Michelle Zauner

An unflinching, powerful memoir about growing up Korean American, losing her mother, and forging her own identity.

In this exquisite story of family, food, grief, and endurance, Michelle Zauner proves herself far more than a dazzling singer, songwriter, and guitarist. With humor and heart, she tells of growing up one of the few Asian American kids at her school in Eugene, Oregon; of struggling with her mother's particular, high expectations of her; of a painful adolescence; of treasured months spent in her grandmother's tiny apartment in Seoul, where she and her mother would bond, late at night, over heaping plates of food.

As she grew up, moving to the East Coast for college, finding work in the restaurant industry, and performing gigs with her fledgling band--and meeting the man who would become her husband--her Koreanness began to feel ever more distant, even as she found the life she wanted to live. It was her mother's diagnosis of terminal cancer, when Michelle was twenty-five, that forced a reckoning with her identity and brought her to reclaim the gifts of taste, language, and history her mother had given her.

Vivacious and plainspoken, lyrical and honest, Zauner's voice is as radiantly alive on the page as it is onstage. Rich with intimate anecdotes that will resonate widely, and complete with family photos, Crying in H Mart is a book to cherish, share, and reread.

A Memoir

Crying in H Mart

Lindy

Now, more than ever, I wished desperately for a way to transfer pain, wished I could prove to my mother just how much I loved her, that I could just crawl into her hospital cot and press my body close enough to absorb her burden.

That my care played such a principal role in her life was a vocation I naively condemned, rebuffing the intensive, invisible labor as the errand work of a housewife who'd neglected to develop a passion or a practical skill set.

Karmen 

For me, it was the year things were supposed to fall into place. It was the year her life ended and mine fell apart.

lily

For the first time it occurred to me that what she sought in my face might be fading. I no longer had someone whole to stand beside, to make sense of me. I feared whatever contour or color it was that signified that precious half was beginning to wash away, as if without my mother, I no longer had a right to those parts of my face.

There was no one in the world that was ever as critical or could make me feel as hideous as my mother, but there was no one, not even Peter, who ever made me feel as beautiful. Deep down I always believed her.

It seemed only fair that life should present such an opportunity to prove one's filial piety. That the months my mother had been a vessel for me, her organs shifting and cramping together to make room for my existence, and the agony shed endured upon my exit could be repaid by carrying this pain in her place. The rite of an only daughter. But I could do no more than lie nearby, ready to be her advocate, listening 1o the slow and steady beeping of machinery, the soft sounds of her breathing in and out.

When I slipped them on I discovered they’d already been broken in. My mother had worn them around the house for a week, smoothing the hard edges in two pairs of socks for an hour every day, molding the flat sole with the bottom of her feet, wearing in the stiffness, breaking the tough leather to spare me all discomfort.

What she meant  was that, no matter how much you thought you loved someone, or thought they loved you, you never gave all of yourself. Save 10 percent, always, so there was something to fall back on.

Aina

Some of the earliest memories I can recall are of my mother instructing me to always "save ten percent of yourself.” What she meant was that, no matter how much you thought you loved someone, or thought they loved you, you never gave all of yourself. Save 10 percent, always, so there was something to fall back on.

I remember these things clearly because that was how my mother loved you, not through white lies and constant verbal afirmation, but in subtle observations of what brought you joy, pocketed away to make you feel comforted and cared for without even realizing it. She remembered if you liked your stews with extra broth, if you were sensitive to spice, if you hated tomatoes, if you didnt eat seafood, if you had a large appetite. She remembered which banchan side dish you emptied first so the next time you were over it’d be set with a heaping double portion, served alongside the various other preferences that made you, you.

From the indie rockstar Japanese Breakfast and author of the viral 2018 New Yorker piece, a deeply moving memoir on identity and belonging, grief and joy.

Sometimes my grief feels as though I've been left alone in a room with no doors. Every time I remember that my mother is dead, it feels like I'm colliding with a wall that won't give. There's no escape, just a hard surface that I keep ramming into over and over, a reminder of the immutable reality that I will never see her again.

My grief comes in waves and is usually triggered by something arbitrary.

Food was how my mother expressed her love. No matter how critical or cruel she could seen—constantly pushing me to meet her intractable expectations—I could always feel her affection radiating from the lunches she packed and the meals she prepared for me just the way I liked them.

Maui Santos

I had an abortion after you because you were such a terrible child!

deniz

There was no one in the world that was ever as critical or could make me feel as hideous as my mother, but there was no one, who ever made me feel as beautiful.

⭐️

That cooking my mother’s food had come to represent an absolute role reversal, a role I was meant to fill. That food was an unspoken language between us, that it had come to symbolize our return to each other, our bonding, our common ground.

tuna

Erika

“Love was an action, an instinct, a response roused by unplanned moments and small gestures, an inconvenience in someone else’s favor.”

Klara Hansen 

I envied and feared my mother's ability to keep matters private, as every secret I tried to hold close ate away at me. She possessed a rare talent for keeping secrets, even from us. She did not need anyone. She could surprise you with how little she needed you. All those years she instructed me to save 10 percent of myself like she did, I never knew it meant she had also been keeping a part ot herself from me too.

Abigail F

Sometimes my grief feels as though I've been left alone in a room with no doors. 

Dora Tominic

If she liked something, she stuck to it, ate it every day, seemingly never tiring of it, until one day she'd just move on inexplicably.

"From the indie rock star of Japanese Breakfast fame, and author of the viral 2018 New Yorker essay that shares the title of this book, an unflinching, powerful memoir about growing up Korean-American, losing her mother, and forging her own identity. In this exquisite story of family, food, grief, and endurance, Michelle Zauner proves herself far more than a dazzling singer, songwriter, and guitarist. With humour and heart, she tells of growing up the only Asian-American kid at her school in Eugene, Oregon; of struggling with her mother's particular, high expectations of her; of a painful adolescence (; of treasured months spent in her grandmother's tiny apartment in Seoul, where she and her mother would bond, late at night, over heaping plates of food. As she grew up, moving to the east coast for college, finding work in the restaurant industry, performing gigs with her fledgling band--and meeting the man who would become her husband--her Koreanness began to feel ever more distant, even as she found the life she wanted to live. It was her mother's diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer, when Michelle was twenty-five, that forced a reckoning with her identity and brought her to reclaim the gifts of taste, language, and history her mother had given her. Vivacious and plainspoken, lyrical and honest, Michelle Zauner's voice is as radiantly alive on the page as it is onstage. Rich with intimate anecdotes that will resonate widely, and complete with family photos, Crying in H Mart is a book to cherish, share, and reread".

Sarah Christine Gill

I had thought fermentation was controlled death. Left alone, a head of cabbage molds and decomposes. It becomes rotten, inedible. But when brined and stored, the course of its decay is altered. Sugars are broken down to produce lactic acid, which protects it from spoiling. Carbon dioxide is released and the brine acidifies. It ages. Its color and texture transmute. Its flavor becomes tarter, more pungent. It exists in time and transforms. So it is not quite controlled death, because it enjoys a new life altogether. 

The author recounts and reflects on her relationship with her mother, and subsequently reconciles with her identity and grief. 

THE NO 2 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER From the indie rockstar Japanese Breakfast, an unflinching, powerful, deeply moving memoir about growing up mixed-race, Korean food, losing her Korean mother, and forging her own identity. In this exquisite story of family, food, grief, and endurance, Michelle Zauner proves herself far more than a dazzling singer, songwriter, and guitarist. With humour and heart, she tells of growing up the only Asian-American kid at her school in Eugene, Oregon; of struggling with her mother’s particular, high expectations of her; of a painful adolescence; of treasured months spent in her grandmother’s tiny apartment in Seoul, where she and her mother would bond, late at night, over heaping plates of food. As she grew up, moving to the east coast for college, finding work in the restaurant industry, performing gigs with her fledgling band – and meeting the man who would become her husband – her Koreanness began to feel ever more distant, even as she found the life she wanted to live. It was her mother’s diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer, when Michelle was twenty-five, that forced a reckoning with her identity and brought her to reclaim the gifts of taste, language, and history her mother had given her. Vivacious and plainspoken, lyrical and honest, Michelle Zauner’s voice is as radiantly alive on the page as it is onstage. Rich with intimate anecdotes that will resonate widely, Crying in H Mart is a book to cherish, share, and reread.

🌞Laur🌞

I have a hardbound copy of this book, bought a year before I started 

 to it, which I experimented on in terms of annotating: using highlighters instead of just underlining sentences and enclosing paragraphs in brackets; practicing spelling the Korean words and phrases in Hangul on the margins (and failing big time) and because I am me, the change in the way I interacted with the book kind of put me off which resulted in shelving it for months (it’s not you, it’s me).

Then I found out that the audiobook came free with a premium subscription on this music app and I thought I’d give it a try (even when I’m not really a fan of audiobooks).

Maybe it’s because it was narrated by Michelle Zauner herself that it resonated deeply with me even when the loss I’ve personally experienced is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT from hers. It also gave me this newfound appreciation of audiobooks.

It is a daughter’s bargain, to immortalize the memory of her mother through melodies (Psychopomp by Japanese Breakfast) and sing about it repeatedly in front of crowds who could never know the pain it came from.

It is a woman’s desperation, to reiterate that grief through a written account and print it on pages for everyone, who may not understand the incessant yearning tucked in between the lines, to read.

It is a human’s nature, to bravely tell the same story out loud—carving more spaces for this Love to occupy because that’s how it goes: when you lose someone, something important, nothing is ever enough to fill in and replace the now-emptiness they used to be in.

So, you keep remembering—whatever form it may take.

Grief is many, many things persevering. But in Crying in H Mart, it is Love, specifically.

 I initially rated this book but after reaching a certain point in my current read, Stay True by Hua Hsu (also a memoir revolving around the loss of a loved one and what grief is), it felt wrong to 

 someone’s recount of a painful memory even if it’s purely based on technicalities. I’m making a rule for myself now: nonfiction books will not be rated in a quantifiable manner.

frances

I have a hardbound copy of this book, bought a year before I started listening to it, which I experimented on in terms of annotating: using highlighters instead of just underlining sentences and enclosing paragraphs in brackets; practicing spelling the Korean words and phrases in Hangul on the margins (and failing big time) and because I am me, the change in the way I interacted with the book kind of put me off which resulted in shelving it for months (it’s not you, it’s me).

Then I found out that the audiobook came free with a premium subscription on this music app and I thought I’d give it a try (even when I’m not really a fan of audiobooks).

Maybe it’s because it was narrated by Michelle Zauner herself that it resonated deeply with me even when the loss I’ve personally experienced is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT from hers. It also gave me this newfound appreciation of audiobooks.

It is a daughter’s bargain, to immortalize the memory of her mother through melodies (Psychopomp by Japanese Breakfast) and sing about it repeatedly in front of crowds who could never know the pain it came from.

It is a woman’s desperation, to reiterate that grief through a written account and print it on pages for everyone, who may not understand the incessant yearning tucked in between the lines, to read.

It is a human’s nature, to bravely tell the same story out loud—carving more spaces for this Love to occupy because that’s how it goes: when you lose someone, something important, nothing is ever enough to fill in and replace the now-emptiness they used to be in.

So, you keep remembering—whatever form it may take.

Grief is many, many things persevering. But in Crying in H Mart, it is Love, specifically.

ADDENDUM: I initially rated this book but after reaching a certain point in my current read, Stay True by Hua Hsu (also a memoir revolving around the loss of a loved one and what grief is), it felt wrong to ‘rate’ someone’s recount of a painful memory even if it’s purely based on technicalities. I’m making a rule for myself now: nonfiction books will not be rated in a quantifiable manner.

"i hope this grief stays with me because it's all the unexpressed love that i didn't get to tell her. and i told her every day."

Gianna Kristen

"i hope this grief stays with me because it's all the unexpressed love that i didn't get to tell her. and i told her every day."




This is honestly the first book that made me cry so much, having to pause a bit before continuing. It’s written beautifully from talking to small things her mom did to show affection, to how she dealt with things during and after her death. 

Yanna Alghamdi

I appreciated how Zauner talked about her experiences on grief and love, but I had mixed feelings with her description of the abusive relationship with her mother. She somehow brushed it off as her mother’s way of showing love, which didn't sit right with me.

Elizabeth 

i read the e-book version a long time ago but didn't finish it, and i continued to read it again after bought the physical book. idk but this book is so dear to me, since i lost my dad years ago. i could relate to many parts, especially how to deal with grief.

"Food was how my mother expressed her love." i think i can see that from how Michelle described about foods in this book. it might be my best read in 2024!

i read the e-book version a long time ago but didn't finish it, and i continued to read it again after bought the physical book. idk but this book is so dear to me, since i lost my dad years ago. i could relate to many parts, especially how to deal with grief.

"Food was how my mother expressed her love." i think i can see that from how Michelle described about foods in this book. it might be my best read in 2024!

Kirsten Kim

a reminder of the importance of (mixed) heritage & and must read for asian americans !!

From the indie rockstar of Japanese Breakfast fame, and author of the viral 2018 New Yorker essay that shares the title of this book, an unflinching, powerful memoir about growing up Korean American, losing her mother, and forging her own identity. In this exquisite story of family, food, grief, and endurance, Michelle Zauner proves herself far more than a dazzling singer, songwriter, and guitarist. With humor and heart, she tells of growing up one of the few Asian American kids at her school in Eugene, Oregon; of struggling with her mother's particular, high expectations of her; of a painful adolescence; of treasured months spent in her grandmother's tiny apartment in Seoul, where she and her mother would bond, late at night, over heaping plates of food. As she grew up, moving to the East Coast for college, finding work in the restaurant industry, and performing gigs with her fledgling band--and meeting the man who would become her husband--her Koreanness began to feel ever more distant, even as she found the life she wanted to live. It was her mother's diagnosis of terminal cancer, when Michelle was twenty-five, that forced a reckoning with her identity and brought her to reclaim the gifts of taste, language, and history her mother had given her. Vivacious and plainspoken, lyrical and honest, Zauner's voice is as radiantly alive on the page as it is onstage. Rich with intimate anecdotes that will resonate widely, and complete with family photos, Crying in H Mart is a book to cherish, share, and reread.

Eva Ströberg

At first I'm skeptical to read a memoir from a random artist/singer who lives in NYC (who doesn't, really?)

but this book turns out to be quite good. Although we know from the start that she wrote the memoir to remember her mother's passing, there were so many food elements mentioned here that I warn you not to read when hungry (I kid you not). So many beautiful description of Korean dishes (that I have grown to appreciate, thanks to my Korean American friend) thrown here and there in the book.

I can pull a little bit of red-thread from the memoir with my own experience, although I'm not Korean American nor living in the US, my mother is also a Asian tiger mom who would raise her kids with such fierceness that other (white) parents would not be able to relate. However, unlike Zauner who became close to her mother despite their endless fights during her teenage, it didn't happen to us. Still, it's nice to read that it could happen, that daughters forgive their mothers, and mothers forgive their daughters for whatever reasons they fought back then.

Alessandra Tatoy

Michelle Zauner does an excellent job of describing her relationship with her American and Korean identities as well as the grief of losing a parent. She especially hits the mark of most immigrant children building their relationship with their parents' countries in sharing the food that they love. As someone who also grew up in the H Mart food court, she did an excellent job of speaking for second-generation immigrants and their relationships with their parents.

This articulation of grief was really beautiful and reassuring. 

Ashley Denktas

Kiran Aftab

4.5/5: well that hurt. if you like korean food and pain this is the book for you. the author of this book is mad talented

Ryan Mateyk

Michelle Zauner gives us so much: albums, long tours, her every emotion eloquently shared in this memoir. Absolutely beautiful! Gomawoyo nuna!

Sohini Roy

beautifully captures both the teenage daughter vs mother anguish as well as the first generation american identity confusion

Loved the honest telling of her mother daughter relationship and the drama of supporting her mother and father at the end  of her mothers life. It really strikes your heart so many times. A beautiful story.

Elizabeth Weiland

Some parts of Michelle’s mother reminds me of my own and our relationship growing up. Since I’ve graduated and moved to NYC, it has felt like a new chapter for me and mom. I’ve matured, understanding a lot of the wisdom she imparted growing up. I had to learn from my own experience, then go back to her and say, “Ah, yes mom–you were right about that.” I’m sure she finds a lot of satisfaction in those admissions. This relatability makes it even more heart-wrenching to read about her loss. It was a new chapter for Michelle and her mom too, and to see that cut short is really upsetting.

Jevin Sidhu

Some parts of Michelle’s mother reminds me of my own and our relationship growing up. Since I’ve graduated and moved to NYC, it has felt like a new chapter for me and mom. I’ve matured, understanding a lot of the wisdom she imparted growing up. I had to learn from my own experience, then go back to her and say, “Ah, yes mom–you were right about that.” I’m sure she finds a lot of satisfaction in those admissions. This relatability makes it even more heart-wrenching to read about her loss. It was a new chapter for Michelle and her mom too, and to see that cut short is really upsetting.

Other notes:

- The descriptions of food (ingredients, dining experiences, and cooking) were all so fun to read. I need to learn how to prepare dishes like my mom does.

- Each chapter has clearly defined subsections, making the book easy to read in small pieces. It felt like a series of essays.

- This reads authentically because Michelle is candid with her inner thoughts; selfish parts of guilt others might be unwilling to share. 

- I adore how reading this adds texture to Psychopomp.

4/5

Daphne

zauner’s tenderness & honesty about an immigrant mother’s love was breathtaking :”) so so beautiful 

(“I thought of the foresight a mother must have to preserve this kind of thing,”) 

tanya 

zauner’s tenderness & honesty about an immigrant mother’s love was breathtaking :”) so so beautiful 

(“I thought of the foresight a mother must have to preserve this kind of thing,”) 

lala

I don’t usually lean towards reading memoirs. But Crying in H Mart has been on my radar for some time, so I read it. In this heart-wrenching memoir, Zauner talked through the journey of her heritage, dealing with her mom’s cancer and eventually, her mom’s passing. This memoir is a series of essays that falls into the mentioned topic, and each essay delves into different aspect of Zauner’s life. As per the title, the first chapter/essay is entitled the same, Zauner talked about how her mother expressed her love through food, and H Mart, an Asian supermarket reminds her of her late mother’s cooking and her memories. It is heart warming, the flow of Zauner’s writing is very easy to read, but keeping you hooked on her life’s journey as well. I cried when Zauner decided to get married so her mom could see her getting married. Reading about how Zauner rediscovered her connection with her mother by trying to cook traditional Korean dishes is very touching. This was an extremely good read, I’m glad I decided to buy this book.

I give H Mart 5 Stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Elisavet Rozaki 

I picked up this book expecting to read just another memoir, but as the chapters went on, I fell in love with the author's writing style. Her descriptive narration made me travel to her mother's kitchen in Oregon, the street markets of Vietnam, her aunt's crowded Seoul apartment. 

This memoir is raw and heartbreaking in the best possible way. 

(I highly recommend listening to Michelle's AKA Japanese Breakfast's music while reading)

Greer Andersson

✰✰✰✰✰
Wow, this was absolutely incredible.
I’m really glad that I switched from the physical copy to the audiobook because it really took it to a higher level hearing Michelle herself narrate it.

She has such an amazing way of story-telling that makes it feel like you are right in her shoes and going through the same experiences.

I won’t spoil anything but I’ll tell you what, I was sobbing driving on the highway home listening to this.

brooklyn leota

I think there’s something special about listening to authors read their own autobiography. 

Although I come from a different background the importance of food in culture and the language barrier feels all so familiar. Crying in H Mart feels like a diary that Michelle has opened up to everyone. It was personal, emotional even the ‘ugly’ parts. I hate thinking about a world without my mother and her missing out on all the amazing things I’ve done. It is heartbreaking yet heartwarming to see what Michelle has done since her mother’s passing.

made me want a better relationship with my mother but don’t we all

Crying in H Mart A Memoir

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