‘Human Acts’ by Han Kang Dissects the Body and Soul

On the streets of Gwangju, South Korea, the year is 1980 and school students are facing off against military forces determined to crush them. This isn’t just the backdrop for Han Kang’s novel, “Human Acts.” The Gwangju Uprising was a real event, taking place in response to General Chun Doo-hwan’s military coup. As military forces cracked down on the city, everyday citizens — with many student groups at their center — rose up against them. What followed was a violent and bloody fight for control. Gwangju’s citizens held their own. They formed their own militia with weapons that paled in comparison to what the soldiers brought against them. They even managed to take back control for a period of time. But, ultimately, military forces brutally quashed the uprising, leaving a stain on the memories of the city and those around it.

Before picking up Han Kang’s “Human Acts,” I knew nothing about what occurred during those days. Thus, I went into the novel almost completely blind to what I was about to read. Kang’s story centers largely on young student named Dong-ho, though the story comes together through multiple perspectives that intertwine. Some perspectives are from people directly involved in the uprising, while others come from those on the outskirts. The voices of the living and the voices of the dead rise up in a chorus of resilience, as they grapple with a trauma that can’t be suppressed by mortal weaponry. What this novel manages to do so beautifully is to portray violence unflinchingly, yet never cross the line into sensationalizing what the characters experience.

The Body, the Mind, and the Soul

In fact, in the book’s introduction, translator Deborah Smith notes that Han Kang wanted specifically to avoid twisting the devastation these characters face — and that that the real people they represent faced. Kang not only achieves this, she excels at it. One of the most intriguing aspects of this book for me, is the treatment of the human body. The way these characters perceive and discuss their bodies, after enduring such dehumanization, is striking. One of my favorite perspectives comes from a boy killed in the uprising. His account comes posthumously, as he watches his own body succumb to decomposition.

He is trapped inside his body. Surrounded by unfamiliar people, he watches himself continue to die even after death. The sights, scents, and sounds described in this chapter are visceral. They dig deep into the reader’s body. And the soldiers’ violence extends to the dead as well as the living. The boy and the reader look on as they treat people’s bodies as nothing more than play things, discarded without care. That brings us to a few central questions in the novel. What is a body without a voice? Does the soul exist and, if so, how are the body and soul connected?

The Body is the Tombstone

This boy is not the only one who is scattered. Though his is a more literal case, every character in this novel contends with one or two issues. One is how to perceive oneself, and one’s body, after experiencing dehumanization at this level. And the other is how to live with only the memories of those you love, and the trauma of what they endured, rooted inside you. These characters relive their trauma everyday, often quietly, and persevere nonetheless. It’s reflected in the time shifts throughout chapters. The memories fall back and resurface intermittently. It’s also reflected in the characters’ self-perceptions.

“After you died I couldn’t hold a funeral, so these eyes that once beheld you became a shrine.” The quote goes on to describe other body parts as a shrine to the one lost. The memories are not solely fleeting thoughts. Each day, these characters wake up and go to work, eat, sleep, complete life’s many routines. Every action is a testament to strength, their bodies the resting place for those whose souls and bodies are now disconnected. The living carry the dead in their bones and in their blood.

Psychological Autopsy

One character in the book, a professor set on writing a dissertation on the Gwangju Uprising, uses a term that stuck with me: “psychological autopsy.” The professor wants to record testimonies from survivors, using that term as a descriptor for his efforts. On the other side of the psychological autopsy is a former prisoner. From this perspective, we see the effects of the sensationalization Kang so wants to avoid in her own writing. Though it may not be the professor’s intention, “the prisoner” questions the purpose. Will the dissertation serve those who survived and those who did not? Or will it only serve to bolster an outsider’s academic merit?

Nonetheless, the professor’s term is one I feel aptly describes Han Kang’s novel as a whole. Kang picks away at the human mind to see what it’s made up of. She performs a psychological autopsy on the human condition. She forces us to ask what makes the soldiers, the students, the factory workers, the prisoners, all human just the same. How can a human commit such atrocities and how can a human live with such atrocities?

Inexplicable Human Acts

In Kang’s own words, “Is it true that human beings are fundamentally cruel? Is the experience of cruelty the only thing we share as a species?” It’s a question asked time and time again. Is a human being’s true nature rooted in cruelty and evil? Kang’s characters answer it in a myriad of ways. One character questions how a human’s evil deeds don’t show through on their body. Looking at the surface, there’s no tally mark on the soldier’s forehead notating the number of lives taken by his hands. Our bodies are made up of the same base parts. We can look so similar and yet our minds and souls can diverge so starkly.

“Human Acts” is a book that will imprint itself on your soul. It’s gripping, though it’s not focused on action. It’s personal, yet it’s wide-reaching all the same. At it’s core, it is about the human spirit. Kang threads together each characters story into one cohesive narrative. They are all tied back to one event, but they pull that thread in all different directions. Their lives are marked by unimaginable violence and unfathomable resilience. The very human acts that divide us and bind us together anew.