The miracle of life flowing in low and dark places

Since her debut with poetry in 1993 and novels in 1994, novelist Han Kang has persistently explored the source of the innate darkness and loneliness that lie within the inner self of existence, creating a unique world of works. In her first children's story, "My Name is Sunflower," she carefully reveals the reality of the light latent in the darkness.
The author shows the wonder of life, miraculously confronted at the edge of hurt and despair, through the bitter heartache that a single blade of grass must endure to grow into a flower brighter than the sun and more radiant than light.
This fairy tale, which combines the author's unique, delicate writing style that flows beautifully and sadly with Kim Se-hyeon's gentle illustrations, is, as novelist Kim Yeon-su points out, "a story that answers the questions that anyone asks when they enter the darkness," and a story that quietly makes us reflect on "what we learn in that low, dark place."


"Why aren't you sad? Now you know.
Even before the flowers bloomed for me,
Even after the flower has bloomed, even after it has finally lost its flower forever,
My name is always Sunflower"

The story begins with a young sprout emerging from beneath a dark, damp wall.
The world reflected in the eyes of a young sprout that thought it would be filled with bright light once it emerged from the ground was filled with only dark colors.
The ivy grows diligently and climbs over the wall, and the young shoot, knowing that it cannot climb over the wall, just lowers its head.
The sprout that has endured the time alone and grown a little taller experiences the pain of "the tingling of the roots and the burning sensation on the forehead that quickly subsides" and grows flower petals.
"My flower has bloomed!" The joy is short-lived, for the petals that sprout from the young shoots are colorless, as transparent as dragonfly wings, jellyfish, or sea anemone tentacles.
"The petals are so strange, I can't say they're pretty.
Rather than saying it's ugly, it's just... it's just weirdly shaped." Since the petals are not visible, the evening wind blows hard against them, and the butterflies and bees suck the nectar, then aggravate the wounds and fly away.
"Everyone, everyone! Get out of my sight!" The nectar of the wounded flower no longer gives off a fragrant scent, and the honey loses its flavor.


One night, as I was gritting my teeth and suffering alone, I heard an unfamiliar voice in my ear.
The voice of a small grass trying to sprout just under the fence.
"Whenever it tries to stick its eyes and ears out of the soil, it rains," and the grass's pores are blocked, so it can never properly come out into the world.
"When I opened my eyes underground, I couldn't believe how dazzling the memories I had seen for a moment were.
There is wind in the world, and there are smells that the wind carries, and there are sounds made by all kinds of insects, and there are stars and the moon, and there is a dark, deep night sky.
I want to see them so badly that I can't stand it.
When I think I might never see you again, my longing for you grows stronger.
(……) You have to love yourself.”

The rain falls again, and the flowers no longer cry as they see the traces of the grass that never came out into the world.
Even when I see roses and mandrakes broken by the rain, and people call me an ugly, ugly, and dirty flower, I look at the world with wide eyes.
I learned to love everything in the world with vivid eyes.
The flower, which for the first time came to love the chattering songs of sparrows, the gentle morning breeze, the diligent ants, the scent of pine trees carried by the mountain breeze, and the flock of white clouds fluttering like delicate feathers, regains its sweet nectar and, with a pain as if a match had been struck with a bang somewhere in its body, begins to take on the color of its petals.
The moment I confirmed the bright yellow color, brighter than the sun, a whirlwind passed by, causing a sharp pain.
The flower holds its head upright and watches its splendid petals soar into the air, its golden pollen scatters, and its sepals fall away.
Now the flower knows.
Even before the flower bloomed, even after the flower bloomed, and even after it had finally lost its flower forever, my name would always be the Sunflower.


Birds cry and flowers bloom.
That's all that matters.--From Jeong Hyeon-jong's poetry collection, "I am a Star Man"

“There are things like that.
There are things that you cannot despair of, no matter how much you despair.
Rather, they are the things that calm my despair and open up the vivid, jangling 'present moment.'
And those things that, with their persistent persuasion, “teach me the miracle of being alive.”
As the author says, this fairy tale tells of the 'joy of life' found at the depths of extreme sadness and despair.
Facing a time that simultaneously destroys everything and unfolds everything before us, overcoming the painful process of growing up to find our own name, and instead of feeling pain and despair, loving everything in the world with vivid eyes.
The reason why the petals of the sun flower are so dazzlingly beautiful is probably because the author is telling the story with the heart of the sun flower.
How deep is the black sky, how soft is the moonlight, how moist is the night air? Now it is the readers' turn to open their eyes wide and look.