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A review by annabend
Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-joo
challenging
emotional
informative
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
This book ignited an immediate flash of anger in me — both on behalf of Jiyoung and on behalf of myself. You don't need to be a South Korean woman to instantly recognize the experiences Jiyoung goes through; it's enough to be a woman anywhere in the world.
The book taught me the particular systemic ways South Korean society marginalizes women in all areas of their lives, but it also reminded me of all the small, many ways North American societies cut into women. The author does a good job at showing that tension between wanting to be a strong and modern woman, raise strong and modern daughters, and then having to choose whether to raise hell or sacrifice to help your family. Do you become loud and unlikeable, or do you stay quiet, cloaked under the guise of being a "good girl"? Do you gamble your happiness on being the first woman or the second? As this book shows us, you won't really win with either choice.
Cho Nam-Joo did a phenomenal job at showing how the smallest life decisions compound into something you never intended for yourself as a woman — something you thought you were smart enough, beautiful enough, successful enough to overcome. I commend her for challenging the myth of the good girl by writing a character who internalized so much of everyone else's bullshit that she lost her voice. She needs other people to speak for her — that's why the words of other women, perhaps women stronger than her, keep coming out of her mouth to protect her. That tiny, strange speculative element was one of the best parts of the book! It's the thing that made me connect with Jiyoung from the beginning.
The clinical, sparse writing style was a surprise to me at first, but it worked so well. You would think it would lull you into a sense of dullness, like reading a boring report, but it's actually somehow more cutting. The unadorned facts somehow sting more. I was also intrigued by the scenes with all the other women in Jiyoung's life who comment on the inequality or try to do something about it. Those moments stood out as lively scenes against the simple, cold writing style. It was like a chorus of women trying to speak over all the noise of the statistics, unhelpful in-laws, insensitive and even sympathetic men.
While reading, I was curious about who the narrator was. What kind of person is documenting this story? How are they choosing which details to include? What motivates them to cite certain statistics in the footnotes but not others? When you find out, it's even more devastating.
This book is tragically real. It might as well be nonfiction. It's the most honest thing I've read all year. Even if I am breathing fires of rage after finishing it.
And, of course, the bitter joke of that last chapter is that the people who needed to understand this book the most (likely the ones who were SO upset with it in South Korea and elsewhere) didn't really "get" it after all ...
The book taught me the particular systemic ways South Korean society marginalizes women in all areas of their lives, but it also reminded me of all the small, many ways North American societies cut into women. The author does a good job at showing that tension between wanting to be a strong and modern woman, raise strong and modern daughters, and then having to choose whether to raise hell or sacrifice to help your family. Do you become loud and unlikeable, or do you stay quiet, cloaked under the guise of being a "good girl"? Do you gamble your happiness on being the first woman or the second? As this book shows us, you won't really win with either choice.
Cho Nam-Joo did a phenomenal job at showing how the smallest life decisions compound into something you never intended for yourself as a woman — something you thought you were smart enough, beautiful enough, successful enough to overcome. I commend her for challenging the myth of the good girl by writing a character who internalized so much of everyone else's bullshit that she lost her voice. She needs other people to speak for her — that's why the words of other women, perhaps women stronger than her, keep coming out of her mouth to protect her. That tiny, strange speculative element was one of the best parts of the book! It's the thing that made me connect with Jiyoung from the beginning.
The clinical, sparse writing style was a surprise to me at first, but it worked so well. You would think it would lull you into a sense of dullness, like reading a boring report, but it's actually somehow more cutting. The unadorned facts somehow sting more. I was also intrigued by the scenes with all the other women in Jiyoung's life who comment on the inequality or try to do something about it. Those moments stood out as lively scenes against the simple, cold writing style. It was like a chorus of women trying to speak over all the noise of the statistics, unhelpful in-laws, insensitive and even sympathetic men.
While reading, I was curious about who the narrator was. What kind of person is documenting this story? How are they choosing which details to include? What motivates them to cite certain statistics in the footnotes but not others? When you find out, it's even more devastating.
This book is tragically real. It might as well be nonfiction. It's the most honest thing I've read all year. Even if I am breathing fires of rage after finishing it.
And, of course, the bitter joke of that last chapter is that the people who needed to understand this book the most (likely the ones who were SO upset with it in South Korea and elsewhere) didn't really "get" it after all ...
Content Warnings
Graphic: Misogyny and Sexism
Moderate: Sexual assault
Minor: Miscarriage