When Seen Aromi's memoir documenting the joys of singlehood hit the shelves in early 2024, it became an instant bestseller.

Women young and old, single or married, those with children and without seemed to relish So What if I Love My Single Life!, drawing second-hand satisfaction from Seen's confident retorts to unsolicited advice, or finding in it the freedom to be unapologetically single.

But soon her success encountered a deluge of criticism and hate online, largely from men. They told her she would die lonely, called her selfish, and accused her of betraying her country.

Embracing female independence and challenging patriarchy has become increasingly dicey in South Korea, where young men have driven a huge backlash against feminism. Discrimination, harassment and sexual violence against women remain huge challenges, but feminism has become such a polarised term here it is often levelled as a grave charge, inviting witch-hunts online and censure offline.

Now women are carving out a space to share their stories in what is shaping up to be a quiet revolution in the country's literary scene. This year women swept the country's most prestigious literary prize - the Yi Sang Awards - winning in all six categories for the first time. Book talks, and reading and writing rooms called guelbang, have sprung up, offering time and space for women to gather and - crucially, they emphasise - grow as a community.

Han Kang's historic Nobel Prize win in 2024 aside, women's voices haven't always been that prominent in Korean writing. However, the country's MeToo movement in 2016 encouraged ordinary women to speak up, says Eunyu, an author who launched her writing room in 2011. She prefers using her pen name.

Even as the revolt against anything deemed feminist grew, more women began to teach writing classes or hold reading sessions, making these spaces more accessible for other women. Many of the women who joined as attendees have gone on to become writers in their own right, Eunyu adds.

In South Korea, the story Seen is telling is radical. She bought a countryside home when more than half of the population lives in the greater Seoul area. She decided not to marry or have children while South Korea struggles to lift birth rates. And she is enjoying the life she has chosen - be it assembling a hearty salad from freshly picked vegetables, or journaling in a cozy living room done up exactly how she wants.

I'm not claiming that everyone should abandon marriage or look down on married people in any way, Seen says. I simply wrote about how making my own choices, prioritising my desires, has led me to truly enjoy my life. I felt that people were really waiting to hear stories like mine.

The book's success has since brought its 39-year-old author a six-figure international translation deal with Penguin. She is far from alone. Sales of translated Korean books more than doubled in 2024, compared to the previous year. As global interest in Korean culture swells, the country's writers are breaking into the international market.

As the publishing scene blooms, it has become an outlet for conversations that no longer seem viable in public spaces. Female writers in South Korea are redefining societal norms through their literature while building a supportive community that thrives in the face of adversity.