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1643379682
| 9781643379685
| 1643379682
| 3.32
| 218
| unknown
| May 21, 2024
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liked it
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Once the day nestles down into the horizon, the night opens like a gateway of possibilities. ‘The excess light during the day hides treasures that onl
Once the day nestles down into the horizon, the night opens like a gateway of possibilities. ‘The excess light during the day hides treasures that only the night reveals,’ advises the mysterious older woman in Samir Dahmani’s somber graphic novel, Seoul Before Sunrise, a gorgeously watercolor illustrated narrative of coming-of-age metamorphosis and awakening desires forged in the depths of nocturnal loneliness. It follows in a tradition of quiet, introspective storytelling addressed to the transformative properties of the night, where we strip out of our public personas of the day to grapple with the wilderness of thoughts and suppressed emotions that blossom under the starlight of a velvety night, taking shape in brushstrokes of philosophical insight to color the thin framework of narrative. Its a story that seems best expressed in hushed tones with plenty of atmosphere that allow it to be delicately beautiful, but while Dahmani’s graphic novel is beautiful to behold it feels crushed in too much dialogue and forward progress that never allows it to breathe at ease or really sink into its prevailing sense of loneliness. Moving through the quiet nights of Seoul and chronicling the ache of a young woman separated from her best friend after going to two different universities, Seoul Before Sunrise is adorned in lovely musings and made up of all the right ingredients but feels like the recipe was off and cooked too hot and too quickly to be truly satisfying. [image] ‘Between the time the last train leaves and the first train arrives, the place changes: it's not the same as in daytime.’ wrote Haruki Murakami in his novel After Dark, a story that similarly unveils the philosophical undercurrents of the offbeat passengers of the night such as Seoul Before Sunrise attempts to do. But while this graphic novel aims at a rather singular effect—the quiet adventures of Seong-ji and the much older woman who takes her along breaking into houses just to look while extolling the virtues of the night as a way for Seong-ji to recognize and embrace what her yearning for her absentee friend really means about her—Murakami’s is able to dip into a variety of ideas and themes that thread together for a complete whole. Sure, they are two different stories with different aims, but comparatively the multi-dimensional approach helps reveal in contrast what makes Seoul Before Sunrise seem like the reader is left wanting. It does dip into a brief moment of magical realism and discusses at length issues of loneliness, change and metamorphosis, yet it always feels at arms length in an emotional sense. It feels too direct as well, despite dealing with more abstract ideas. [image] For a story of noctural wanderings, the story itself never gets to wander and soak in any atmosphere. It reads akin to a flower held too tightly in ones hand, the petals crushed. While the art is gorgeous—I LOVE the watercolor art and colors—it rarely gets a moment of quiet without text boxes or small frames pushed off quickly into more plot. Even just one or two full page cityscapes with no text would have vastly improved the atmosphere and let the feeling of loneliness really engulf you. It all moves too quickly, a story of night set at the pace of bustling day, which is odd to say as there is very little plot to begin with. The dialog is wonderful however, and I like the way the characters explore the themes. ‘‘During the day everyone is so judgemental…The night rebalances things and disturbs our senses. We see things differently. The night lets us behave in ways that can surprise us.’ The night is a surprise for Seong-ji when, during her nightly shifts at a convenience store, she is befriended by an older woman and ushered into her evening romps through other peoples homes and around Seoul. They explore ideas of how people drift apart—‘One or two degrees difference is enough... For us to end up truly distant from one another’—or how right before the dawn there is a moment of transformation. ‘It’s no longer night, but not yet day. It’s the darkest time and also the coldest. It’s also a time when unexplained phenomena occur. Because during that violent time of transition you have to be ready for change. For the day is coming’ This ‘violent time of transition’ occurs, and leaves the book on a sad yet hopeful note because even though Seong-ji ends in a poorly way at least she is embracing who she is. [image] The narrative around the mysterious older friend is a bit odd though. Seong-ji finds her ‘refreshingly weird’ and their companionship starts to steer towards Seong-ji recognizing queer desires in herself. Which…okay, I don’t know if this book handled it all that well? I mean, I suppose it was sort of realistic but there is a sense of the woman (who is 38) as a bit predatory. She’s juxtaposed with a scene of an older man called out for intentionally shopping in a student district to talk to young girls and I honestly wish the epilogue would not have been included. The book already ends on a rather harsh and heartbreaking note but still with hope, though her inclusion at the end gives a rather unsettling and grimey sense to it. It is a story about repressed queer desires coming out, but the one who guides the girl into it might be taking advantage of her and seems to react angrily about it which just…is not helpful when we see a man writing queer women as predatory? I don’t know, it just felt bleak in a way that didn’t benefit the story. Though perhaps it is getting into that there are no legal protections for discrimination against gender identity or sexuality in South Korea with same-sex marriage still being illegal. Dahmani studied in South Korea in 2013 and 2014, and has done comics work with their partner from South Korea so this does attempt to infuse a lot of Korean culture into the plot (aspects on beauty standards that can be harmful to women and lead to South Korea being the plastic surgery capitol of the world are briefly addressed). There is an attempt to capture Seoul that was nice to see. [image] At the end of the day, I wanted to like this more than I did and it leaves you feeling a bit uncomfortable. Intentionally so, though the use of homophobia as foreshadowing for queer desires was kind of a lot and it just felt like trying to be harsh and edgy to contrast the soft, delicate aspects and it just didn’t blend. Still, Seoul Before Sunrise is gorgeously illustrated and does have some lovely thoughts on the possibilities of night. 3/5 ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jun 26, 2024
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Jun 26, 2024
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Jun 26, 2024
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Paperback
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0062685120
| 9780062685124
| 0062685120
| 3.99
| 1,222
| Feb 13, 2024
| Feb 13, 2024
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really liked it
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A bloodspattered folktale of fox-demons and feminist resistance during the Joseon Dynasty in Korea, Robin Ha’s The Fox Maidens is quite the page-turne
A bloodspattered folktale of fox-demons and feminist resistance during the Joseon Dynasty in Korea, Robin Ha’s The Fox Maidens is quite the page-turner of a graphic novel. This queer retelling on the mythology of the gumiho—a nine-tailed fox that can transform into a woman and eats the livers of men—forms the basis of this epic tale that spans several years in the life of Kai, the daughter of a general famed for having rid the countryside of the mythic demon. Raised as a warrior at a time when women were still denied education, Kai wishes to topple the social expectations holding women back…until she realizes her legacy in the story of the gumiho. A dark and rather violent tale that will interest both YA and adult audiences, it is brought to life through bold and beautiful artwork that harnesses various limited color palettes that visually organize each setting and the rather involved story remains as fascinating as it does unsettling even through some pacing issues. The Fox Maidens is an absolute delight to behold through plenty of action packed moments, shocking twists and gorgeous artwork and makes for a fun queer epic. [image] Having been a big fan of Robin Ha’s previous work, Almost American Girl, I was quite excited to check this one out. It does an excellent job of providing historical context and while the opening may feel like a big info-dump it was a good way to launch into this story that balances Korean mythology and history with Ha’s own marvelous take on the folklore. The art is this is absolutely breathtaking as well: [image] The character designs are excellent and convey a lot of emotion through their expressions and the use of color is really wonderful and vibrant. I love the way it moves between various minimal color palettes and how flashback sequences are in a sort of sepia tone aside from the touches of yellow that really pop. Ha makes excellent use of frames in a way that convey action clearly and dynamically while also keeps the story moving by not making panels text heavy (aside from the opening info bits). Aside from that, the landscapes are utterly gorgeous: [image] ‘Only when I faced my demise did I realize how much I wanted to live.’ The story is quite epic and weaves through several plotlines quite well. Unfortunately—especially after such a big, involved story—the ending arc does feel like it rushes in and concludes rather abruptly without giving much explanation (I believe it can be surmised what happens if one pays attention to details throughout but understand the complaints that it is sort of vague and rushed). The pacing can be a bit jumpy and I wonder if this would have read more smoothly if it was done in the individual chapter volumes instead. Still, the episodic nature of the story is pretty fun and does break up the rather robust histories around each character as well as the socio-political landscapes the narrative occurs within. It is a big story with a lot of players but I enjoyed how much of it all leads back to a single moment of kindness and resistance against the patriarchal norms that shoved women aside from society and left them vulnerable to abuse. [image] At the heart of this story is the oppression of women and Kai’s struggle to find her own place as a strong, independent person amidst the patriarchal society that distrusts her even when she shows herself to be fully capable (more so than the men even in combat).The strength of the fox-demon helps, but is also a curse and she learns that even trying to survive through good intentions can have unwanted consequences. Killing an abusive man, for instance, may give a woman the temporary reprieve from blows but leave her without access to money or a home as women could not hold jobs. This does well by diving into situations to show how issues are rather nuanced and morally gray instead of an easy black and white. There are a lot of big twists and shocks here too that will definitely keep you reading. ‘Every living thing gets a chance to love and be loved. I must know what that’s like, or this life isn’t worth living.’ I really enjoyed this story, even with the pacing issues and while it is a bit bulky with a lot of plot threads I liked how it explored a lot of different facets of Kai’s life. The serial killer hunt part did feel a bit like that Dexter show but it made sense in the narrative. Also, for those hoping for action and cartoon violence, this is quite sufficient and pretty bloody. It does not shirk on fox-demon attacks: [image] While occasionally uneven, The Fox Maidens manages to still pull of a very successful queer mythological tale that is fast, fun and ferocious. The art is amazing, the story is gripping and the fighting is intense. I had a blast and I hope you will too. 4/5 [image] ...more |
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1
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not set
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not set
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Apr 22, 2024
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Oh, Axie
*
| 0063025019
| 9780063025011
| 3.82
| 37,057
| Jul 13, 2021
| Jul 13, 2021
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it was ok
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Well, I should have listened to adira so I have nobody to blame but myself. But first, can we just appreciate that Axie Oh titled a book XOXO which fee Well, I should have listened to adira so I have nobody to blame but myself. But first, can we just appreciate that Axie Oh titled a book XOXO which feels like wordplay on her own name. Class move, I love that. XOXO is adorable and sweet and as fluffy as…picture the biggest, fluffiest cinematically perfect cloud above a prairie on a sweetly warm summer’s day. Do not edit that first image, and that’s about as fluffy as this was. Cotton candy fluffy, the kind that sort of makes your teeth hurt when you bite it. Saccharine as shit. Having seen the movie Nope I should have known to not trust a cloud that big and fluffy but here we are (I also should have know to trust adira and also mitra). ANYWAYS, XOXO plunges us into the world of K-Pop idols and boarding schools for some romantic fun that has its charms and some really interesting cultural context but reads rather flat and flimsy with a plot seemingly in search of itself. ‘I promise you can get the life you want now, if you just live in it.’ An aspect that really worked for me here was the immersion in South Korean culture, particularly the lifestyles of K-Pop idols and the trainees who hope to one day become them. Which, it turns out, is full of restrictions that make you more or less property of your label. ‘As an idol, you agreed to share your whole life with your fans, so that they can love you without fear that you'll disappoint or hurt them,’ we learn, which sends the budding romance between Jenny and Jaewoo into a secret relationship trope as Jaewoo is not allowed to date. I’ve seen claims this began as BTS fan fiction (they do get a namedrop) so Jaewoo may have some inspiration in global hearthrob Jungkook, so that is pretty fun. But I can’t mention BTS without a shoutout to their memoir translator, Anton Hur, and how you should most definitely read any book they translate. ‘even after the scandal, even after the accusations and the heartbreak and the pain. he was my first love. I wouldn't give that up for the world.’ The catch is, Jenny and Jaewoo are pretty flavorless as characters. Its all cutesy and they clearly are very into each other but the plot meanders through episodes that you assume will add up to something but just sort of don’t until finally you want to ask “do either of you have any convictions or just statements about them?” And sure there’s scandals but none that would last more than a mid-afternoon on twitter and then suddenly everyone makes up and yay. Also, its meant as endearing that they toss anything to the side in order to spend as much time together as possible but it gets red flag-y even to friends: ‘you're not his beck and call girl, you know? you don't have to drop everything just because he comes around,’ and Jaewoo’s contract restrictions sometimes just felt like carte blanche to be a dick. Sori was the character that actually shines in this story and she’s always sort of elbowed out to the peripheries (thankfully I hear the sequel, ASAP, is about her and Nathaniel). ‘People who live for tomorrow should fear the people who live for today. Because the people who live for tomorrow don't take risks. They're afraid of the consequences. While the people who live for today have nothing to lose, so they fight tooth and nail.’ There are some positive messages, with ideas about following your dreams and doing it for you not others such as ‘you can’t be there for other people if you’re not first there for yourself,’ but overall the story was mostly just the fluffy romance. It doesn't help that the writing was really bland. Which surprised me as I quite enjoyed The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea and though that had some good gripping writing and plot, but here it so hyper focused on the main characters in a way that just talks at you instead of shows you. Even the mother and grandmother relationships felt undercooked and there wasn’t much of an actual story to support the romance so it just kind of all mushed together on the floor in a mass of sweetness and fluff. Like the ground at a carnival. 2.5/5 ‘People do strange things to protect their hearts. But when you’re afraid, your heart is closed, and it’s never the right time, but when your heart is open, and you’re willing to be brave enough to take a chance, the time is always right.’ ...more |
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1
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not set
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not set
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Mar 13, 2024
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Kindle Edition
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1558612904
| 9781558612907
| 1558612904
| 3.59
| 3,152
| Aug 09, 2001
| Apr 12, 2022
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really liked it
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‘I wonder: Is this your first time hearing this cry? This cry, which for centuries was never given an ear, or a means to be heard?’ Midway through Kyun ‘I wonder: Is this your first time hearing this cry? This cry, which for centuries was never given an ear, or a means to be heard?’ Midway through Kyung-Sook Shin’s Violets (바이올렛), Oh San looks up the definition of the titular flower and observes the words around it: Violator: Noun, one who breaks rules, invades, insults, rapes Violence: Noun, a disturbance, disruption, destruction Violet: Noun, a plant, a swallow flower … purple, the color, also used to describe … an oversensitive person, a shy person (“shrinking violet”) Violin: Noun, a musical instrument … a player of, a violinist Each of these will in turn appear and inform Shin’s bruising novel of repressed (queer) desires, loneliness, and absense of self-confidence that comes mixed in both sentimentality and violence. Originally released in 2001 in South Korea, it is now gorgeously translated into English by the expert mind of Anton Hur (I will read anything they work on) and is a necessary voice about those who lack a voice and are overlooked in society. ‘Taking care of the plants might be a kind of consolation for her sinking heart, for the feeling that she’s losing out on her dreams.’ ‘There are women all around us who exist in silence, anonymous and without anything special about them; she could be me and she could be you,’ writes Kyung-Sook Shin in her afterword, stating her goal in the novel was ‘to amplify the voices of those women, whom no one could hear unless one were listening very carefully, to let them speak through my words.’ In this way, Oh San becomes a metaphor embodied in the narrative of her summer in Seoul where, after finding professional mobility blocked at every turn, she takes a job at a cozy flower shop and becomes fast friends and roommates with Su-ae, the owner’s niece. Yet the calmness of their friendship and the therapeutic nature of their work begins to erode as San’s struggles with intimacy fester and an unexpected obsession with a photographer who pays her a compliment dredges up buried trauma as Shin’s message of women silenced, abused and not given space becomes more concrete. Violets feels adjacent to many of the ideas expressed in Mieko Kawakami novels (and perhaps also Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982), both authors delivering books of quiet beauty with dark edges on issues of feminism and misogyny, and Shin’s message spirals the reader into a dark hellscape of society where the world seems increasingly threatening. ‘If you love things too much, they die’ The novel opens in the rural South Korea of the 1970’s with the simple opening line ‘A little girl.’ Which is what Shin wants us to keep in mind, even when San is in her 20s throughout most of the novel after the heartbreaking first chapter, that inside she is a little girl, innocent, deserving of love but quickly became ‘an uncelebrated girl,’ unwanted from birth from her father and living a childhood that leads to intimacy issues. Her father is unique in their community, working in a factory and driving a motorcycle instead of farming like the rest of the townspeople as well as divorcing his wife, all representing the shift to modernism and the loss of traditional values that is a central theme to Shin’s later novel Please Look After Mother. Her mother moves from man to man, having little mobility as a woman and even less status as a divorced one, leaving San alone until eventually disappearing forever. Her only friend, Namae, is a girl also lacking a parent and their friendship is a balm against their outcast status amongst their peers. After a sapphic encounter, San is rejected and scorned by Namae. ‘I will love you more than myself,’ she had said, and without Namae to love, rejected and forgotten, what love is there for herself. ‘So I decided to exact my revenge. By ruining my life.’ San and Su-ae have an instant connection, Su-ae with a louder, more forceful personality that allows San to float along beside in her quietness. The two share a similar outlook on life, both having experienced loss at a young age and Su-ae takes her mother’s death hard, saying ‘I did not want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me live a good life. I wanted to ruin what life I had left.’ This shakes San, who begins to see her troubles with intimacy and loneliness mutate into reckless behavior and the closeness with her friend triggers her repressed trauma that returns as ‘a fresh green sadness’ and she begins to slowly push herself away. When the photographer gives her a compliment over drinks, she falls into an obsession, even imagining him possessing her body from the inside like a demon and seeing or hearing him everywhere she goes as she begins to spiral. ‘San’s attraction did not originate this summer,’ Shin writes, ‘but rather, it has lain in wait for millennia before bursting forth all at once.’ She retreats into isolation and finds that she has no ability to respond to the world around her. She has desires but her fear of intimacy make her freeze up, becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy of rejection. Her old coping methods fall apart and ‘this free fall for a man she didn’t even know inflamed old, anxious feelings, which had previously been dulled and mitigated by tending the plants.’ Caring for plants became a sort of therapy in the early stages of the novel, something San is able to control. The plants are helpless and the store becomes a little haven, as does the flower farm (which is very juxtaposed to the city filled with imagery of destruction). ’The flower shop in the early summer is verdant and radiant. The windows, even the outer shutters, are opened to the street. The sidewalk in front of the shop is wet, as if someone has just sprinkled a hose there. Pots of ficus trees, rubber figs, and lady palms populate the sidewalk. When annoyed pedestrians walk by, their frowns melt into contented sighs at the sight of lush green plants, purple balloon flowers, and buckets filled with China pinks and irises.’ It is peaceful and for a time keeps her mental health in check. San is drawn to those who are damaged or outcast or hurt, like Namae and Su-ae, but also frequently cares for animals and plants, such as feeding the caged dog or feeling a kinship with the cat with big scars, as if her comfort towards them is the comfort she was denied when she needed it. Her fascination with the carnivorous plant, however, portents the dark trajectory she is embarking on. ‘She said looking at them made her think she wanted to live. Something about the plants growing in wastelands but being so beautiful.’ Once San begins to spiral, with repeated events of violence such as the suicide of a neighbor or a near-kidnapping/sexual assault by a police officer, the world beings to be perceived as surreal and threatening. It slowly creeps in, especially in the violent city where an excavator sits threateningly over a hole in the earth ‘ready to destroy all and everything’ as a symbol of ‘staunch and immovable violence.’ Eventually the natural world becomes hostile, ‘the rice is ready to lunge at her,’ ‘chrysanthemums scream at her,’ ‘the very trees and grasses harbor animosity,’ and even ‘the plants, that had always felt friendly, now feel…as if they’re piercing her every time she touches them.’ Earlier in the novel we see the flower farm is seen as a retreat from the harshness of the world, but as her mental health declines even a haven no longer seems to be able to reach her. In fact, we see San become more and more like the dual definitions of violets, embodying both the flower and the ‘oversensitive person, a shy person (“shrinking violet”)’ both in her behavior and appearance. ’Her hair has been cut short. Despite rarely wearing makeup, she now sports violet eyeshadow and her cheeks have been rouged. She looks like a different person...she looks so fragile that a mere brush might send her toppling down.’ Violets are a fitting metaphor in this book, particularly as they are sometimes called the Eyes of Io, from the Greek Myth of Io, a woman transformed into a cow by Zeus to hide her from Hera, as explained in the novel as another example of women being at the whims or victims to men’s wills. When San first meets the photographer, he detests the violets he has been sent to photograph. ‘What’s so pretty about these flowers? Such nonsense,’ he says, and the narrator discusses how they are so small and fragile they are often overlooked. Just like women in society, if you haven’t caught the metaphor yet. Throughout we see San as a stand-in for all women, feeling guilty if she refuses someone, feeling any man’s disappointment as if she should be ashamed. It is best exemplified by this exchange in a bar: ‘Well, men just say whatever they want; what stopped you then?” She barely understands what she means herself. One of the men asks, “So you’re saying women can’t?” She replies, “Well, women, the thing about women is …” But her face is completely red and she bows her head.’ She self-silences in fear of having upset a man’s calm or in fear of calling him out, proving her own point in her silence about the double standards in society. ‘The sandcastle she built has crumbled in the face of his careless words.’ The novel heads in a fairly predictable direction, but one like witnessing a crash course take shape where you can’t tear your gaze away as the horror unfolds. A woman’s safety is seen as wholly at the mercy of men’s whims—even one who seems safe—and women’s agency comes across as an illusion once a man decides they want something. It is terrifying and society needs to do better, and we see San’s inability to convey her feelings become the trap that ensnares her in a man’s willful misreading of her intentions for his own purposes. Even a powerful scene of unleashed rage and defiance is dulled off as futility, with Shin making a bold statement on women’s plight in a patriarchal society. ‘At the end of that soft joy, this pain …’ Violets is a bleak but insightful novel sustained by gorgeous writing saturated with tone and underlying dread that keeps the relatively slow pace moving along and engaging. Anton Hur performs translation mastery as usual and this book’s symbolism-heavy themes radiate in fluid and seemingly effortless poetic language. The narration style is interesting and dynamic, too, often overpowering San’s inner world and interjecting directly to the reader as if to push her aside as another example of women being cast off and overlooked. Kyung-Sook Shin has a message for us and Violets delivers. 4/5 ‘I want to hide my pain from the flowers. I don’t want to tell them of life’s suffering. Because if they know my sadness, the flowers will cry too.’ - Buena Vista Social Club ’ ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 20, 2022
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May 20, 2022
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May 20, 2022
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Paperback
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1770463623
| 9781770463622
| 1770463623
| 4.52
| 13,798
| Aug 14, 2017
| Aug 27, 2019
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really liked it
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[image]
I have found graphic novels to be an excellent medium for memoirs and depictions of history, allowing a personal narrative to come alive in [image] I have found graphic novels to be an excellent medium for memoirs and depictions of history, allowing a personal narrative to come alive in moving artwork that creates a powerful and engaging read. Grass from author and illustrator Keum Suk Gendry-Kim (also wrote and illustrated The Waiting) examines the lives of Korean women who were forced into sexual slavery by the Japanese army during their occupation between 1910-1945. They were referred to as “comfort women,” a euphemism that downplays the horrors and misogyny of their forced captivity. Grass was created from interviews the author did with Lee Ok-sun and is in part a response to when Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe denied “comfort women” were coerced, walking back a 1993 statement of admission by the government. Haunting and stark, yet gorgeously depicted through Gendry-Kim’s black and white ink artwork, Grass is an important testimony to the lives of these 200,000 women who had their lives forever altered. The graphic novel is written in a very direct style, much like a documentary. ‘I resolved to try telling her story in a calm and even tone,’ Keum Suk Gendry-Kim writes, ‘no matter my position, I avoided sensationalising the violence, pain, and suffering of the characters.’ Instead, she allows the story to tell itself, and there is enough raw emotion in Lee Ok-sun’s life that will certainly overwhelm the reader. This is, admittedly, a difficult and sad story to read. She was sold by her parents to a family in Busan, under the conditions they would send her to school. They did not and used her for housework instead. Barely surviving and near starvation, she is kidnapped by soldiers and taken to a camp in Japanese-occupied Manchuria. She was 15 when her life as a sexual slave began. The artwork really brings this story to life, with beautiful landscapes while the simple black and white art provokes a heavy, woeful tone. The faces of the young girls are very minimalist compared to the adults, representing how they were dehumanized and objectified. In many scenes, the Japanese soldiers who come for the young girls are drawn without a face, showing their interchangableness and lack of humanity towards the girls. The book, however, does not leave you simply feeling empty and horrified, as the later portion shows how she was able to carry on after and have a fairly normal life, though still carrying the scars of wartime and captivity. It is a moving testament to the human spirit and the will to survive. The author even retraces her steps, adding a very documentary-like feel to the story and providing current context. It is very well done. Grass isn’t a lighthearted read, but it is a necessary one. Keum Suk Gendry-Kim tells an important story and keeps history alive by ensuring we remember the horrors of the past, but most importantly the women who endured it. 4/5 [image] ...more |
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1
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not set
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not set
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Apr 09, 2022
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Paperback
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006309357X
| 9780063093577
| 006309357X
| 4.01
| 16,147
| Dec 07, 2021
| Dec 07, 2021
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really liked it
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‘Everyone dreams, but only some people are dreamers.’ The 20th century was a whirlwind of change in Korea, from being annexed as a Japanese colony in 1 ‘Everyone dreams, but only some people are dreamers.’ The 20th century was a whirlwind of change in Korea, from being annexed as a Japanese colony in 1910, to American occupation post-WWII and the Korean war and division along the 38th parallel in the 1950s. Beasts of a Little Land, the stunning debut from Juhea Kim, is a sweeping epic that takes us from 1917 to 1965 as it follows the lives and loves of many characters such as Jade, a young courtesan, and her childhood friend and potential love, Nam JungHo as their lives harmonize across the timeline and endure the whirlwind of history. Though this is less a romantic love story and more about the concept of inyeon (인연), the ties that bind people throughout their lives, Juhea Kim harnesses these interconnected fates to take us on a moving saga where fighting for freedom and survival seems a continuous struggle in the ever changing political landscapes. Deeply moving and with a rich historical context that propels the narrative and sends lives into action or disarray, this is a gorgeous meditation on fate, freedom and the ties that bind us and make life the bittersweet, emotional journey that it is. ‘Now that I’m older I know that life is not about what keeps you safe, but what you keep safe, and that’s what matters the most.’ I love a sweeping epic, and the criss-crossing lives of exceptional people during exceptional times of revolution and strife and decades of history culminating into important moments of love has a flair to it akin to Les Misérables or even Doctor Zhivago. The novel begins with an important lesson: ‘never kill a tiger unless you have to…. And that’s only when the tiger tries to kill you first.’ This comes as hunter Nam Kyunsoo is stirred into a moment of bravery where he saves the life of the occupying Japanese officers from a tiger who in turn allow him to live. This moment reverberates through the whole novel with these characters returning and their interconnected fates playing out over the course of history. Years later the ‘observant, intelligent, and hardworking’ Jade is sold by her family into the life of a courtesan and becomes fast friends with the ‘spirited, disarming, and confident’ Lotus, a friendship that redirects their lives as it intersects with the hunter’s now orphaned son, Nam Jungho as he arrives in town with nothing but a few personal effects of his late father. While just children, the stirrings of revolution can be felt around them. ‘Life is only bearable because time makes you forget everything. But life is worthwhile because love makes you remember everything.’ The coming-of-age stories, with Jade making headway into the world of courtesans and her education and Jungho organizing a band of orphans into a bit of a low-level organized crime ring, are mixed into a rather textured political drama that sees revolutionaries and local merchants butting heads or begrudgingly working together (jealousy of one another of a woman being a large impetus in one pivotal scene). Juhea Kim details a complex and varied political discourse of the times, with many factions disputing or trying to coalition build with the aim of Korean independence helping them set aside their ideological differences: ‘ It tied together groups from all points of the political spectrum under the one banner of independence: the Anarchists, the Communists, the Nationalists, the Christians, the Buddhists, and the Cheondoists. He was one of the senior leaders of the Communists, but among their ranks there were those who saw the struggle as primarily between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, the rich and the poor, and not between Japan and Korea, as MyungBo had always believed. The Anarchist credo was that any social order was destructive and oppressive. The Nationalists were the conservatives and some of them put more faith in America than in Korea itself. They also opposed the Communists almost as often as they fought the Japanese. Then some of the Christians were Pacifists, although a few of them had gladly assassinated Japanese generals and governors before putting a gun to their own heads. There are scenes of violent uprising, brutal prison sentences that later give way into scenes of war as freedom is paid for in blood over the decades. Characters are courted by various ideological members, threatening to tear apart friendships and lives. ‘Everywhere around them, life was happening without their knowing, and their lives were also happening in the presence of all else. All existences were touching lightly as air and leaving invisible fingerprints.’ There is a great deal of symbolism present in this book that intersperses well with the attention of Korean mythology and folklore. The aforementioned tiger is brought up at various moments, a symbol of strength but also something elusive, symbolizing the idea of a united and free Korea. The cigarette case kept by Jungoho, given to his father by the Japanese officer Yamada, is a foreboding symbol that hints at the destruction of foreign forces and reappears late in the novel to close a fate. The image of a divided country comes alive in the many divided pairs that exist within the novel, such as rich vs poor, divided siblings, warring ideologies of capitalism and communism, and most notably, Japan and Korea. The class divide is particularly investigated, and there is a parallel of Jade being on both ends at different points of relationships thwarted by one party being of a social standing that would defile the reputation of the other. Much of this novel is heartbreaking, with lives pulled apart, yet there is the bittersweet romance of two souls ricocheting across history and continuously returning to each other's orbit. ‘The only thing she felt sure of was the firm grip of JungHo’s hand,’ Juhea Kim writes, ‘not letting go.’ The ground beneath these characters, both socially and politically is endlessly unstable and they feel like pieces on a gameboard where national identity and freedom are the stakes. The historical framework functions well to give context and weight to these characters experiences, but the author herself cautions against reading historical fiction for a history lesson and reminds us the narrative is the purpose. In an excellent article she wrote for LitHub, Juhea Kim questions why authors of color are expected to be a history lesson in a standard that seems less expected of white authorssuch as how she notices reviews seem to expect this book to be a dynamic history lesson of 20th century Korea in a way not asked of, say, Lauren Groff’s (quite wonderful) Matrix to be a working education of 12th century France. She writes ‘authors who write a non-white book must brace themselves for some serious othering,’ adding that ‘Asian female characters in a historical era can pigeonhole a book into a weirdly salacious mould and label it primarily as Asian Historical Fiction rather than Literary Fiction, with profound critical and commercial consequences.’ It should be noted that this is less a book about history and more an testament to humanity in the face of history and the emotional resonance far outpaces the historical lessons. The latter is the stage for which the performance takes place, but don’t overlook the actors for the scenery. ‘Death was such a small price to pay for life.’ This is a gorgeous novel that covers a lot of territory. It can be a bit dense and plodding at times, and it does unfortunately tend to tell more than show through the storytelling. That said, the prose is beautiful and cuts straight to the heart. This is a sweeping epic that lets you feel the weight of history and the passing of decades to paint a moving collage of lives caught up in the timeline of major events. Juhea Kim has delivered an impressive debut, bound in quite delightful cover art, and I look forward to anything she will write. 3.75/5 ‘There are just two things in the world that give you true confidence. One is overcoming difficulties on your own, and the other is being deeply loved. If you experience both, then you will be confident for the rest of your life.’ ...more |
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Jan 10, 2022
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1770464573
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| 4.43
| 4,629
| Sep 21, 2020
| Nov 02, 2021
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really liked it
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When Korea was divided along the 38th Parallel, many families were permanently separated from each other. Families fleeing the war got split up in the
When Korea was divided along the 38th Parallel, many families were permanently separated from each other. Families fleeing the war got split up in the chaos and confusion, with some making it to the South while their loved ones got trapped behind and as generations passed they have been unable to contact each other. The Waiting is a heartbreaking and important story about these family separations beautifully told and illustrated by Keum Suk Gendry-Kim and translated into English by Janet Hong. Based on the story of her own mother’s separation from her sister during the conflict, Keum rotates between past and present to demonstrate the horrors of war and the courage of the human spirit as aging folks desperately try to use the Red Cross’ reunification program to see their family one last time. This tragic story is told with an abundance of heart and empathy, being both a moving portrait of loss and hope as well as an excellent primer into a people’s history of 1940s-50s Korea, all orchestrated with brilliant art and pacing that will keep you teary eyed and unable to put it down. [image] With her first graphic novel, the antiwar book Grass, Keum Suk Gendry-Kim examined the life of a young “comfort woman”—a Korean girl forced into sexual slavery to the Japanese army during WWII—and the author and translator duo return with The Waiting to continue to look at the tragedies of history in post-war Korea. As with Grass, which was a biographical novel constructed on interviews done by Keum, The Waiting is heavily autobiographical through interviews with Keum’s own mother and grandparents. The primary story is different than her own experience (her mother was separated from her older sister instead of her husband and first-born child, though she does seem to appear as the friend of the mother in this book) but based in truth, and in the afterword she says she ‘chose to create this work as fiction, rather than non-fiction, because I didn’t want to unintentionally hurt those who shared their stories so vulnerably with me.’ There is such a sense of care and respect to the telling of this story and it becomes an important way to honor the past while educating the present. [image] The novel sashays between the past, following a young woman’s life story through World War II (she was hidden away to not be taken as a sexual slave and then married off to keep her safe) and then her escape from the North as the war began. In the present she is in the twilight of her life and desperate to be reunited with her husband and son. Having remarried and had more children, the story is told by her daughter, a journalist interviewing her about her past, much like Keum Suk Gendry-Kim herself. In present time, the Red Cross has been arranging meet-ups, with the 21st family reunion beginning in 2018 at the Mount Kumgang resort in North Korea. With reunions capped at 200 participants, only 2,000 South Korean families have been able to meet their loved ones in North Korea and for only a short period of time under the eyes of North Korean personnel. You can read about it in this BBC article from 2018. Keum says these sections of the book are heavily based on interviews she conducted with South Koreans who were able to attend. Unfortunately, hundreds of thousands have been unable to meet. ‘According to the South Korean Red Cross, in the thirty years leading up to 2018, 132,123 people had registered to meet their North Korean families. Of those, 75,234 have died and only 56,890 are still living, with more than 85 percent of whom are over the age of 70.’ [image] The art is ink and entirely black and white, making it really raw and powerful. There are some really gorgeous moments in this, and the style adapts to the tone of each scene very well, being able to represent calm and chaos just as effectively. Janet Hong does a great job with the translation, leaving many words in the speech to be explained underneath with a footnote for more context. I quite enjoy this style and this book would be very well suited for academic purposes like being read in history classrooms. Though it is quite perfect for personal reading and will completely tear at your heartstrings. The feeling of sadness that fell over me in the final pages was overwhelming and this book is amazing. 4.5/5 [image] ‘This book is dedicated to my mother and all the families separated by war who are unable to return home. - Keum Suk Gendry-Kim in afterword. ...more |
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0802158781
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| 0802158781
| 3.65
| 12,255
| Jun 28, 2019
| Nov 16, 2021
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really liked it
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‘Do you think our lives would look like this if our plans always worked out?’ Young adulthood is a tumultuous time juggling part-time jobs and relation ‘Do you think our lives would look like this if our plans always worked out?’ Young adulthood is a tumultuous time juggling part-time jobs and relationships—neither of which tend to last long—along with school, family, and all the traumas from these that the adult mind is finally starting to unpack. Love in the Big City by Sang Young Park is both comedic and desolating as it explores all these ideas from the mind of a young, queer man living in Seoul. Beautifully translated by Anton Hur (they also translated Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung), this book is bubbling over with personality and the charming prose and excellent dialogue will propel these introspective stories right into your heart. Love in the Big City feels deeply personal and autobiographical, with the narrator (called both Mr. Young or Mr. Park at various times) being a semi-successful short story writer who’s stories of sexual escapades and rough living in the Korean queer scene were awarded for their ‘objective self-judgement,’ which very much describes the honest and upfront narration here. Across four parts, each with their own internal thematic arc, Love in the Big City explores the many different kinds of love one feels, as well as their successes and failures as Sang Young Park delivers a moving account of young life and the difficulties of being a queer man in a world still rife with homophobia. ‘But is love truly beautiful?’ the narrator asks themselves midway through the novel. They have experienced the highs and lows of many types of love and sometimes things just don’t feel optimistic. The young student narrator tends towards quick flings, spending each night with a different man as he and his best-friend, Jaehea, live their early twenties in a hazy bliss of alcohol and strangers beds. ‘My devil, my savior, my Jaehee,’ he muses as he chronicles in hilarious detail their tight-knit friendship with this quirky young woman who once steals a medical model from a hospital when denied an abortion, who keeps her Marlboro cigarettes in the freezer, who is the ‘backup drive of my love life’, but when she eventually marries and moves out of his life, Young begins to feel unmoored. He lives with his mother, with whom he has a fraught relationship and must care for as she undergoes cancer treatment for the second time and has a tragic relationship with an older man. Love, at many times in this novel, does not feel beautiful. And yet the heartbreak often seems part of the beauty, particularly later on. The difficulty of love, it seems, is a world that refuses to allow the LGBT community to live life on their own terms. Even his older boyfriend, a former student activist who frequently chastises him for wearing brands that bear the flags of Western imperialist nations (he reprimands Young for having bedsheets with a Union Jack on the tag, and it is interesting how, along with Gyu-ho’s mattress later in the book, there is always some sort of tension about a partners bed functioning as a metaphor for the difficulties of relationships), has internalized homophobia and an search history full of articles denouncing a queer lifestyle. Young himself faced ‘forced hospitalization’ by his mother when she discovered him kissing a man and has never accepted his queerness, something that haunts their relationship forever as he only wishes she would apologize. ’suddenly felt that I was owed an apology. From whom? The idiots who blamed homosexuality for every stupid thing? Or the specific idiot next to me for smothering himself in that bullshit and being unable to accept himself for who he was? Or the other idiot who fell for the first idiot, even when he knew the first idiot was an idiot, who fell for him so hard he dug through his computer to know everything there was to possibly know about him? Maybe I was owed an apology from all of the above. Or maybe from none of them.’ It is a complex identity, and he grapples with what it means to be a queer Korean man while being the ‘by-product of American imperialism and Western capitalism that I was,’ and how anyone can love and live in a world dominated by money and success. Frequently in the novel we find characters that are struggling with denial of their own conditions, such as the older, self-hating boyfriend who views homosexuality as an ‘evil colonial practice of the American Empire,’ or the mother that won’t accept the severity of her cancer diagnosis. Similarly, much of the book revolves around issues of if being publicly “out” is accepted or safe, as are other aspects of young life that are deemed taboo. When living with Jaehee, she tells everyone her roommate is a shy woman. ‘In those days, we learned a little bit about what it was like to live as other people. Jaehee learned that living as a gay was sometimes truly shitty, and I learned that living as a woman wasn’t much better. And our conversations always ended with the same question. When a lover lingers long enough in her life to notice something is amiss and Young is found out, even the fact that he is a gay man isn’t enough to quell the notion that a woman living unmarried with a man is shameful. The boyfriend allows it to continue but frequently plays the martyr stating that ‘other men’ wouldn’t allow it. In contrast to Young and his group of club-going friends, dubbed the T-aras after the South Korean all woman musical group, we see his older boyfriend being unable to allow public affection in fear of being outed. Other stigmas, such as HIV, come up in the novel such as when Young has to submit a blood test for a job and his condition becomes something that is career-prospect stifling as well as socially. While the novel shows a thriving LGBTQ+ community in Seoul, this is with the knowledge that there are no legal protections against discrimination due to gender identity or sexuality in housing in South Korea, and gay marriage has yet to be legalized. ‘An excess of self-awareness was a disease in itself.’ All these social and identity issues play out across the four stories taking Young from his early 20s to early 30s and across multiple relationships. As Sang Young Park mentions in the afterword, ‘”Young,” who narrates the four stories in this book, is simultaneously the same person and different people.’ He explains that the book ‘leans on the past, both on my own personal history and that of many people around me,’ and explains that the author’s voice is not necessarily the same as the author and that we change in different stages of life. This opens up some excellent autofiction territory for the book, and we see the snarky and self-aware Young from many different angles in many different situations. ‘Life had always been eager to fail my expectations, no matter how low I set them.’ A narrative aspect I found to work particularly well is that some events will be briefly mentioned in one story only to be examined at length in a later one. The vacation Young takes with his boyfriend, Gyu-ho, for example, is glossed over in the section about their relationship but the memories of it come flooding back a year later when he is staying in the same hotel on a hook-up with an older business man after their break-up. The authentic remorse where a time and place doesn’t take on a deep emotional resonance until examining it in retrospect was quite impactful and colored the final section of the novel with a somber beauty. ‘That is how my memories of him are preserved under glass,’ he thinks, ‘safe and pristine, forever apart from me.’ The end has a bit of a self-sacrificial feel to it. ‘When you try to have too much, you’re bound to stumble at some point,’ he reflects, and there is remorse for the ways of the world that lead to these stumbles, while also accepting his own hand in having gotten there as well. ‘Bitterness,’ he thinks, ‘my favorite taste in the world.’ It’s a very self-aware and moving novel, and while much of it is quite funny there is also a pervasive melancholia weighing on the tone. ‘I used to feel like I’d been given the whole world when I held him. Like I was holding the whole universe.’ There are some beautiful passages here though, particularly about love. And that is what this book nails so well: that love is both bitter and beautiful and that love comes in many forms. Platonic love, familial love, and self-love as well as romantic love. This novel reads very quickly and the prose and dialogue is very infectious, wonderfully rendered into English by Anton Hur. Love in the Big City is sharp, smart, wickedly funny and it will break your heart and make you glad for it. Is love truly beautiful, he asks and the answer is a bittersweet ‘yes.’ 4.5/5 ‘I tasted something on his lips that I had never tasted before. The fishy, chewy taste of rockfish. Maybe the taste of the universe.’ ...more |
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Mar 29, 2022
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Apr 04, 2022
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Oct 29, 2021
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Hardcover
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1948830388
| 9781948830386
| 1948830388
| 3.66
| 94
| Dec 19, 2018
| Apr 13, 2021
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really liked it
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‘I opened some quote marks And cried only in your sentences.’ There is an unsettling atmosphere to South Korean poet Lee Soho’s award winning collection ‘I opened some quote marks And cried only in your sentences.’ There is an unsettling atmosphere to South Korean poet Lee Soho’s award winning collection, Catcalling, that shakes up the reader and society in order to spill out hard truths. Confronting the violence and abuses of misogyny and patriarchal structures, this is a dark and often disturbing collection of poetry and experimental prose that feels very intimate in its stream-of-consciousness style, often affecting the form of diary entries and letters to emphasize the tightrope walk between confessional and close-guarded secrets of her words. ‘We were most beautiful when we remained sentences,’ Soho writes as this collection shows how families and relationships can look good on paper but have a hidden barrage of gaslighting and abuse that silences women to uphold the facade until ‘ I love you were left and we were not.’ ‘The chunk of us we couldn’t flush rose to the surface’ Catcalling takes a bold look at the many forms of catcalling in society and the dark undertones of them. Spousal abuse, rape, affairs and other misogynistic violence permeate the poems, with the speaker reacting to the assaults on women in real time. The responses come from many angles and forms, such as children’s sing-song like rambles and one short play about an 1887 case where a London industrialist was unjustly acquitted for raping his employee. The five sections cover the speaker from childhood with sister through adulthood into a toxic marriage. This structure shows abuse and trauma as something that can resonate for generations, with an abusive grandfather, an unfaithful father and then the husband. It also demonstrates how women are expected to serve and become more an object in the family than a person with feelings: ‘Like laundry stiffened and sprawled on the floor The voice of the speaker is interesting, sometimes being Lee Soho herself, and sometimes addressed as Kyungin, destabilizing a sense of self that opens the opportunity to speak for oppressed women at large through various singular experiences. ‘Listen, being a poet means going crazy,’ the poet is told at a holiday party at the start of the speakers long rant on her supposed inability to ever be a good poet. Gaslighting and suppression is central to the book, with men always find ways to criticize and abuse women (heads up, lots of slurs and insults at women are written in the book) while justifying their actions and projecting the blame. ‘Dumbass don’t you know there’s barely a difference between the striker and the struck,’ is said to justify a beating at one point, unfairly making the victim feel their abuse was deserved. It is also shown how society uses religion harmfully, justifying the sins of men while demanding impossible standards for women. Soho dives right into the psychology of all this, and while it is uncomfortable it is important to examine. A difficult but nonetheless impactful collection, Lee Soho has an impressive style that is able to shape shift before our very eyes in Soje’s masterful translation. The dark imagery, with frequent recurrence of images on the Virgin Mary and castrations, really resonates through the collection, and the poems frequently have footnotes that help explain allusions or cultural context. Dark, disturbing yet brilliant. 4/5 ...more |
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May 16, 2021
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0062685112
| 9780062685117
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| 4.22
| 13,949
| Jan 28, 2020
| Jan 28, 2020
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it was amazing
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Being uprooted from your home and thrust into a new country and culture is a difficult task, especially on young kids. Almost American Girl is a graph
Being uprooted from your home and thrust into a new country and culture is a difficult task, especially on young kids. Almost American Girl is a graphic memoir of Robin Ha, who left Korea in the mid-90s with her mother to Alabama. New to the United States and not yet able to speak the language, 14 year old Chuna Ha (she adopts the name Robin to help fit in) struggles to adapt and feels herself left on the sidelines due to her inability to communicate and her anxieties. This is a really moving and powerful immigrant story that serves as a look and critique of both American and Korean culture, particularly the patriarchal oppression and cruelties towards single mothers, as well as a story of family struggles. With gorgeous art and a highly emotional recounting of her life, this is a fantastic graphic novel. Robin is a highly empathetic character, and her struggles and anxiety are sure to clutch the readers heartstrings. Watching a confident young girl be thrust into an unfamiliar situation and become timid and unsure of herself is heartbreaking, especially paired with the unkind treatment towards her by several classmates and her own step-family. When she later returns to Korea, she finds that she is both too Korean for most of America, and also too American now for Korea but satisfied in her identity as a Korean American. While racism is pointed out several times, the strongest cultural criticism is the treatment of women in Korean culture. Robin was shunned by classmates and their parents for being the daughter of a single mother, and even when her mother proves herself successful in Korea doubts are cast upon her as untrustworthy due to the same. When visiting Korea later in life, she notices that girls are docile and compliant to the men (a man remarks that she must be American because she is too wild), and that physical beauty is an oppressive construct where many are having surgery such as enlarging their nose just to be able to find a job (it is required to attach a headshot with your resume, apparently). Robin’s relationship with her mother is also very moving. While the two dispute constantly throughout the book, love and respect still permeate their relationship. The mother has had to make tough choices and does not include Robin in these decisions, pushes her to perform even when she doesn’t want to, but it is made clear she does it out of love. These things, however, often harm Robin. We are told that Robin’s third grade teacher verbally and psychologically abused her for reasons Robin could never figure out. Later we see in a series of flashbacks telling how strong willed and tough her mother was that the mother once stood up to a teacher who asked for bribes and criticized her openly for being unwed. While it is a moment to respect the mother for her courage, it quickly sinks in that this was the abusive 3rd grade teacher. This interplay between the events that happened to the mother and Robin’s perspective are handled very well, usually letting the reader draw the connections, and pretty effectively portray how families affect each other indirectly. Last but not least is the art. Robin Ha is a fantastic artist and the watercolors here are simply delightful. As it is a memoir, much of the story follows Robin’s love for art and how important it is in her life. When she leaves Korea, the thing she misses most besides her friends are the comics she followed. Through art she begins to carve an identity and meet her first friend. This book also makes an important point on friendships and how we often blossom best when surrounded by those who support us. Making a core group of friends is the spark Robin needed to live her best life. This is a gorgeous little graphic novel that takes an important look at culture and immigration. Highly recommended. 5/5 ...more |
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Feb 09, 2021
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