When I picked up this book, I already knew it was going to be a strange and unsettling read. But even with that expectation, the book surprised me. It is brilliant, haunting, and written with such precision that it literally lingers in your mind. And now that I've finished, I truly understand why Han Kang's work won the Nobel Prize. The book is divided into three parts, each told from the perspective of a different person in Yeong-hye's life. And it's striking that we never get her full voice directly, and only glimpses through others. The first part is from her husband's perspective, and I flew through it. He is a cold, misogynistic man, proud of being "ordinary," and he sees his wife only as a body to serve his needs. Reading his POV made me angry, but also fascinated, because Han Kang shows how casual and normalized this kind of cruelty is. When Yeong-hye starts having disturbing dreams of blood and meat, and decides to stop eating meat altogether, he is outraged that her refusal affects his reputation (PLS) Also, the dream sequences were vivid, almost cinematic, and I was completely caught in Yeong-hye's strange inner world. There's something about Korean writers and their approach to psychological tension and thriller-like writing, they just do it so well. (Can u tell I love Korean thrillers movies/kdramas lol) The second part was the most difficult to read. It shifts to her brother-in-law's perspective, and he becomes obsessed with Yeong-hye's body in a way that is deeply disturbing. This section includes ass*ult described in detail. It was painful to read, but it also showed how Yeong-hye is constantly objectified. Everyone looks at her body as if it belongs to them, a canvas for their desires, rather than a person with her own agency. Her rebellion ( refusing meat, refusing to conform) is twisted and consumed by others, until she has nothing left of herself. The third part, told through her sister In-hye, was my favorite. In-hye is a fascinating character: hardworking, burdened, always the one holding her family together. She cares for Yeong-hye, but she is also deeply tired, struggling with her own mental illness and loneliness. Through her, we see the cost of survival in a patriarchal, judgmental society. In-hye wonders if Yeong-hye's madness is in fact a kind of freedom, because she is no longer playing by the rules that suffocate them both. That reflection stayed with me. I think this book perfectly portrayed female rebellion. Some people read this as the book promoting anorexia as a response to patriarchy, but I don’t agree. To me, the book isn't about giving an answer at all. It's about showing what happens when a woman refuses to obey, even if her rebellion looks destructive to others. To wrap things up, "The Vegetarian" is a unique and though-provoking book and I'm excited to read more of Han Kang's work and see what other strange, haunting stories she has to offer.

This was my fourth book for Women in Translation Month, and I picked it up without reading the blurb. I had seen it listed somewhere as “romance,” so I went in expecting that, but it turned out to be something very different. And honestly, that surprise worked in the book’s favor. What I got was not a love story, but an intimate portrait of three women in Iran (Leila, Shabaneh, and Roja) as they try to navigate love, grief, family, and their own dreams. The novel is divided into two sections, Summer and Fall. The first part really hooked me, but the second part, not as much. But I’ll get to that. Let me first tell you about the women themselves, because they’re what makes this book. LEYLA: Leyla is mourning the loss of her husband (her husband left), and her chapters carry this constant thread of grief and reflection. For me, reading her perspective felt the most poetic, like she was living half in memory, half in the present. She’s also dealing with the consequences of her own choices: staying behind instead of leaving, and now she’s stuck in the reality of that decision. Her chapters made me ache, but also made me restless. I could understand her pain, but at the same time, there were moments where I wanted to shake her and GET A GRIP IM SORRY. SHABANEH: Shabaneh’s story frustrated me the most, and yet it hit close to home in a way. She’s with a toxic man and she's staying in the relationship not out of love, but because she doesn’t want to be alone. That need for companionship, even when it hurts you, is something I could understand, even if I didn’t like the way she handled it. Her voice was more realistic I think. On top of that, she’s dealing with her brother, who is mentally challenged, and that responsibility adds another layer of heaviness to her life. Reading her sections, I felt a mixture of empathy and irritation, I wanted better for her, but I also understood how loneliness can push people to make choices they wouldn’t otherwise make. ROJA Roja’s chapters felt the strongest to me. She’s determined, ambitious, and headstrong, but beneath all that, there’s also fear. She dreams of leaving, of building something new, but she’s also terrified of what she’d be abandoning. Out of the three, Roja felt like the one who knew herself the most, even when her decisions weren’t perfect. Reading her chapters, I felt this push-pull inside me too: I admired her strength, but I also felt the weight of her fears. She was the one I rooted for, even when I didn’t always agree with her. Now about the writing, one thing I noticed was how distinct each woman’s voice was. Leila’s chapters read poetic and lyrical, Shabaneh’s realistic and almost weary, and Roja’s bold and headstrong. I really appreciated that. I also noticed how Nasim Marashi used flashbacks which reminded me of screenwriting. Later I learned that Marashi is also a journalist and screenwriter, and it suddenly made sense. The first part (Summer) really worked for me. I was engaged, I was trying to be understanding, and I wanted to know more about each woman’s struggles. But then came the second part (Fall), and honestly, it went downhill for me. The tone became too heavy, constantly depressive, melancholic, and at times overly melodramatic. Instead of feeling moved, I started to feel frustrated. The characters, who I had tried to empathize with, started to irritate me. It felt like they were circling the same problems without growing. At the same time, I reminded myself: this is a book about normal people. Not everything in life wraps up neatly or leads to big revelations. Sometimes it’s just people living, making choices, sometimes good and sometimes bad. And I think thsi perspective really helped me. Also, the ending especially left me with question marks (did Roja like Misagh??). It felt unfinished UGHHH Now to wrap things up (cuz i've yapped alot) I can see why this book won an award. It’s not perfect, and for me, the second half dragged, but I think it did something important: it gave me a window into the lives of women in Iran, into their culture, their struggles, and their ways of navigating a world full of limitations. That’s something I always appreciate about reading in translation that you get to learn, not just about characters, but about people’s lives in another corner of the world. So while "I’ll Be Strong for You" wasn’t perfect for me, it gave me a lot to think about. It’s intimate, frustrating, melancholic, and real. And even when I didn’t love it, it still stayed with me.