Most books give you a story.
This one gives you an unsettling silence that echoes long after.
On the surface, The Vegetarian is simple — a woman, Yeong-hye, stops eating meat. But what follows is not about food.
This is not a book that explains itself.
It shows you things — quietly, symbolically, unsettlingly — and leaves you to make sense of them.
And the meaning?
It will depend on who you are when you read it.
When Yeong-hye just becomes a vegetarian, every character around her see it not as a dietary change but as a personal betrayal.
Her husband is annoyed that she’s no longer “normal.” Her family is outraged. The medical system wants to label her. Everyone wants to fix her.
No one, ironically, wants to listen to her.
The book is divided into three parts, each told through a different character’s perspective. Yeong-hye never gets to speak for herself in full. And that’s what hits hardest.
Becoming a Tree
When Yeong-hye offers her body as a canvas — letting her brother-in-law paint flowers and leaves on her— it’s not just about art or insanity. It’s about reclaiming her body by erasing it.
She becomes surface — nothing inside, just a thing to be looked at and disconnected from.
And then comes the next stage: she starts believing she’s becoming a tree.
At first it feels surreal. Then terrifying. Then, oddly… peaceful.
Yes. Trees don’t speak. They don’t desire. They don’t say yes or no. They just are.
But if you see deeper.. A tree cannot be controlled, punished, touched in the way a woman can be.
It grows silently, without needing anyone’s permission.
For Yeong-hye, becoming a tree isn’t delusion. It’s the only safe form of existence.
She’s not going mad..She’s opting out.
She’s choosing a form of life where there’s no gender, no duty, no expectation..Just stillness.
The moment that disturbed me most?
Yeong-hye’s father tying the family dog to a motorcycle and dragging it to death — because it bit her.
Not only is it horrific, it’s symbolic.
The dog was punished for being disobedient.
Yeong-hye, later, is punished for doing the exact same thing —saying ‘no’ to meat.
That dog? It’s a warning. This is what happens when you say no.
But the real heartbreak isn’t Yeong-hye
It’s her sister. In-hye.
She’s the one who functions normally.
She runs a business. She raises a child. She keeps the family running. Society sees her as stable, reliable, sane.
But she’s quietly breaking.
And the way she longs to be a bird hit me harder than anything else.
Birds carry nothing. They don’t take care of anyone. They fly. They leave. They escape.
In-hye doesn’t want wings. She wants release.
She’s drowning in responsibility and longing for weightlessness.
Her wish to be a bird is not whimsical…It’s desperation
Everyone will read this book differently. And that’s the beauty
Some will see it as a feminist text. Some as a mental health spiral. Some as a philosophical exploration of freedom and identity.
For me, it was a story of two women breaking — one visibly, the other silently.
One is locked up. The other walks free.
But both are trying to disappear.
If you’re looking for plot, you might get frustrated.
If you’re looking for layers, The Vegetarian gives you plenty. You won’t forget it. And chances are, you’ll keep finding new meanings long after you’ve closed the book.
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