![]() ![]() It’s a story about a hen and a duck and a weasel. I can write about themes of adoption and rejection, stretch it to cultural assimilation, universal sympathy, question the existence of a meritocracy, or write about a westernized “story mountain” being a part of our default expectations. ![]() I can write about significance of this novella being South Korean, and its simplicity when translated into English. A starving weasel (also a mother) lurks in the dark, ready to pounce on her baby, and Sprout escapes death multiple times. She isn’t accepted by the other farm animals, but loves her baby duck. She takes care of a wild egg and then hatches a duck. This is basically a story about a hen (named Sprout) who never hatches a chick. ![]() The Hen Who Dreamed she Could Fly is a nice enough parable. Looking through the door whenever it is briefly open, she years to live with the yard animals: it looks so promising. No avant-garde stuff to challenge intellectual boundaries. Sprout, a battery hen, dreams of a better life, and a chance to have a family, outside her oppressive home. It was a simple quiet one, and I don’t think I learned anything new or felt like I discovered anything. Wasn’t on my TBR, haven’t heard of Sun-mi Hwang - a spontaneous read. ![]() The ink-flow drawing of the hen in the trees was cute, complementing the texture of this slim paperback, so I took it from the shelf and took it home. ![]()
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