Crying in H Mart

Such a beautiful story, a love letter to her mother and the Korean culture to which the author desperately longs to stay connected. Michelle Zauner is a thoughtful writer who says more less, never trying to overexplain things or soften the emotional edge. She took the grief of losing her mother and made something beautiful out of it, in her own version of Japanese kintsugi.

My goodness this was devastating. Beautiful and visceral, but devastating. Zauner writes about her relationship to her mother through the experience of cancer, but more so through the experience of food, and how that connected her to her mother and Korean identity.. If the old adage about the stomach being the way to one's heart, this book proves it. It has a slow start but once it picks up, it takes a firm grip on your heart (and stomach) and doesn't let go until long after you're done (so much so that I went on a special trip to H-Mart the very day I finished it!).

Thanks to Knopf and NetGalley for the digital ARC. I wasn't compensated for this review, and all opinions are my own.

Wow, this memoir. I think I was worried that the book would be much more focused on Zauner's musical career (which didn't interest me that much, as I didn't even know who Japanese Breakfast was before I heard about this book). But it ended up being this beautiful, complex, at times painful book about mother-daughter relationships, grief, food, what it means to be part of two cultures at once (but never really enough). At no point was this book over the top or sickly-sweet. But it was also pretty raw. Definitely a memorable book that I will be purchasing for my shelf.

One sentence synopsis... A plainspoken, honest essay that became a layered memoir about loss, grief, Korean culture, and a mother-daughter relationship.

Read it if you like... Japanese Breakfast. Or if Lane was your favourite Gilmore Girls character.

Further reading... for the mother-daughter dynamics, A Mercy (Toni Morrison). For the Korean culture, Kim Ji-young, Born 1982 (Cho Nam-ju).

The author takes us deep into her lived experience going through all that she did; the intimate details and Korean phrases/words/locations help envision exactly how she felt at each moment. To those that understood the technical words and phrases, there's probably even more of an understanding than I could gather. I learned a lot about Korean culture. I felt as if there's not much of a plotline as everything surrounds this singular experience, which can be a pro or a con depending on your preferences.

Found certain parts and statements to be very relevant to my own experiences and relationships, which was completely unexpected. Hugged my mom a little harder after finishing this.

I enjoyed this book, don't get me wrong but I agree with other readers when they say that this was written for the author. There are many important themes like grief, loneliness, complex family relationships, cultural acceptance and so much more. I had the joy of listening to this memoir read by the author themselves and that gave it a more personal touch. Not a bad read and I enjoyed the way it was written, I hope that this book helps others feel not alone in their grief

"Where do you go after you witness death, I wondered."
"It was strange to be on my own in a place we'd always gone to together."
"I was not prepared for this. No one had prepared me for this. Why must I feel it? Why must I have this memory?"

Một cuốn sách rất riêng tư, không ít đoạn cảm giác như Zauner viết không dành cho mình đọc vậy, đến mức khiến mình cảm thấy việc rate sao có chút gì đó sai trái (?).
Tuy nhiên, trải nghiệm có thể cá biệt nhưng cảm xúc lại rất phổ quát, mình relate với rất nhiều những trải lòng của Zauner trong cuốn sách này, và mình cũng tin có nhiều người như mình, về mối quan hệ mẹ-con gái luôn phức tạp mà (mình nghĩ là) mãi duy trì ít nhất 10% sự toxic, vềsự chối bỏ nguồn gốc đồng thời không ngừng khao khát tiếp nhận và được nhìn nhận bởi chính cội nguồn mình thuộc về, về sự hoang mang và nỗi sợ hãi đánh mất danh tính khi những sự tồn tại khẳng định danh tính đó của mình cứ dần biến mất không báo trước, và nhất là về sự mất mát.
Zauner viết về mất mát đột ngột ập đến với chị, chấn thương tâm lý khi đối diện với mất mát, cách chị vùng quẫy trong mất mát và vượt qua thực sự xúc động.

Và cuối cùng là, nghe Japanese Breakfast đi ạ hehe

I hadn't ever really been interested in autobiographies or memoirs, but reading Crying in H Mart as my first was all that I could ask for. I enjoyed this book more than I thought it would, especially Zauner's ability to make me feel her emotions - sad, happy, stressed - all of them. For anyone curious about reading this book or worried about not enjoying it, dive head first!

I've never read a book like Crying in H Mart, that saw me so clearly and wrapped me up so fully.

My mom came to the US from China in her 20s and met my dad, a white East Coaster who now has a new Chinese wife after they divorced. I grew up mixed, in suburban Massachusetts where my race was a source of confusion and the butt of jokes for my 98% white classmates. I rejected my culture, and in many ways my own mother, in many of the same ways Michelle did. Her accounts of living life as a mixed person sliced straight through me and felt like looking in a mirror. I don't speak Chinese at the fluency I wish I did because I rejected it so fully as a teenager. I can't cook most traditional Chinese dishes, and when my grandmother passed I mourned the loss of my ability to ever learn from her how to fold dumplings like she did, “the little rat” dumplings with ridges down the middle that sit up on their own.

Of course the book is devastating, but somehow in many ways it was also deeply and tremendously comforting. Comforting that I could know my mother and my ancestors despite the barriers and pain that came before. Comforting to feel proud of Michelle as she learned Korean dishes from YouTube, which I always privately thought would be cheating if I did it myself. Comforting to see the love of her family, in all it's forms, and the joy and release of ritual and memory.

I loved this book. I've lived my life feeling half and half, and this book made me feel whole.

Possibly the best/worst book I could've read before a trip to Korea. It doesn't help that every time I'm in Korea or leave the motherland, I bawl my eyes out, but I'll get reminded of this book.

What a wonderfully written book that captures so many emotions that I've harbored. Potentially my favorite book of the year.

I often pick up books just because they're popular without knowing what they're about, this book was one such case, had I known what I was getting into I would not have picked it up, at least not right now. That being said, it's well written, it's powerful, it stares at grief, family, identity and culture in an honest, raw and vulnerable way and I'm glad I read it even though I wasn't ready for it.

This was excellent. 4 stars instead of 5 Because I wouldn't recommend it to everyone. This book amazed me so much Because of the way it explored a complex relationship with a mother. I loved it so much and it was so beautiful to watch it unfold. It was such an honest depiction of interpersonal dynamics, and also true to life with the death of a loved one to cancer. If you have had a loved one die of cancer recently, this may be very triggering.

Beyond that, the descriptions of food were to die for. I wanted to eat everything. The audio book was outstanding.

This was a powerful and moving book. I didn't think that I would find Michelle's story so relatable given my non-Korean heritage and my still-kicking parents; I was caught by surprise with every nostalgic jolt I got each time she'd recall wandering through aisles of foreign food, having people search her face for traces of her heritage, or being resentful of the language barrier (and for not paying more attention in language school). I had no trouble placing myself in her shoes and my reward was a depth of experience and a richness of emotion that I don't often get in the types of books I typically read. As I move forward this will be my gold standard for memoirs, the bar that all others will be measured against.

There is so much stuff in just 256 pages to unpack: there's growing up in the US as an immigrant, finding an identity, and questioning your parents, there's the death of her mother and her mournful journey, and there's her love of music and art and its place her life. What resonated the most for me were the questions of identity. As a son of immigrants, I could really relate to a childhood full of foreign sounds and smells, and tastes; I also remember the looks of relatives and new acquaintances as they searched me for clues of heritage and race. The tales of a rebellious youth that by American standards wasn't very rebellious at all reminded me of my own search for agency and meaning, and how difficult it was for my parents to relate. Michelle Zauner does an incredible job explaining the pressure to be Korean that invaded all facets of her life and identity, the struggle of growing up separated from the society and social mores that her parents adhered to (and in turn now expect her to adhere to) for so much of their lives.

More than anything else this book made me want to hug my mom and spend a weekend eating meals that I desperately need to learn to make. Her connection to her mother through food absolutely rang true for me, and I imagine it rings true for everyone. Her connection to her culture through food was another element that I found myself nodding along in agreement to, what's a Korean without Kimchi and Banchan or an Arab without Hummus and a million little salads. I couldn't help thinking that I am just the same, most of my cultural memory is food related and all my highlights from trips to the motherland are wrapped up in memories of delicious things. This book will if nothing else get you to try a few Korean recipes, some of the meals she describes made my mouth water as I imagined along with her.

TL;DR: It will make you sad and it will make you hungry. Hug your mom and eat her cooking as much as you can while you still can. When the day comes that you can't do those things anymore, the best thing for it, is to make that food for yourself.