die Vegetarierin suchte ich in meinen Regal nach einem weiteren Buch einer koreanischen Autorin/eines koreanischen Autors und würde fündig. Nicht wenig staunte ich, dass auch hier das Thema "Mensch wird zu Pflanze" behandelt wird bzw. eine Person sich damit beschäftigt. Entgegen dem Klappentext, der mit dem Stichwort "Privatdetektiv" leicht in die Irre führt, handelt es sich um eine feine Geschichte über Liebe und die Beziehungen innerhalb einer kleinen Familie (Eltern, zwei Söhne), erzählt von einem der Söhne, der sich als schwarzes Schaf der Familie sieht und wenig über seine Eltern und seinen Bruder weiß. Mit der Entwicklung der Geschichte entsteht eine zarte Bande zu den eher als unnahbar gezeigten Personen, die mir gut gefallen hat und sogar einen kleinen Paradiesort (inneres Bild) hinterlässt. (3-4 Sterne)
Preciosa, preciosa obra. Me encantó. Voy a ponerme a investigar sobre este autor, me interesa explorarlo como posible material de traducción. Pero saliendo del trabajo, digamos que la obra es muy dinámica, incluye detalles políticos, familiares, mantiene la intriga y te plantea nuevas perspectivas sobre temas que uno conoce o que cree conocer. ¿A quién le interesan las plantas? De hecho, más que las plantas deberíamos hablar de árboles, que si se lo piensa tiene su propia carga literaria.
Si tengo que pensar en algo que no me gustó... La verdad es que me gustó en todos los sentidos, nada que reprocharle. ¿Si se incluye entre mis preferidos? Al principio no me pareció, pero ahora que lo pienso sí, me gustó mucho.
Protagonist was annoying but not in a cute way, obsession with Sunmi borderline incel and delusions that she loves him but it’s just because he keeps inserting himself in her life. I feel like the book was 50% what it wanted to be, some nice stories and directions but not enough to be enjoyable as a story.
Das Buch war ganz anders, als ich es vermutet hatte. Es war weniger eine Detektiv Geschichte, sondern tatsächlich mehr eine Aufarbeitung der (eigenen) Vergangenheit und Einblicke in die Familie vom Standpunkt des Ich-Erzählers aus. Lesenswert.
Есть что-то такое в корейских драмах, что мне действительно интересно читать. Хотя там все и плохо, но словно где-то есть фонарик, который все еще горит и есть возможность все поменять и вылезти из плохого в хорошее.
Вот и тут рассказывается довольно простая жизнь семьи. Простая потому что такие семьи существуют. Но каждый человек по отдельности это значимая единица, жаль, что вместе они никогда не были и не будут целым. Жаль, что так прожиты жизни, но какое счастье, что они имеют шанс перейти на другую дорожку и создать продолжение своей жизни лучше.
Хотя несчастны в этом семействе - все! И мама, что живет с нелюбимым и между прочим родила от него такого же не любимого сына. Ну, вот нафига?! И отец, что любит мать, но понимает, что никогда она его любить не будет. И он любит тоже первенца от другого человека и как-то не особо с любовью относится к своему сыну. Первенец надо сказать, тоже не самое счастливое существо, потому что невнятное. С одной стороны вот у него работа его мечты, девушка его мечты, а вот он с братом поговорить не может... А потом он лишается ног и давай страдать всей своей головой. По мне так самый неприятный в семейке это он, потому что жалость к себе - это мерзко! Ну и главный герой тоже несчастный, потому что его никто не любит! В этой его поганой семейке его никто не любит. И радостно, что он вырывается на свободу, что он строит свою жизнь вдали от них, но приходится вернуться и опять почувствовать - не любовь. Но в тоже время, именно он помогает загореться фонарю, который несет возможные перемены для всех, кому он в принципе никогда и не нужен был. Он является переводчиком слов судьбы для этих тугодумов. Он соединяет деревья корнями, чтобы они обнялись и были вместе.
Печально, показательно, местами гадко, местами трогательно. Написано удивительно. И вот есть в книге восточная тонкость и в тоже время, какой-то русский драматизм, как удар молота. Мне нравится это переплетение. Оно удивительно. Ради такого смешения и читалась книга.
Советовать ее очень сложно, она действительно для тех, кто любит такое. То есть она не разочарует, но может просто не понравится, потому что до самого конца в книге все плохо.
✨Citation: « j’ignorais qu’il avait un coeur plus élevé que ce Palmier, plus vaste qu’un arbre capable de d’englober la mer toute entière. L’idée m’a effleuré, vague et imprécise, que mon père avait lui aussi une âme d’arbre. » 💫
On là sur un livre que j’affectionne particulièrement mais qui est très très étrange. Je m’explique, au commencement il est très cru limite... non il est violent, on est le personnage principal. Personnage principal qui des le début nous mets bien dans le jus: il cherche une prostituée pour son frere. Frère qui a été blessé pendant la guerre de Corée et qui s’avère ne plus avoir de jambes. Pour être honnête le début du roman est assez aggressif l’auteur nous ménage pas MAIS ce fond violent s’adoucît très très nettement pour nous amener dans une famille qui a des soucis et un petit frère (personnage principal) qui ce retrouve obligé d’espionner sa mère à la demande de quelqu’un, et d’espioner son frère par culpabilité. un frère qui ce sentira toujours coupable que son frère ait perdu ses jambes à la guerre, et en soit terriblement malheureux et déprimé MAIS aussi coupable de connaître un secret qui lui pèse sur la conscience. Mais ce frère là, ce benjamin de la famille va être prêt à sacrifier tout ce qu’il peut pour sa famille y compris l’amour qu’il ressent pour la femme qui aime son frère, et le secret qu’il découvrira. Dis comme ça je suis sur je vous ai rebuté mais c’est vraiment un livre incroyable, une famille totalement détruite par le secret de la mère et l’état du grand frère à son retour de la guerre, qui va ce reconstruire et s’aimer bien plus fort même si l’un d’entre eux va devoir accepter de perdre celle qu’il aime, mais qui elle ne l’aime pas, du moins pas de la même manière. J’ai adoré ce livre vraiment, il est surprenant il est poétique (surtout à la fin) et il est beau, parce que c’est presque la vraie vie et elle est pas toujours tout rose loin de là! 🌸
Mlle Alice, pouvez-vous nous raconter votre rencontre avec La Vie Rêvée des Plantes ? "C'est l'un des auteurs coréens que l'on trouve parmi les plus traduits en France et je me dis que ce n'est sûrement pas un hasard. Ajoutez à cela qu'il s'agit plutôt d'un roman court, dans un très joli petit format poche de chez Zulma et vous comprendrez aisément mon choix."
Dites-nous en un peu plus sur son histoire... "Kihyon n'avait pas l'intention de retourner chez lui. Sa famille, il l'a laissée derrière lui lors de sa dernière fugue. Mais lorsqu'il apprend par hasard le drame qui a touché son frère, la culpabilité le rattrape..."
Mais que s'est-il exactement passé entre vous ? "Je suis bien obligée d'admettre que j'ai eu un peu peur. Si c'est bien écrit et très prenant dès le début, avec tous ces voiles à soulever pour découvrir la vérité, qui nous poussent à tourner les pages sans vouloir s'arrêter une seconde, on commence tout de même le roman par son aspect le plus glauque et on se demande à plusieurs reprises où cela va nous mener. Le narrateur lui-même a un côté parfois inquiétant, et parfois pitoyable aussi puis, petit à petit, on comprend mieux ce qui régit les relations des membres de cette famille et je n'ai pu m'empêcher d'avoir beaucoup de tendresse pour lui, même si je ne cautionnais pas toujours ses actes. Et comme toujours ou presque, avec la littérature coréenne, je n'ai pas vu venir le dénouement, j'ai été surprise et déroutée jusqu'au bout."
http://booksaremywonderland.hautetfor... comment cela s'est-il fini ? "La fin est aussi belle et poétique que le début est glauque. Pour peu que l'on ne s'arrête pas à son côté cru, c'est un roman que j'ai trouvé extrêmement touchant."
I really really wanted to like this book... I've heard this title a lot, and when I saw it on my professor's shelf in her office, I had to borrow it. I don't regret reading it, but I wish I hadn't spent the time that I did reading it.
The main character is REALLY unlikable. Of course, you don't have to like or agree with the actions of the MC, but Ki-hyeon was everything I hate in a man; an incel, a stalker, a certified nice guy. His obsession with Soon-mee was scary to read. And that's not because I'm not a fan of creepy thrillers, but because I'm supposed to sympathise with this guy as he's drooling over his brother's girlfriend while he watches her every move through binoculars from a neighbouring building's roof. When he rescued Soon-mee from the apartment and drove away, I wasn't sure if Soon-mee was actually better off going with him. The CRINGE that overtook my body when he asked her to sing to him. GROSS! Also the constant mention of her not wearing make-up, yet having incredibly pale skin... Sis, she has foundation on...
The whole book felt like the build-up to the last 30 something pages. I feel like a lot of the backstory could've been summed up a little. I also wish that the tree/plant motif would've shown up a little earlier and more strongly. The execution of that literary device came across as messy. This could also just be because of this being a translated piece.
◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇
Every love is different, I said to myself. Love is love, but the way people experience it is different- One hundred people love in one hundred different ways. So there's no love that isn't special, I thought as I walked toward my father's room with his tea.
I was a bit disappointed by this book which started off so well and has some many promising topics to tackle. To me it looks like this has been written a bit too hastily. Hence only 3,5 stars.
The main protagonist is anything but kind towards himself. There is a level of violence associated with guilt, a fine understanding of psychological pain and a good story telling about how that came to be. But the healing part comes abruptly, almost like it has to be there and yet doesn’t have to be as profound as the painful part. The loving, nurturing part of the relationship between the parents could have been developed more. The feelings of the brothers towards another are the same: why couldn’t Ki Hyeon’s mind be unveiled? I feel like I got half of the book I wanted to read.
Also, is it me or is the topic of trees a regular subject of Korean narrative? I have seen it magistrally analysed in « The vegetarian » and some movies. I also know it is used as a grave symbol in Korean folklore. I would love to know more about this, and if this book introduced any valuable variation, for instance by introducing Greek mythology in place of Confucianism?
No puedo terminar de describir la cantidad impresionante de cosas que sentí con éste libro. Es un revoltijo de emociones y una paz increíble. Algo que me gusta mucho de las culturas Asiaticas es la facilidad con la que te transportan a otros lugares y ese velo de melancolía, tristeza y felicidad simultánea con la que siento cada texto, además siempre en mi cabeza se proyecta como una película con un poco de blur.
Mi punto es que el libro es increíble. Y comparto que cada árbol es un amor. Y que todos queremos, de una forma y otra, ser un árbol. La manera en que todo se desenvuelve en nuestra vida me aprisiona y me maravilla como si fueran sólo una cosa.
Creo que tal vez, lo único que no termina de encantarme es la resignación alegre que hay en aceptar la función de uno mismo en la vida del otro. No sé, a lo mejor es mi tendencia a la tristeza, pero esperaba un final súper desgarrador.
«Каждое дерево – это воплощение чьей-то несчастливой любви…»
Сімейна драма з елементами детективу. Хоч це перша прочитана мною книга корейського письменника, але зараз згадую інші зразки східної прози…і є в цих книгах дещо спільне. «Таємне життя рослин» Лі Син У, «Несказане» Селести Інг, «RU» Кім Тхюї, «Проблема трьох тіл» Лю Цисінь та навіть книга про виховання «Бойовий клич матері-тигриці» Чуа Емі – книги різних жанрів і з різною тематикою, але там, де стосується розповіді про стосунки між членами сім'ї все одне і те ж: вони наче чужі люди, які лише живуть від одним дахом та іноді їдять а одним столом, ніхто не знає і не хоче знати про переживання та почуття іншого. Зазвичай, саме така байдужість та часом ворожість до ближнього і є першопричиною. Не розумію, це така поведінка настільки притаманна для представників східних культур?
I'm not sure what I thought of this book and may have to come back to this once a few days have passed. Regardless, it started off pretty ragged and rugged, and ended up very poetic. Some of the symbolism seemed a bit too contrived, and some of the dialog annoyed me. I have a slight suspicion that there might have been references to Korean symbols, or aspects of its history or literature or something that don't translate, but I might be way off.
Also, isn't Namcheon part of Busan? The book makes it seem so rural, but I thought it was smack dab in the city. Is there another Namcheon?
Still, I'm curious to read his other works. 3.5 stars (for now)
Though the first third of the book concerns disability, it sure does read as if the author has never met a disabled person. The second third reveals a family secret that isn't earned and thus feels forced. The final third attempts to reconcile the preceding parts, but it is all clunky, amateurish exposition. In total the (very slim) book repeats itself and repeats itself (literally whole paragraphs copied and pasted from only a few dozen pages before) until the reader has been so thoroughly patronized as to become enraged. Alas, repeating oneself verbatim and ad nauseam does not make one profound. Such a waste of an excellent title.