Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

What is it about?

Michelle Zauner aka indie artist Japanese Breakfast delivers a memoir about growing up in Oregon as a half American, half Korean child and teenager, her struggle with finding her own identity, losing her mother to cancer, and the one thing that has always brought them together: Korean food.

OK, but what is it really about?

Michelle Zauner had a complicated relationship with her mother. While she was desperate for her approval as a child, she pushed her away growing older. Her mother rejected her lifestyle, her desire to become a musician and “make it on her own as an artist”, while Zauner herself rejected her Korean-ness, longing to be someone whole. But she also shares happy memories, and more often than not, these memories revolve around food – in particular, Korean food. It’s the tie that holds them together and becomes the author’s only solace after she loses her mother to cancer. 

With a father that is mainly aloof, preparing Korean dishes is not only a way for Zauner to work through her grief, it also allows her to reconnect to a side of herself, her Korean side, the one she had renounced for so many years.

Is it any good?

Yes, yes, shame on me to pick a book as my next read that I already knew would hit dangerously close to home: a mixed-race protagonist feeling torn between two worlds? Check. Losing a parent to cancer? Check. But in a way, these were probably also the reasons for me to choose “Crying in H Mart” in the first place, because when you read about another person’s life, it all depends on whether you can connect emotionally to their story, if you feel invested in their journey. Reading the summary of this memoir, the connection was obvious and instant. Also, I was thinking, it might be helpful to work through the pain and all that.

To be fair, it wasn’t the author’s identity crisis that tore me apart. Quite the contrary, actually, the more stories I read about or written by biracial people (especially, if one of their two halves is Asian), the more I find myself wishing books like this one had been around when I was growing up, because I would have felt more seen, understood and not so out of place – at least, possibly, not all the time. It’s strangely comforting to see that Michelle Zauner spent many summers in Seoul with her Korean family, but never felt like she truly belonged – not only because she looked differently, but also because of the language barrier. The way she questions her justification of actually going there again, of being Korean, after her mother’s death, is heart-wrenching.

The part of the memoir that chronicles her mother’s cancer hit me hard. Honestly, it hit me like a sledgehammer. Having lost my own father (to colon cancer as well) not even two months ago, reading how Michelle Zauner took care of her mother during her last days and weeks ripped open a wound that was actually still fresh, a wound I had tired to patch up with nothing more than a flimsy band-aid. 

Some of the things Zauner went through are so eerily similar to what we (myself, my mother and I) experienced just recently that I found myself wince in horror and pain. This is the main reason it took me much longer than expected to finish this memoir, which is actually quite short at only 256 pages. But my own emotional turmoil is also a testament to Zauner’s abilities as a storyteller, because she hits all the right notes, not only in the memories she shares, but also in the language she uses and the feelings she conveys through her writing. 

Most memorable quote?

“We sit here in silence, eating our lunch. But I know we are all here for the same reason. We’re all searching for a piece of home, or a piece of ourselves. We look for a taste of it in the food we order and the ingredients we buy. Then we separate.”

“I had spent my adolescence trying to blend in with my peers in suburban America, and had come of age feeling my belonging was something to prove. Something that was always in the hands of other people to be given and never my own to take, to decide which side I was on, whom I was allowed to align with. I could never be of both worlds, only half in and half out, waiting to be ejected at will by someone with greater claim than me. Someone full. Someone whole.”

Conclusion? 

“Crying in H Mart” is a love letter to mother-daughter-relationships and an ode to Korean food. It also introduced me to the music of Japanese Breakfast. Listening to Zauner’s songs after reading the book, knowing a little more about how her first album came to life – as a way to heal and get a grip on her grief – was a lovely way to further connect to the author. 

Throughout the book, I often silently cursed myself for picking up “Crying in H Mart” in the first place, for aforementioned reasons. In some moments, however, it did feel cathartic – and even though my own grief is still fresh and raw, I can now see the possibility of moving forward, forging ahead. Baby steps. 

Trigger warning: death, trauma, grief, addiction

AT A GLANCE

Title: Crying in H Mart

By: Michelle Zauner

Published by: Knopf/ Picador (2021)

Pages: 256

Language: English