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booksandbread_ 's review for:
Winter in Sokcho
by Elisa Shua Dusapin
I wouldn’t call this a “great book” in the traditional sense.
It’s not here to dazzle.
It doesn’t build to anything big.
And yet, I felt it.
This book is more mood than plot, more sensation than story.
Atmospheric in a subtle way: the cold air, the stillness, the uneaten food, the rooms that never quite warm.
It lives in the space between: between intimacy and distance, between Korean and French identity, between being seen and staying hidden.
The silences are heavy.
The writing is restrained but textured.
You can feel the cold, the fish, the loneliness, the tension of things that never quite get said.
I didn’t walk away with a strong opinion.
I walked away with a temperature shift.
Something in me was quieter.
More attuned.
Like I’d brushed up against something tender and unsettling, and wasn’t supposed to name it…just feel it.
It’s not here to dazzle.
It doesn’t build to anything big.
And yet, I felt it.
This book is more mood than plot, more sensation than story.
Atmospheric in a subtle way: the cold air, the stillness, the uneaten food, the rooms that never quite warm.
It lives in the space between: between intimacy and distance, between Korean and French identity, between being seen and staying hidden.
The silences are heavy.
The writing is restrained but textured.
You can feel the cold, the fish, the loneliness, the tension of things that never quite get said.
I didn’t walk away with a strong opinion.
I walked away with a temperature shift.
Something in me was quieter.
More attuned.
Like I’d brushed up against something tender and unsettling, and wasn’t supposed to name it…just feel it.