Throughout Han Kang’s novel Human Acts, candles symbolize the souls of the dead. Early on, when he is still working at the Provincial Office, Dong-ho implores Jin-su to get candles for all the corpses, hoping to honor the dead (and eliminate the smell of decay). Moreover, though Dong-ho does not explicitly make the connection, the appearance of a candle’s flickering flame also reminds him of his grandmother’s death, when “something”—which he later reflects must have been her soul—“seemed to flutter up from her face, like a bird escaping.” As the story progresses, characters like Jeong-dae and Jin-su will echo this belief in the soul as a “fluttering” thing, impossible to touch yet tangibly present. In the final moments of the novel, the writer, having traveled to Dong-ho’s grave, lights a candle for the murdered young boy, just as Dong-ho used to do for the murdered protestors back in 1980. As the candle flames, the writer notes its “wavering outline, fluttering like a bird’s translucent wing.” The writer’s language is clear: by honoring Dong-ho’s memory in this way, she has allowed Dong-ho’s soul to momentarily take shape on earth, “fluttering” in the candle’s flame much like his grandmother’s did all those years ago.
Candles Quotes in Human Acts
Bending down to remove the cloth, your gaze is arrested by the sight of the translucent candle wax creeping down below the bluish flame.
How long do souls linger by the side of their bodies?
Do they really flutter away like some kind of bird? Is that what trembles the edges of the candle flame?
Eun-sook closes her eyes. She does not want to see his face.
After you died I couldn’t hold a funeral, so my life became a funeral.
After you were wrapped in a tarpaulin and carted away in a garbage truck.
After sparkling jets of water sprayed unforgivably from the fountain.
Everywhere the lights of the temple shrines are burning.
In the flowers that bloom in spring, in the snowflakes. In the evenings that draw each day to a close. Sparks from the candles, burning in empty drinks bottles.
Scalding tears burn from Eun-sook’s open eyes, but she does not wipe them away. She glares fiercely at the boy’s face, at the movement of his silenced lips.
I didn’t pray. I didn't close my eyes, or observe a minute silence. The candles burned steadily. Their orange flames undulating soundlessly, gradually being sucked into the center and hollowed out. Only then did I notice how incredibly cold my ankles were. Without realizing it, I’d been kneeling in a snowdrift that covered Dong-ho’s grave. The snow had soaked through my socks, seeping in right through to my skin. I stared, mute, at that flame’s wavering outline, fluttering like a bird’s translucent wing.