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A review by airborne
Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner
4.0
"Save your tears for when your mother dies."
Several days ago, I again volunteered at the town library after work. I spent my afternoon rolling shelves to the counter and scanning the barcodes of hundreds of books into LibraryWorld's inventory module. It's a tedious and largely unrewarding process that most sane individuals wouldn't enjoy, but to me, it opens the door to more and more exposure to literature, which is priceless. That's when I stumbled upon "Crying in H Mart." My mouth tottered ajar when I registered who the author was, and I determined then and there that I had to borrow this book if nothing else (Michelle Zauner is the frontwoman of the prominent indie band "Japanese Breakfast"). I checked out the book in my name and, thankfully, waited until I arrived home to crack it open. I say "thankfully" because, within the first twenty pages, tears lined my cheeks. Perhaps I should have taken the title a little more seriously.
I related to the culinary aspects and especially enjoyed the glimpses into Korean cuisine. This is, without a doubt, the facet of the book that resonated most prominently within me, as my mother has written various homemade cookbooks, some of which she selflessly sent with me to university a couple of years ago. We've often connected from afar with my sometimes unsound attempts at her dishes and spending hours on the phone battling to make them as good as they are at home. "Where would I be without her," I often wonder in passing.
That question is much of what this book tackles. Michelle details the excruciatingly painful loss of her mother and, alongside her, the ostensible loss of a culture. Because of this, it's a challenging and sometimes unpleasant read. The reader is made aware from the beginning that Michelle's mother is dead, and with that, Michelle veers away from death and begins to describe her life before her mother's passing. All the happy, sad, and in-between memories exude looming despair. You understand what will later transpire but desperately don't want to acknowledge it. Oftentimes you forget that Michelle's mother is dying altogether—how could she be? Everything is smooth sailing.
This, to me, highlights the unexpectedness of death and the importance of cherishing the time we share with our loved ones. I'd feel disgusted by Michelle and her angsty, selfish actions, but soon after would recall instances from my past that I, too, wish I could rewrite. I lost count of the innumerable times I lifted my head from the pages, stared blankly at nothing, and contemplated how devastated I'd feel in Michelle's shoes; if my mother suddenly fell terminally ill, and I hopelessly watched her deteriorate. After reading the acknowledgments, I wiped my tears and childishly texted my mother, "What's your favorite adjective?" She replied, "Gracious," which I believe to be apposite. Fantastic and evocative memoir.
Several days ago, I again volunteered at the town library after work. I spent my afternoon rolling shelves to the counter and scanning the barcodes of hundreds of books into LibraryWorld's inventory module. It's a tedious and largely unrewarding process that most sane individuals wouldn't enjoy, but to me, it opens the door to more and more exposure to literature, which is priceless. That's when I stumbled upon "Crying in H Mart." My mouth tottered ajar when I registered who the author was, and I determined then and there that I had to borrow this book if nothing else (Michelle Zauner is the frontwoman of the prominent indie band "Japanese Breakfast"). I checked out the book in my name and, thankfully, waited until I arrived home to crack it open. I say "thankfully" because, within the first twenty pages, tears lined my cheeks. Perhaps I should have taken the title a little more seriously.
I related to the culinary aspects and especially enjoyed the glimpses into Korean cuisine. This is, without a doubt, the facet of the book that resonated most prominently within me, as my mother has written various homemade cookbooks, some of which she selflessly sent with me to university a couple of years ago. We've often connected from afar with my sometimes unsound attempts at her dishes and spending hours on the phone battling to make them as good as they are at home. "Where would I be without her," I often wonder in passing.
That question is much of what this book tackles. Michelle details the excruciatingly painful loss of her mother and, alongside her, the ostensible loss of a culture. Because of this, it's a challenging and sometimes unpleasant read. The reader is made aware from the beginning that Michelle's mother is dead, and with that, Michelle veers away from death and begins to describe her life before her mother's passing. All the happy, sad, and in-between memories exude looming despair. You understand what will later transpire but desperately don't want to acknowledge it. Oftentimes you forget that Michelle's mother is dying altogether—how could she be? Everything is smooth sailing.
This, to me, highlights the unexpectedness of death and the importance of cherishing the time we share with our loved ones. I'd feel disgusted by Michelle and her angsty, selfish actions, but soon after would recall instances from my past that I, too, wish I could rewrite. I lost count of the innumerable times I lifted my head from the pages, stared blankly at nothing, and contemplated how devastated I'd feel in Michelle's shoes; if my mother suddenly fell terminally ill, and I hopelessly watched her deteriorate. After reading the acknowledgments, I wiped my tears and childishly texted my mother, "What's your favorite adjective?" She replied, "Gracious," which I believe to be apposite. Fantastic and evocative memoir.