THE LIBERATORS by EJ Koh is a compact but powerful novel that spans generations, continents, and voices encompassing significant moments in the historTHE LIBERATORS by EJ Koh is a compact but powerful novel that spans generations, continents, and voices encompassing significant moments in the history of one family and one nation. And it all starts with a widower and father named Yohan. It is 1980 and amidst the civil unrest against the military government, his daughter, Insuk decides to get married. After Insuk and Sungho get married, they immigrate to San Jose, California with their infant son and Sungho’s mother, and eventually move again and settle in Tacoma, Washington. Through the lens of this family, Koh explores national tragedies like the Gwangju Massacre and the Sewol ferry accident, their lasting effect on the Korean diaspora; and delivers a sweeping saga in just 240 pages that has easily become one of my favorite books of the year.
The more I sat with this book, the move I yearned for it. I kept reaching back for it, turning to a random page and reading it. And every time I reread a line, a paragraph, a page, I discovered something new, something more. More connections, more spaces, more truths—more reasons why this book should be savored, slowly. Koh’s writing is both incredibly intimate and purposefully restrained. Her ability to describe the smallest detail of a single scene evoked vivid memories that felt like my own and left me breathless, time and time again. Koh draws us in close, but also offers the reader trust and space to draw their own conclusions. She doesn’t tell us what we should think or feel, but instead presents us with different and specific perspectives that shape the narrative and history of this Korean family.
Koh has talked about being introduced to magnanimity by a former poetry teacher, and how that shift in language is what makes a poem, a poem. She brings the same philosophy into her prose. With turns of phrases and paragraphs as well as turns of characters and stories, Koh took me on a journey that was both familiar and unexpected.
The relationship between Insuk, and her mother-in-law, Huran, in particular was a familiar one. If you’re Korean, you know that filial piety is one of the most important pillars of our culture and thus, having and setting boundaries between parent and child is unheard of. So while some of the actions and behavior taken by Huran are questionable to say the least, it isn’t unbelievable. When we are shown the different textures to Huran’s character, I understood her and appreciated the relationship she had with Insuk, and how they both evolved over time—their lives interlaced and entangled with one another. That is how I felt with all the characters, their lives inexplicably linked, touched by 인년 (fate), and forever changed. Their collective feelings of loss, grief and longing were and still are emotions that I, along with so many other Korean diaspora, know intimately and deeply.
And because of that familiarity, I found the perspectives of a few unlikely characters (a prison guard, a flight attendant, and a dog, to name a few), unexpected but quite memorable. It wasn’t until the end and even still long after I’ve finished the book did I fully grasp the significance of these narratives. Instead of taking away from the story, I saw the weaving of these voices as essential in serving a larger purpose—they were different perspectives that pushed us, the readers, to think differently about the stories that we inherited and the truths that we held. It challenged me. And I think this is where Koh’s brilliance truly shines. These unexpected perspectives through the author’s spare prose offered me a chance to understand, to empathize, and most importantly, to question.
It was a gift I didn’t know I needed.
Reading this book about liberation and different “sides” of a story during these fraught times when active colonization, censorship and propaganda is taking place felt… surreal. I just kept thinking that we’ve seen this before, over and over again. And we have. We are seeing it now. And more of a reason why this book was so incredibly moving for me. It demanded that I exercise my critical thinking and empathy to reframe my perspective. And it reminded me that none of us are free until we are all free.
Thank you to the publisher for my review copy. All opinions are my own. ...more
Cam returns home to Houston after the tragic death of his partner, Kai. There, he runs into this childhood best friend, TJ, while he tries to pick up Cam returns home to Houston after the tragic death of his partner, Kai. There, he runs into this childhood best friend, TJ, while he tries to pick up the pieces of his life. Faced with reconciling his past life and past relationships in the midst of a loss, Cam copes with his grief through his sex and drugs, a slow self-destruction.
FAMILY MEAL is Bryan Washington’s most recent published novel, and my favorite of his works so far. His writing s beautiful as ever, but I thought in this case, more mature and restrained. Similar to MEMORIAL, Washington brings multiple POVs to provide depth and context to his characters. Full of heavy themes, there is a quiet devastation that is carried throughout the entirety of the book. And while that devastation is palpable, it is not romanticized. Instead, Washington writes these characters, broken and reckless humans, with a tenderness that I wish we would allow ourselves and each other.
Yes, this book is heavy, but there is so much love inside these pages. Love that is found in silence, in company, in forgiveness, and in food. Food, a constant tether to home and family throughout the book, is always a theme I relate to deeply. Food is the language of love, and it is one that I share with my mother. My mother would agree that “cooking is care”, that the mere act of cooking for someone is an act of love. Washington does a beautiful job of referencing food, how they relate to memories, and how all those memories shape our characters, Cam, Kai and TJ.
Oh, and the last line of the book—as a Korean, this has been and still remains the epitome of love.
Even though I’ve read both of Washington’s previous works (enjoyed LOT, loved MEMORIAL), it wasn’t until FAMILY MEAL did I realize how much I truly adore his writing. Truly, one of the best books I read this year.
Thank you to the publisher for the ARC. All opinions are my own. ...more
JAMES by Percival Everett was the book I didn’t know I needed. Back in August of 2023, I was in the middle of eight books and floundering, my anxiety JAMES by Percival Everett was the book I didn’t know I needed. Back in August of 2023, I was in the middle of eight books and floundering, my anxiety and mental health was plunging me deeper and deeper into a reading slump. Desperate to find something that would grip me and keep my anxiety at bay. It wasn’t until I picked up JAMES, on a whim really, that I felt my fog clear. It is a book that six months later, I still consider one of the best books I read last year. Maybe, even ever.
To say JAMES is a retelling of THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN would not only be inaccurate, but would be doing this book a huge disservice. Because this book is so much more than that. It follows the same plot points from the classic—James and Huck escape together on a raft down the river and they encounter many dangers of getting found and captured. But in JAMES, this is all told from the perspective of Jim the slave, or rather as he would prefer to be called, James. And what Everett does with James is nothing short of a masterpiece.
Instead of a retelling or reimagining, this is a reframing of a classic story. It is reframed to bring to light an urgent story that needed to be told: James’ story. As a slave, James performs—speaking and behaving the way the white people expect, and teaching slave children to do so same. Because he knows they “must let the whites be the ones who name the trouble” since “they need to know everything before us”—a fact, if ignored, can have deadly consequences. So, James performs. He performs as he feigns gratitude to his slavers, as he talks “slave”, and as he plays dumb in many situations. He performs so that he can live and set him and his family free. But in reality, James is articulate, eloquent, and smarter than many of the “whites” he encounter.
With extraordinary skill, Everett delivers irony, humor, and wit to an old classic, especially in the second half of the book. This book will infuriate you but will also make you laugh out loud. And the ending! The ending was absolutely brilliant. I imagine purists would have issues with this ending, but I thought it was not only smart, but necessary. Necessary in providing agency and power into the hands of James.
This was my first Everett and I am so mad at myself that I didn’t read him earlier. What a fool I was. But a fool no longer I will be. Everett has easily become an auto-buy author for me. If there is ONE book I get you need to preorder and read for 2024, let it be this one.
It was nearly perfect, in my opinion.
Thank you to the publisher for the ARC. All opinions are my own. ...more
Following the women of one Dominican-American family, specifically four sisters: Matilde, Flor, Pastora, and Camila, this book is a sa(4.5 rounded up)
Following the women of one Dominican-American family, specifically four sisters: Matilde, Flor, Pastora, and Camila, this book is a saga centered around one event, a living wake. Flor, blessed (or cursed) with a gift of predicting when someone will die, wants to have a living wake for herself. Refusing to explain what that means, her family are steeped in worry. As Flor plans for her wake, her daughter, Ona, an anthropologist, conducts research about the family and collects their stories. And it is in these stories, we see Acevedo weave past, present and future of the four sisters and their daughters into a beautiful and dynamic narrative.
Told in non-linear and, at times, unconventional format, there is really one way to describe the writing: Alive.
If you’ve read Acevedo before, have witnessed her gift, you know she has a way with words. Her YA books are some of my favorite books of all-time. So it is no surprise that the writing in her adult debut be any less exquisite. But along with the beauty, there is an ache in her writing that was so devastating, tangible. The words felt alive or rather living, breathing right in front of me.
You will not find an action-packed plot in here. But in its stead is a portrait, a meditation, of the Dominican-American experience, their deep regard for family, and their truths that need reckoning. I cried both in understanding and appreciation of the shared grief for the losses that immigrants, marginalized people, and women endure. The ending especially moved me deeply, not because of the accumulation of these losses, but because of the blessings that are yearned, prayed, and wished for in spite of defeat after defeat. I wept because of how close this act of want and longing was to my heart.
For those that love Acevedo’s YA work, should be warned this is a different type of her work. Beautiful, nonetheless, but different. And I adored it.
Thank you to the publisher for the ARC. All opinions are my own. ...more
HOLDING PATTERN is such a fitting title for this book. Two women, mother and daughter, are reunited only to find each other changed and different. KatHOLDING PATTERN is such a fitting title for this book. Two women, mother and daughter, are reunited only to find each other changed and different. Kathleen, dumped by her long-time boyfriend and questioning her future in her graduate program, is lost and looking for next move in Oakland, her hometown. Her mother Marissa, on the other hand, who is two years sober and newly engaged, is perky and loving life. And as they discover and process each other, they find themselves in a holding pattern—reverting back to the last time they shared a roof together; Kathleen a teen full of angst about her alcoholic mother, and Marissa a single mother full of grief and anger from her divorce and the hard immigrant life.
This “holding pattern”, the roles that we play, is what stood out to me the most. Even when children grow up to be adults, they seem to always return to their former young self in front of their parents. And that is captured with brutal honesty in Kathleen. Even with a changed Marissa, Kathleen’s response was one from her teenage-self, exasperated and desperate, quick to defend herself from the judgements of her mother. To be fair, as changed as Marissa was (being alcohol-free, exercising, basically being your Bay Area granola), her ways of mothering still remained toxic, quick to judge and compare. But as I learned more about the two women, who I both found incredibly irritating, I began to understand. And through that understanding, I began to empathize.
However, as soon as I started to understand, to empathize, I was met with an abrupt ending. I wasn’t expecting a full resolution, but I wanted more time with each women as they came to the awareness of their new changed relationship, flawed but enduring. I also wanted a deeper exploration Into Marissa’s story, which would’ve added more context to her behavior that ultimately impacted and shaped Kathleen’s POV.
I find myself reaching for mother-daughter stories more and more. And, this one was a different take on the traditional Asian mother-daughter trope. For that, I’m glad I read it. Although the last impression wasn’t as strong as I’d hope it would be, this author is one that I’ll be keeping my eye out for. ...more
In HURT YOU, a YA retelling of Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men”, we meet Georgia Kim, a Korean-American high school teen with a neurologically disabled bIn HURT YOU, a YA retelling of Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men”, we meet Georgia Kim, a Korean-American high school teen with a neurologically disabled brother named Leo. They leave the City (San Francisco) and move to the suburbs of Sunnyvale to find better services for Leo. In Sunnyvale, Georgia finds her community of other Korean-Americans but quickly learn that being white and rich is what rules.
I really enjoyed reading from Georgia’s perspective. As a sister myself to a younger brother, I related to Georgia’s fierce protectiveness of Leo (she is the younger sibling in the book). Even now, when I think back, I can remember the love I felt for my brother—steadfast and tenacious. And this is seen with Georgia, not only in the way she looks out for him as her brother but the way she advocates for him as a person. It made my heart ache. And seeing the love and support Georgia and Leo get from their community is beautiful.
I also loved all the nuances of Korean-American culture in here from the “kye” (credit/banking club amongst Korean-American immigrants that pool money every month) to hangul hakkyo (Korean Language School). Small but significant insights into what being Korean-American was all about, only evident through lived experience.
I alternated this between the audio and print, and I have to say the print worked much better for me. Unfortunately, I found the narration to be odd and distracting. I know the MC, Georgia Kim, is not fluent in Korean so it makes sense that when she speaks Korean, the words are mispronounced. However, when other characters who are clearly fluent speak in Korean, the mispronunciation of the Korean words was incredibly jarring. I also thought the narrator had odd pauses in the middle of a sentences. So when my friend told me she listened to it at 1.8x speed, I decided to up my regular 1x speed to 1.5x. And, I’m glad I did because the pauses were not noticeable. But, unfortunately, the mispronunciations still were.
That said, I ended up mostly listening to this on audio because of life circumstances and at the end of the day, I can say this book was beautiful. It touches on a lot of topics, but Georgia and Leo’s bond and what it represented was the centerpiece. And I’ll be thinking about this book for awhile. It broke my heart and I am better for it.
I know this book was inspired by the author’s son who is on the autism spectrum and knowing that made my reading experience that much more special. I thank her so much for sending this to me. ...more
BANYAN MOON is a debut novel by Thao Thai that follows three generations of Vietnamese women, a grandmother, moThis book hit me like a ton of bricks.
BANYAN MOON is a debut novel by Thao Thai that follows three generations of Vietnamese women, a grandmother, mother and a daughter. Minh, the matriarch, was not only the mother to Huơng and grandmother to Ann, but the glue the held the fragile threesome together. But after her death, both Huơng and Ann, who have been estranged, learn that Minh has left them her house. At the Banyan House, the two cope with their immense loss as they try to navigate life with each other without their matriarch. Huơng chasing the relationship that Ann had with Minh, that Ann should’ve had with her. Ann running from her old, pampered life to mourn her grandmother and face her mother after years of resentment and estrangement.
The alternating POVs amongst the three women was a powerful way to take in each of their story. And I thought the way the first chapter was written—a short scene of the three women but a faithful illustration of their relationships—was a brilliant way to prep the reader for what was to come.
The writing is absolutely beautiful and I love the author’s ability to explore complicated relationships with extremely flawed characters. And when I say flawed, I mean it. I didn’t love the characters, but their desperation to be seen, loved, and ultimately to protect the ones they love moved me deeply.
While this story is about mothers and daughters; at its core, it’s a story about inheritance. There is the inheritance of physical things, like a house or jewelry. But then there are things that are intangible, like secrets or trauma. And those intangible legacies can leave scars and ongoing pain to one’s life and their relationships. This book examines the complex nuances of being a woman, a mother, and a daughter, and how all three of those identities can clash and hurt the ones you love.
This is a book that I didn’t know I needed to read. It was emotional and powerful. A lot of “stuff” came up for me, so my reading experience and this review is extremely personal. I absolutely loved it and am so excited to see more works from this author.
As mentioned in my review for the 1st book, I’m back with my book review for BOOK 2 of the Lia Park series by Jenna Yoon. In LIA PARK AND THE HEAVENLYAs mentioned in my review for the 1st book, I’m back with my book review for BOOK 2 of the Lia Park series by Jenna Yoon. In LIA PARK AND THE HEAVENLY HEIRLOOMS, Lia and her BFF, Joon, are finally starting school at the International Magic Academy. But as soon as school starts, there is a crisis. One of the Heavenly Heirlooms, magical objects that create fire and light, is stolen by the evil monster and King of Darkness, Jihaedaegukjeok. Together with her friends, Lia must find the remaining heirlooms and bring it back to the school for safekeeping before world is thrust into darkness.
This was a great follow-up to book 1 and just like the first book, this is packed with Korean mythology, culture and language. I also loved that it was in a school setting. And the mix of magic and technology in both the physical structure of the school and its curriculum was fascinating. I would’ve loved to spend more time at the school, but understand the plot takes us out into the dangers of the real world once again. The ending felt like it was wrapped up too quickly with some questions left unanswered, which I assume means there will be another book in this series. And I hope I don’t have to wait too long for it because this series is now an AUTO-BUY series for me. I am invested and cannot wait to go on more adventures with Lia.
This book picks up immediately after Book 1 and while I think this book can be read as a standalone, I highly recommend reading the first one for added context and flavor. I said it before and I’ll say it again, this series has given the 12 year-old girl in me so much joy. This will be a perfect addition to your little one’s library or even your own!
HORSE BARBIE is an intimate and vulnerable memoir by Geena Rocero, a trans pageant queen from the Philippines turned model then activist. Finding fameHORSE BARBIE is an intimate and vulnerable memoir by Geena Rocero, a trans pageant queen from the Philippines turned model then activist. Finding fame, success, and her new found family in the trans pageant world, Rocero became the highest-earning trans pageant queen at the age of 17.
But when she moved to the U.S. just a year later, she hid her trans identity for survival. She quickly learned that it’s one thing to finally get legal recognition—that elusive “F” on your government documents you can get in the States but not in the Phlippines—but entirely another to openly live as a trans woman and find work as a model. Rocero had to go “stealth” and as she became more successful as a mainstream model, the stakes and her anxiety got higher and higher.
I learned a lot in this book, both in lessons of history as well as empathy. Transgender pageants are considered a national sport in the Philippines, which makes sense once you know that they honored gender fluid identities before colonization. Mix that historical sentiment with Spanish festivals for Catholic saints and U.S. beauty pageant culture, you get the rich trans pageant culture that exists today: a colonial by-product. I could honestly read a whole book dedicated to this topic because that is a history lesson I would gladly sign up for.
But more than the history lessons, I was most impacted by the lessons in empathy. And not because Rocero was trying to teach or preach in her memoir, but rather because this was the first trans memoir I picked up (I’m not proud of that admission). And by doing so, I, as a cishet woman, got a firsthand look at the vulnerable and precarious life of a trans woman. There is a moment in the book, after she moves to the U.S., when she talks about watching daytime talk shows like Jerry Springer and Maury Povich and seeing the transphobia and taboo fixation of trans people play out on screen. Parading trans people on stage and having the audience play guessing games, like some kind of circus game. As Rocero watched, shame filled her. And as I read, shamed filled me. Because I remember watching those shows as a young child during summer break, horrified at the idea that such people existed. This is the only time I cried while reading the book. It was the first time I was so consciously aware of my own transphobia, and at such a young age. Don’t get me wrong, I am not blaming my young self nor the author for conjuring this memory for me. But rather, I am incredibly grateful and happy that I read this memoir, that these memoirs can and do exist today. This is a memory I would’ve never returned to on my own, and I thank the author for bringing me to it and for allowing me into hers.
I said this was the only time I cried, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t heavy and sometimes, downright scary moments in the book. There are and I can only assume they could be triggering for some. But, Rocero doesn’t dwell on such dark times because there is so much joy in this book. This book is about survival and self-love. And for the cisgender, this book is a reminder that it is so incredibly important to read lived experiences other than your own. I promise you will be a better person for it.
Warning, this one is going to be long so I’m just going to jump right into it.
Written in three parts, in BITING THE HAND Lee breaks down and examines Warning, this one is going to be long so I’m just going to jump right into it.
Written in three parts, in BITING THE HAND Lee breaks down and examines her identity of being Korean American growing up in a world built on racial hierarchy.
In “Rage”, the author recounts her and her family’s trauma from the Korean War and the racism they encounter living in the U.S. And as Lee writes about how inherited trauma is passed down in nonverbal ways, I recognize too easily the markers of han (한) and more specifically to Korean women, hwa-byung (anger or fire disease). Both of which I can say I have inherited and often times, embodied without knowing why. The “hoarding of plastic bags and the aversion to waste” is one innocuous trait that I, and I believe most second-generation Korean-Americans, have inherited. But the inability to talk about our rage, trauma and grief is the more sinister and damaging trait that has been pervasive in my life.
Lee writes that her family, much like mine, came here to forget the war and to start over. Our families did not know about this country’s history, only acutely aware of their own. And therefore the 1992 LA Uprising became the “collision of two historical traumas”, of the Black Americans with centuries of oppression and of the Korean immigrants with centuries of subjugation. I was much younger than Lee then, but it affected me and my family in profound, life-changing ways, just the same. The entire chapter about 1992 LA Uprising was difficult for me to read, but a seamless segue into the second part of the book, “Shame.”
In “Shame”, Lee picks up where we left off in “Rage”—after Koreans became “hypervisible” during the LA Uprising and when Lee starts her undergraduate education at Princeton, a school that was “built upon whiteness in service of whiteness”. As Lee navigates her way past each gate propelling her closer to whiteness, she also feels incredible shame. And when she, borrowing from James Baldwin, argued that to be “an Asian person in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of shame almost all the time”, I couldn’t help nod in agreement. I can’t speak for the other Asian races, but in my Korean household, shame was so incredibly present in our everyday lives. Caught between Black and White America, the shame of being Asian, of being the model minority that was supposed to be successful and that never caused trouble, is absolutely real.
And finally in “Grace”, Lee proposes a reconciliation or at least a way towards one. To accept and move on, one must stop the cycle of intergenerational trauma. But, “how do we do do that when suffering and sacrifices are the only ways to demonstrate that love? How do we love our own children when a broken, traumatized love is the only love we have to give?” I wondered about the trauma of my parents and of their parents and their parents’ parents. I wondered about what I would pass down to my own children. How do we give ourselves, our parents, and each other grace so we can all be in this space together?
Reminiscent of MINOR FEELINGS, there is so much I resonated with this book. But if MINOR FEELINGS made this little girl inside me feel seen for the first time, this made me feel heard. Heard as an adult Korean American woman living in America. Heard as someone trying to figure out how to take up space and not apologize for it. Heard as someone trying to decolonize her mind. Lee and I are very different. We have led different lives at different times. But the shared experience of being born to immigrant Korean parents who expect perfection and living in LA as a Korean American girl is enough to evoke kinship for me.
I highly recommend this book if you are interested in memoirs that examine identity and race. And even if you don’t, I think you’d find this valuable. . Thank you to publisher for the ARC and finished copy. All opinions are my own....more
A LIVING REMEDY is an absolutely heartbreaking and beautiful memoir from ALL I CAN EVER KNOW author, Nicole Chung. In her first memoir, she focuses onA LIVING REMEDY is an absolutely heartbreaking and beautiful memoir from ALL I CAN EVER KNOW author, Nicole Chung. In her first memoir, she focuses on her adoption and search for her birth family. In her newest memoir, she writes about her life after she leaves her (very white) hometown in Oregon and finding herself needing, wanting to come home for her parents but unable to. She writes about the broken healthcare system, financial instability, her grief and then rage.
This has easily become my new all-time favorite memoir. And I feel conflicted saying that someone’s loss is now a “favorite” of mine—it makes me feel disingenuous. But, let me explain.
When I say that this book moved me would be an understatement. Nicole Chung has this incredible ability to write about loss and grief in a way that is tangible and visceral. Yes, reading this book devastated me. I think I cried 95% of the book. And, mind you, I have not experienced the loss of a parent, so I cannot fully understand but oh, how I imagined. I imagined over and over again about my parents, and what they have kept and are still keeping from me to protect me. Imagined over and over again about my young children, and what I would do to protect them, what I would do so that I don’t become a burden.
The writing is beautiful, there is no doubt. But, a lot of writing can be beautiful. But not a lot of writing carries depth and intention. I am not a writer. I am a reader, and as a reader, reading this was… profound.
Thank you to the publisher for the gifted ARC....more
Hak Jeonga is 105 years old and suffers no fools. The youngest of four sisters, Jeonga had always felt like she was doing what her father would’ve wanHak Jeonga is 105 years old and suffers no fools. The youngest of four sisters, Jeonga had always felt like she was doing what her father would’ve wanted her to do—uphold the family’s reputation, no matter the cost. So when she receives a letter that could ruin what she’s worked her whole life for, she moves quickly. And as a result, she is met with an untimely death during her visit to the U.S. It is when she is in the space between life and death that she realizes the gravity of her actions to protect her family’s secrets. In the afterlife, she must reckon with the past, the decisions she made, and the consequences of her actions.
Immediately, we learn that Jeonga, our sammonim, is exactly that — a rich, snooty, and very proudful sammonim who has little patience for foolishness, or rather, little patience for anything. Her candor and self-righteousness reminded me of all the dreadful Korean mother-in-laws you see in Korean dramas. And I loved every bit of it. But as Jeonga’s tone was sharp and commanding in the world of the living, her voice in the afterlife was like that of a whining child. A child that’s been desperately waiting and searching for her favorite sister, Seona. Lost and exasperated, Jeonga must learn to move through the afterlife if she wants to right her wrongs, pay penance, and atone. Her death and afterlife being the last apology she can offer. Despite Jeonga’s irritating tone, her time in the afterlife was one of my favorite parts of the book. The window into the beyond, and our ties to it, were fascinating to see (and also explains the persimmon on the cover).
More than my fascination with the afterlife, what I loved about Han’s depiction of Jeonga’s purgatory was how much of Korea’s two prevalent cultural factors were loaded in its pages. The first is one that most readers of Korean literature or consumers of Korean media are familiar with—han. In the book, han, fueled by the trauma from years of oppression and war, including the forced separation of families, is never raging in Jeonga, but rather smoldering underneath the resentment, lies and secrets. Never visible, but ever so present. The second, chae myun, is also deeply rooted in Korean culture and goes back thousands of years to the days of Confucianism and the rise of social classes in pre-modern Korea. It means to save face. And we see the price Jeonga pays to uphold her family’s chae myun. It is an obvious theme to the book, but the nuances and how it applies to a Korean family is what I appreciated the most. Familial sacrifice, especially when saving face, in Korean culture is so deeply ingrained. It is a given. . The book moves fast and Jeonga, ever the entertaining and spirited MC, always kept me on my toes. It was a nice surprise given that when I first started THE APOLOGY, I had to immediately put it down. Because the manner in which the MC dies in the beginning was so specifically triggering to me, I had to step away for a bit. Once I came back to it, I was so glad I did because this was absolutely a joy to read. Jeonga was both funny and infuriating, and I loved her. And I loved that this book exists. A book that grapples generational trauma and familial sacrifice but with wit, humor and tenderness.
Thank you to the publisher and author for the ARC!...more
Helen | readwithneleh
>
Books:
arc
(56)
Loading...
