Powerful exploration of grief and the "what could've been." I really liked the following: 

I finished this really quickly in one sitting. The reason I gave this 5 stars is because it simply made me cry. In my opinion, everything that makes you cry is a 5star. If it awokes feelings, it has done its job. 

I live in Northern Europe and I could really relate to the long winter nights she spoke about. The despair and loneliness I feel was very much reflected through this book. 
My favourite part had to be «언니», since it made me cry.

The novel evidently defies genre and due to its unusual structure, it challenges you to think and make sense of what she really is telling you. To me, it felt like walking through an art gallery. Going through it piece by piece and part by part, not missing any corners. In the sense of feeling trapped in a room and being forced to face new and difficult perspectives and emotions. 

Side note: I really love how Han Kang reflects on what it means to be human beings and what connects us to the world as individuals. What do we bring that is different and new? And what is really the point in living? She is definitely one of my favorite writers at this point. 

"Black. writing. through. white. paper" (essentially the entire book)

Beautiful.
For me, white has always been one of my least favourite colours, one I've considered dull, empty, sterile and soulless. This book not only made me see white, but also hear and taste it — it was so vivid, as it deserves to be. Because after all, if you add up all the colours — the visible wavelengths of light — you get white.

This book made me feel so many things, it submerged me in melancholy and made me yearn for things I already have (been taking for granted) and as I look outside to the soft fall of February snow, I can't quite see it the same as I used to.

For someone who's lived her entire life in Northern Europe, the endlessly dark winters and heaps of snow are so mundane that Kang's protagonist being in awe of them really took me aback. The winters can be (and will be) depressing, yet they also are a home — something to be appreciated, to be missed — and miss them I would, were I ever to set my foot on a foreign soil.

Despite being completely different, this had the captivating and unusual pull to the writing that enchanted me when I read The Vegetarian, some years ago.

Han Kang's The White book looks at grief, particularly that of the premature passing of her mother's first child; a death that she wasn't there for, but one that she shoulders nonetheless, with unanswerable questions of "what-if"? As she takes on all the potential emotions her mother must have felt at the time and pondered about what it all could have been, had her sister survived.

Writing in Warsaw, Poland, all the destruction of the war stands out to Kang (through the absence or architecture no older than 70 years) as she goes through an exploration of white things, all interconnected to war, death, grief and the sister she never knew.

Very experimental in nature, but an incredibly compelling and thought-provoking autobiography. If I hadn't picked it up just before bed, I would have definitely finished it in a day (an hour or less, if uninterrupted).