There are writers who describe places, and then there are writers who allow places to breathe through their pages. Han Kang is unequivocally the latter. Her novels, which have captured the world’s imagination with their haunting beauty and unflinching honesty, are not just set in South Korea; they are born of its very soil, its concrete, its memories, and its silences. To read Han Kang is to feel the pulse of a nation that is at once hyper-modern and deeply traditional, a place of breathtaking natural beauty and profound historical scars. Her prose, whether exploring the quiet rebellion of a woman who wishes to become a tree in The Vegetarian or bearing witness to the unspeakable trauma of a city in Human Acts, is intrinsically linked to the Korean landscape. This isn’t just a literary tour; it’s a journey into the heart of her work, an exploration of the spaces that have shaped one of the most vital literary voices of our time. We’ll walk the streets of Seoul, feel the weight of history in Gwangju, and seek the stark, poetic beauty that infuses every word she writes. It’s a pilgrimage for the soul, a way to connect with the ephemeral, powerful world she has so masterfully created. Let’s step into the pages and see where the story takes us.
This literary pilgrimage mirrors the profound connection between place and prose found in other great writers, such as the haunting Yorkshire landscapes that shaped Emily Brontë’s world.
The Cradle of Consciousness: Gwangju’s Light and Shadow
Every story begins somewhere, a starting point from which everything else unfolds. For Han Kang, that origin is Gwangju. Born in this vibrant city in the country’s southwest, her identity as a writer is deeply intertwined with its history. Visiting Gwangju offers insight into the foundation of her most powerful work, especially the hauntingly beautiful Human Acts. This city cannot be merely observed; it must be felt. It calls on you to listen to its echoes, walk its grounds with reverence, and understand that its bright, modern present stands on a foundation of profound sacrifice.
The Lingering Whisper of May
The heart of Gwangju, and indeed the emotional core of Human Acts, lies in the memory of the May 18, 1980 Gwangju Uprising. This democratic movement was brutally suppressed by the military government—a moment of intense violence and extraordinary human courage that forever shaped the city and the nation. Han Kang, though a child who moved to Seoul just before the event, approaches this trauma with searing, intimate empathy, giving voice to the victims, survivors, and lingering ghosts. A visit here begins at the May 18th National Cemetery. Nestled on a peaceful hillside at the city’s edge, it is a place of solemn beauty and great power. Upon entering, the city’s noise fades, replaced by a profound silence interrupted only by the wind rustling through pine trees. Rows of identical black tombstones, each displaying a photograph of a life tragically cut short, overwhelm the senses. Faces of students, teachers, taxi drivers, and young mothers come into view. The weight of their lost futures is impossible to ignore. The central memorial tower, shaped like two towering hands meeting, resembles a prayer stretching toward the sky. The atmosphere is one of deep respect and collective mourning, yet it is not a space of despair. It stands as a testament to resilience, a vow that these lives will never be forgotten. There, you can almost hear the voices from the novel—the boy Dong-ho, the editor, the factory girl—rising from the very earth beneath your feet.
Where Memory is Archived
To gain further understanding, visiting the May 18 Democratic Uprising Archives is essential. Located in the former Gwangju Catholic Center—a building that served as both sanctuary and press center during the uprising—the archives preserve the raw materials of history. There, you will find photographs, personal diaries, tattered banners, and video testimonies. This meticulously curated collection transforms abstract history into tangible human experience. Viewing a student’s blood-stained diary or watching an elderly woman recount the loss of her son is deeply moving. It makes the narrative of Human Acts feel less like fiction and more like testimony—indeed, it partly is. The archives offer a factual, historical counterpart to the novel’s poetic exploration of pain and memory. This quiet, contemplative space demands full attention. My advice for visitors is to take their time. Don’t rush through the exhibits. Find a quiet corner to sit, reflect, and allow the stories to sink in. This is the source of Han Kang’s exploration of trauma—the place where a city’s collective wound is remembered not for political ends, but to honor human dignity.
Gwangju’s Artistic Rebirth
Yet, Gwangju is not a city imprisoned by its past. It is a place of remarkable artistic vitality—a spirit that seems a direct response to its history of repression. The city is renowned for its Biennale, a major international contemporary art festival, and its streets buzz with galleries and creative spaces. A walk down Art Street near downtown reveals a community that embraces art as a form of healing and expression. Here, small galleries showcase local artists, quaint shops sell handmade crafts, and cafes serve as gathering spots for students and artists. This creative energy feels like an extension of the city’s spirit of resistance—a refusal to be defined solely by tragedy. It is in this vibrant, artistic Gwangju that you also find the essence of Han Kang’s work: a belief in the enduring power of the human spirit to create beauty and meaning even after unimaginable darkness. Enjoying a cup of tea on Art Street, watching life go by, you come to see that the story of Gwangju, like those in Human Acts, is ultimately one of hope and survival.
Seoul’s Literary Heartbeat: A Metropolis of Contradictions
If Gwangju is the historical soul that haunts Han Kang’s work, Seoul represents its complex, living body. It is the city where she grew up, studied, and where the subtle violence of modern life—so brilliantly dissected in The Vegetarian—unfolds on every street corner. Seoul is a city layered endlessly—a sprawling, futuristic metropolis built on ancient foundations. It is in the friction between these layers, the tension between conformity and rebellion, nature and concrete, that we discover the emotional terrain of her Seoul-based novels.
The Seed of a Writer: The Halls of Yonsei University
Our exploration of Han Kang’s Seoul begins on the beautiful, expansive campus of Yonsei University, where she majored in Korean Language and Literature. Nestled in the vibrant and youthful Sinchon district, the campus feels like an oasis of calm and history amid the frenetic city pace. Walking through the main gate along the long, tree-lined path, the iconic ivy-covered buildings of Underwood Hall appear—resembling something out of a European dream, especially in autumn when the ivy bursts into fiery crimson and ginkgo trees scatter a carpet of brilliant yellow leaves. The place feels steeped in intellectual energy and possibility. It’s easy to picture a young Han Kang sitting on the grassy quads, reading, reflecting, and sharpening the keen, observant eye that defines her prose. The atmosphere hums with quiet ambition and youthful energy. Take a stroll around the campus; it’s open to the public and offers a peaceful way to spend an afternoon. Find a bench, perhaps overlooking the stately Stimson Hall, and open one of her books. There’s a unique magic in reading an author’s work in the very place where their literary journey began. It connects you to the budding dreams of the writer before the world knew her name. For first-time visitors, the walk from Sinchon subway station to the campus is an experience itself—a lively corridor of student life, lined with endless restaurants, cafes, and shops buzzing with energy.
The Concrete Jungle of The Vegetarian
From the serene sanctuary of the university, we plunge into the anonymous and overwhelming urban landscape that serves as the backdrop for The Vegetarian. Han Kang skillfully captures the suffocating pressure to conform in modern Korean society, with the city’s architecture playing a vital role in the narrative. The novel is set among identical high-rise apartment complexes, or apateu, that dominate Seoul’s skyline. To grasp this fully, there’s no need to visit a specific location—immerse yourself instead in the residential districts encircling the city center, such as Gangnam, Jamsil, or Mok-dong. Take a bus or subway and simply gaze out the window. The sheer scale and uniformity of the apartment blocks are dizzying. Each building mirrors the next, housing thousands of families in identical concrete boxes. It’s a landscape of relentless order and efficiency, where the immense pressure to live a ‘normal’ life—something the protagonist, Yeong-hye, violently resists—is palpable. I recall standing on a pedestrian overpass in Gangnam at dusk, watching hundreds of windows flicker to life, each a tiny square of existence in a vast grid. It was a moment of profound alienation and beauty, perfectly encapsulating the novel’s atmosphere. To experience this, find a cafe on a high floor of a skyscraper in the Gangnam or Yeouido districts. Order a coffee and watch the city below—endless rivers of traffic, seas of purposeful people, and towering apartment blocks standing like silent sentinels. It is within this overwhelming scale that you come to understand Yeong-hye’s desperate, radical desire to escape her human form and become something simpler, something natural—a tree.
A Whisper of Nature: Seoul’s Hidden Sanctuaries
Just as Yeong-hye dreams of photosynthesis and rooting herself in the earth, Han Kang’s characters often seek solace in nature, however small or curated amidst the urban sprawl. Despite its concrete, Seoul offers pockets of green tranquility that are essential stops on our literary pilgrimage. The most prominent is the Han River, the great waterway that bisects the city. The riverside parks—like those at Yeouido or Banpo—serve as the city’s collective backyard. On any given day, families picnic, couples stroll, and cyclists glide along dedicated paths. At night, the Banpo Bridge Rainbow Fountain performs a spectacular display of light and water—a moment of pure, man-made magic against the glittering skyline. For a character seeking peace, a quiet spot along the Han River at dawn, watching mist rise from the water, would be an ideal refuge. A more deliberate and exquisite sanctuary is Seoul Forest. Though not an ancient woodland, it is a carefully planned ecological park built on what once was a royal hunting ground and later a racetrack. It stands as a stunning example of urban renewal and a testament to the city’s need for green space. The park contains various areas, including a deer enclosure where visitors can get surprisingly close to gentle creatures, beautifully landscaped botanical gardens, and quiet ponds reflecting the sky. Walking beneath towering metasequoia trees, their leaves forming a dense overhead canopy, one feels far removed from the city’s chaos. It’s easy to imagine Yeong-hye’s sister, In-hye, coming here to clear her mind and find respite from the trauma surrounding her. The forest symbolizes the possibility of nature coexisting with the city—a fragile but enduring hope echoed throughout Han Kang’s work. I recommend visiting on a weekday morning to savor its full tranquility before the afternoon crowds arrive.
The Echoes of History: Memorials and Museums
To fully grasp Han Kang’s literary world, one must delve into the deep currents of Korean history that run beneath her narratives. Her work goes beyond personal struggles; it explores how individual lives are shaped—and often shattered—by the overwhelming forces of history. Themes of memory, trauma, and the fight for human dignity lie at the heart of her writing, and there are places in and around Seoul where these themes resonate with a vivid, tangible power.
The Unflinching Gaze of Testimony
Though we have briefly mentioned Gwangju, the significance of its historical sites cannot be overstated. A journey from Seoul to Gwangju is itself a pilgrimage—a passage from the country’s vibrant present to one of its most defining historical tragedies. The May 18th National Cemetery and the Uprising Archives are far more than tourist attractions; they are sacred spaces demanding quiet reflection. They embody the very questions Han Kang confronts in Human Acts: What is a human soul? How does memory endure through atrocity? What does it mean to bear witness? Visiting these sites after reading the book is a deeply moving experience. The abstract horrors depicted on the page become rooted in a real place. You stand where events unfolded, see the faces of the victims, and sense the lingering grief that permeates the atmosphere. It is a challenging yet essential journey for anyone seeking to fathom the depths of her work. When there, move with care and respect. Observe the rituals of families who come to pay their respects. This is living history, a wound still raw, and your presence should express quiet solidarity. The experience will stay with you long after you depart, enriching your reading with a profound, empathetic understanding.
Voicing the Unspoken: The War and Women’s Human Rights Museum
In Seoul, a visit to The War and Women’s Human Rights Museum offers a compelling thematic link to Han Kang’s work. While not a direct setting in her novels, the museum’s mission to preserve the stories of the ‘comfort women’—girls and women forced into sexual slavery by the Imperial Japanese Army during World War II—deeply echoes her exploration of silenced voices and female suffering. The museum is small, intimate, and heartrending. Nestled in a quiet residential neighborhood in Mapo-gu, its unassuming exterior belies the powerful stories contained within. The exhibits guide visitors through this atrocity not with dry statistics, but through personal testimonies, artworks, and victims’ artifacts. You see the women’s faces as young girls and elderly grandmothers, who have dedicated their lives to seeking justice and recognition. The atmosphere is heavy with sorrow yet charged with remarkable resilience. It is a space committed to testimony, ensuring these stories are preserved in history. This mission aligns perfectly with Han Kang’s literary project. In novels such as The Vegetarian and Human Acts, she gives voice to marginalized, misunderstood, or brutalized characters, compelling readers to confront difficult truths. The museum stands as a real-life manifestation of this artistic and ethical dedication. It’s a place that underscores the power of storytelling to reclaim history and honor the indomitable dignity of the human spirit. Expect an emotionally intense visit, but one essential for understanding the broader cultural context from which Han Kang’s writing emerges.
Finding Han Kang in the Everyday: Cafes, Bookstores, and Quiet Corners
Beyond the grand historical landmarks and expansive urban panoramas, the essence of Han Kang’s work can also be discovered in the quieter, more personal corners of everyday Korean life. Her writing is often deeply introspective, centering on the internal landscapes of her characters. To truly connect with this side of her work, we must slow down and immerse ourselves in the spaces where people read, think, and find moments of reflection amid the city’s bustle. It is within cozy bookstores and minimalist cafes that we can find the ideal atmosphere to engage with her profound and beautiful prose.
A Universe of Paper and Ink: Seoul’s Independent Bookstores
South Korea has a rich and enduring passion for literature, and Seoul’s lively bookstore scene is a reflection of this love. While large chains like Kyobo and Aladdin have their own undeniable appeal, it is in the city’s small, independent bookstores that Seoul’s genuine literary spirit thrives. These spaces are more than mere shops; they serve as community hubs, carefully curated environments where books are held in reverence. Neighborhoods such as Hongdae, with its bohemian art-school atmosphere, and the quieter, more sophisticated Yeonnam-dong are havens for book enthusiasts. You might encounter a tiny shop devoted solely to poetry or a ‘bookstay’ where guests can spend the night surrounded by shelves of literature. My preferred way to explore is to meander through the back alleys of these districts, seeking out understated storefronts with beautifully arranged window displays. Inside, the atmosphere is nearly always one of calm and quiet. The scent of paper, soft lighting, and thoughtfully chosen collections create a sanctuary for the mind. These bookstores are perfect places to pick up a copy of Han Kang’s work in its original Korean or discover books by other contemporary Korean authors. Places like ‘Thanks Books’ or ‘Your-Mind’ are not just stores but carefully crafted experiences. Spending an hour browsing the shelves, feeling the weight and texture of the books, is a deeply meditative pastime. It evokes stepping into the world of a character like the one in Greek Lessons, who finds her reality through language and the written word.
The Contemplative Cafe Culture
Parallel to its bookstore passion is Seoul’s fascination with cafes. However, the cafe culture here differs from what you might find elsewhere. Cafes are not merely spots for a quick caffeine fix; they function as extensions of home and office—a ‘third place’ where people come to study, work, socialize, and most importantly, enjoy quiet moments alone. Seoul offers a remarkable variety of cafes, from minimalist, industrial-chic spaces featuring stark concrete walls and artful lighting to cozy, plant-filled retreats that feel like hidden gardens. This environment is ideal for reading Han Kang. Her prose requires focus and contemplation, and the calm, concentrated energy in a Seoul cafe provides the perfect backdrop. I vividly recall reading The White Book in a minimalist cafe in Seongsu-dong. The space, with its white walls, pale wood, and large windows overlooking a quiet street, mirrored the book’s spare, lyrical prose. It was an immersive experience where the setting and text seemed to blend seamlessly. To create your own literary cafe experience, look for places that emphasize atmosphere over fast turnover. Seek cafes with comfortable seating, ample natural light, and a peaceful vibe. Many of the best are tucked away on upper floors, offering tranquil views of the street below. Order a hand-drip coffee or fragrant tea, open your book, and let the city’s gentle hum become the soundtrack to your reading. This simple, everyday pleasure brings you closer to the introspective core of Han Kang’s world.
Beyond the City: In Search of The White Book
While much of Han Kang’s work is grounded in urban or historical settings, her novel The White Book marks a departure. It offers a meditative, fragmented, and deeply personal examination of grief, memory, and resilience, structured as a list of white things. Though set in an unnamed European city, its spirit—its stark and poetic minimalism—feels closely tied to certain Korean landscapes, particularly the quiet, desolate beauty of winter. To truly grasp the essence of this book, we must step away from the city and journey to places of elemental simplicity and monochrome beauty.
The Winter Seas of the East Coast
South Korea’s East Coast, in Gangwon-do province, is a place of rugged, dramatic beauty. In summer, its beaches brim with visitors, but in winter, the region transforms into a landscape of profound and solitary splendor—this is the landscape of The White Book. Visiting a coastal city like Gangneung or Sokcho between December and February offers an experience of stark, monochrome beauty. Picture standing on a deserted beach, sand dusted with a thin layer of snow. The sky is a pale, pearlescent grey, nearly blending with the cold, churning sea. The only sounds are the crashing waves and the biting wind. Here, the landscape is distilled to its essentials: water, sky, earth. This setting perfectly complements the book’s list of white things: snow, salt, fog, a white bird, a burial gown. The winter sea’s desolate beauty mirrors the novel’s tone of quiet mourning and its quest for meaning amidst loss. A train from Seoul to Gangneung cuts through Korea’s mountainous backbone, delivering you to this contemplative space. Once there, find solace on Anmok Beach, known for its long sandy stretch and row of cafes overlooking the water. Sit inside with a warm drink watching the relentless waves, or bundle up and stroll the shore, feeling the cold spray on your face. It’s a pilgrimage of sorts—not to a particular spot, but to an atmosphere, a feeling. A journey into the white, quiet, and profoundly beautiful core of Han Kang’s most poetic work.
Jeju Island: A Landscape of Resilience and Wind
Although not a direct setting in The White Book, Jeju Island—Korea’s largest island—shares its elemental spirit. Jeju is a land of raw volcanic nature and a history marked by deep trauma, especially the 4.3 Uprising, a brutal massacre preceding the Gwangju Uprising. This mix of harsh natural beauty and historical suffering creates a landscape that resonates deeply with Han Kang’s central themes. Jeju’s visual palette is one of stark contrasts: black, porous volcanic rock lining the coast set against the crashing white foam of the sea. Fields of pampas grass, or eoksae, turn silvery white in autumn, endlessly swaying in the island’s notorious wind. The island is shaped by elemental forces: the wind sculpting trees, the sea carving cliffs, and the volcanic soil nurturing life. Walking the Olle-gil—a network of trails circling the island—takes you through these elemental landscapes. You might find yourself leaning into a strong sea breeze while overlooking the ocean, or crossing a quiet forest where the only sound is rustling leaves. This immersion in raw, untamed nature connects with the search for a more fundamental, non-human existence seen in The Vegetarian and echoes the resilience explored in The White Book. Jeju has endured immense geological and historical trials, yet remains breathtakingly beautiful. It teaches lessons in survival—the strength required to withstand storms and continue growing. As such, it offers a fitting final stop on a journey into the soul of Han Kang’s Korea: a place of wind, stone, sea, and stories.
The Story Continues in You
A journey through Han Kang’s Korea is not about ticking off a list of destinations. It is an act of deep reading, of letting the landscapes shape the words, and the words illuminate the landscapes. From the solemn grounds of Gwangju to the vibrant energy of Seoul, from the tranquil campus of a university to the stark beauty of a winter sea, each place reveals a new layer of understanding. You start to see the world through her eyes—to observe the subtle acts of rebellion against conformity, to sense the weight of unspoken histories, and to discover the fragile beauty that endures despite pain. This pilgrimage transforms you from a passive reader into an active participant in her literary world. The stories live not only on the page but also in the air you breathe, the streets you traverse, and the faces of those you encounter. Han Kang’s work is a profound gift to the world, and tracing its origin means understanding that the most powerful stories are ultimately about the places and people that inspired them. So go, wander, read, and reflect. Let the journey shape your understanding and carry the story with you long after you have returned home.
