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lottie123's review
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal cruelty, Animal death, Fatphobia, Body shaming, and Gore
Moderate: Sexual content
shrutislibrary's review
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
"I didn’t want to be his eyes on my world. I wanted to be seen. I wanted him to see me with his own eyes. I wanted him to draw me."
There are times when you finish reading a book and you willingly let it engulf you, let it immerse you in its words, its entirety, its cruelty, its beauty and its in-between spaces that are empty and cold. Bathe in its uncomfortable silences and glory in its lack of closures. Because life is absurd and wild and lacks any inherent meaning or has answers to comfort you.
"Winter in Sokcho" is one such work of art that demands you to surrender yourself wilfully and let yourself be submerged in the weight of the crashing waves. Let it drown you and set you free.
Set amidst the dead of winter in an otherwise touristy small seaside town called Sokcho in South Korea, "Winter in Sokcho" begins with a new resident checking in one of its many guesthouses- an impatient French artist Yan Kerrand, as cold and impassive as the very landscape around him. Working at this dilapidated guesthouse is our nameless narrator, receptionist, cook, laundrywoman - all in one - a 24-year-old half-Korean half-French woman - the one struggling to carve out a space for herself in this in-betweenness of her identity.
What drew Kerrand to this remote and insignificant town half the world away from his home in Normandy that too in the middle of winter when there is nothing to do ever and things are just slow, unmoving and freezing? Struggling to finish the last book in his 10 book comic series, Kerrand landed aimlessly at Sokcho. Looking for inspiration for his comic hero to end his journey and letting go is proving to be the hardest challenge for him. What he needs is a fresh pair of eyes, someone to show him the sights of Sokcho, the real Sokcho- not the one glistening and camouflaged to draw the tourists, but the one that is hidden in plain sight, the less-frequented lanes, beaches and mountaintops- where not even our narrator has been.
The novel is all about the gaze: both within and without, both gazing at oneself from someone else's eyes and seeing the world through that someone's eyes and finding (or losing) yourself in this struggle. Throughout the 100 pages, right from the start the narrator and Kerrand constantly pervade each other's spaces- snatching glances, cutting stares- him entering her kitchen and subjecting her to his strong gaze while she cooks and does laundry, her furtively watching him when he is drawing till the long hours at night in his room. At first, she says "He looked straight through me, without seeing me." But in the end, he sees her for who she is and has to lose himself to do so. Sartre said "Hell is other people": to the nameless narrator, Kerrand is her Hell and she his Muse.
There are times when you finish reading a book and you willingly let it engulf you, let it immerse you in its words, its entirety, its cruelty, its beauty and its in-between spaces that are empty and cold. Bathe in its uncomfortable silences and glory in its lack of closures. Because life is absurd and wild and lacks any inherent meaning or has answers to comfort you.
"Winter in Sokcho" is one such work of art that demands you to surrender yourself wilfully and let yourself be submerged in the weight of the crashing waves. Let it drown you and set you free.
Set amidst the dead of winter in an otherwise touristy small seaside town called Sokcho in South Korea, "Winter in Sokcho" begins with a new resident checking in one of its many guesthouses- an impatient French artist Yan Kerrand, as cold and impassive as the very landscape around him. Working at this dilapidated guesthouse is our nameless narrator, receptionist, cook, laundrywoman - all in one - a 24-year-old half-Korean half-French woman - the one struggling to carve out a space for herself in this in-betweenness of her identity.
What drew Kerrand to this remote and insignificant town half the world away from his home in Normandy that too in the middle of winter when there is nothing to do ever and things are just slow, unmoving and freezing? Struggling to finish the last book in his 10 book comic series, Kerrand landed aimlessly at Sokcho. Looking for inspiration for his comic hero to end his journey and letting go is proving to be the hardest challenge for him. What he needs is a fresh pair of eyes, someone to show him the sights of Sokcho, the real Sokcho- not the one glistening and camouflaged to draw the tourists, but the one that is hidden in plain sight, the less-frequented lanes, beaches and mountaintops- where not even our narrator has been.
The novel is all about the gaze: both within and without, both gazing at oneself from someone else's eyes and seeing the world through that someone's eyes and finding (or losing) yourself in this struggle. Throughout the 100 pages, right from the start the narrator and Kerrand constantly pervade each other's spaces- snatching glances, cutting stares- him entering her kitchen and subjecting her to his strong gaze while she cooks and does laundry, her furtively watching him when he is drawing till the long hours at night in his room. At first, she says "He looked straight through me, without seeing me." But in the end, he sees her for who she is and has to lose himself to do so. Sartre said "Hell is other people": to the nameless narrator, Kerrand is her Hell and she his Muse.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal death, Fatphobia, Eating disorder, and Body shaming
williamg's review
dark
emotional
sad
medium-paced
4.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Eating disorder, Vomit, Fatphobia, and Body shaming
Minor: Self harm
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