Review of The White Book by Han Kang

Han Kang describes white things well.

But it would’ve been more intriguing if the pages were black and the text was white. You can achieve this by getting an ebook and turning your kindle to Dark Mode.
I would not call these interconnected stories, but rather, observations orbiting a theme. An obvious compilation of memory and creative exploration of emotion and trauma propelled by a poetic force.
Definite layers fizzle under the bland surface. In a sea of white things, darkness slumbers. Properly radiant, yet not washed out. Eerie, distant, like slowly exploding stars, pinpricks in the darkness of thought and memory.
It would make a great exercise to embark on a white journal. The meaning of whiteness. A journal starts out white. You fill it in with white things. She left out mention of the White Album. And the White Stripes. Will their be a sequel? There is no relation between this and Clark Ashton Smith’s Black Book.
In all seriousness, Han Kang’s shivering spasms of prose poems deserve to be read and she will have no trouble finding an audience after winning that big prize.
I see myself reading more of her oeuvre.