Michelle Zauner

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.

Crying in H Mart

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

She looked into my face as if searching for something. knew what she was looking for. It was the same way kids at school would look at me before they asked me what I was, but from the opposite angle. She was looking for the hint of Koreanness in my face that she couldn't quite put a finger on. Something that resembled her own. 

How cyclical and bittersweet for a child to retrace the image of their mother. For a subject to turn back to document their archivist.

She was my champion, she was my archive. She had taken the utmost care to preserve the evidence of my existence and growth, capturing me in images, saving all my documents and possessions. She had all knowledge of my being memorized. The time I was born, my unborn cravings, the first book I read.

It was busy when we pulled into the parking lot. Full of families tugging their children along in red wagons while the kids sucked at plastic straws filled with local flavored honey and drank from Dixie cups of cider. The weather was nice and sunny, the chill of fall still at bay. It didn't feel like a day on which someone had died.

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. 

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

My grief comes in waves and is usually triggered by something arbitrary. I can tell you with a straight face what it was like watching my mom's hair fall out in the bathtub, or about the five weeks I spent sleeping in hospitals, but catch me at H Mart when some kid runs up double-fisting plastic sleeves of ppeongtwigi and I'll just lose it. 

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

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.

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 S.

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.

Kerry McHugh West

Michelle's story touched me in so many ways. It was a beautiful read about grief, growing up mixed and trying to belong (while it seems you belong nowhere), creative expression, and the importance of our roots - whether through the words we use or the food we eat. The kind of book I was sure it would make me cry and I was right.

Arissa

This was a difficult read for me because of how painfully relatable it is. I share far too many sentiments with Zauner about cancer and her relationship with her mum, so it really hurt to read this one. I first picked it up in 2013 but had to put it down—it was just too much for me at the time.

That said, I truly admire how Zauner was able to beautifully express such an unfortunate situation—something I’ve personally struggled with a lot. The book resurfaced my own trauma from dealing with my mum’s cancer. It helped me remember her, it made me miss her, and it made me cry like hell from start to finish -  I was a hot mess. 

But honestly, I’m so proud of myself for finally making it through this book in 2025. It’s a beautiful memoir, and I especially loved the Korean food and Maangchi references 🥺🫂

Aurelia Pinker

This was a difficult read for me because of how painfully relatable it is. I share far too many sentiments with Zauner about cancer and her relationship with her mum, so it really hurt to read this one. I first picked it up in 2013 but had to put it down—it was just too much for me at the time.

That said, I truly admire how Zauner was able to beautifully express such an unfortunate situation—something I’ve personally struggled with a lot. The book resurfaced my own trauma from dealing with my mum’s cancer. It helped me remember her, it made me miss her, and it made me cry like hell from start to finish -  I was a hot mess. 

But honestly, I’m so proud of myself for finally making it through this book in 2025. It’s a beautiful memoir, and I especially loved the Korean food and Maangchi references 🥺🫂

down 0.25 stars for something that is completely my own fault! This book is really good, but i HATE, like it makes me physically sick, when books include a lot of descriptions of food and people eating, and i should have predicted that happening in this one! my bad! but it was probably one of the worst reading experiences i've had lately bc of this, and how often it happened. 

Stas

rating this feels inappropriate but I did not enjoy it. Sped through it since it’s my book club read for the month just so I wouldn’t procrastinate and get in the way of other things on my tbr. Easy read. A touching tribute to her mother. 

Liyah 🤎

Robi

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.

This is the first memoir I have actually genuinely really enjoyed! I can’t imagine how touching this would be for someone who shares her culture & would feel the comfort of the food, mother & family she grew up with ♥️

Mariah crawford

From the indie rock sensation known as Japanese Breakfast, an unforgettable memoir about family, food, grief, love, and growing up Korean American—“in losing her mother and cooking to bring her back to life, Zauner became herself” (NPR) • CELEBRATING OVER ONE YEAR ON THE NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLER LIST

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.

What a beautiful but sad book. It just made me appreciate my mom even more and cry the day after reading. Just an emotional roller coaster and I can relate a lot to Michelle in certain aspects of the book. My heart sank at one point that I had to take a break for a while from this book. I definitely recommend this memoir.

Kayla Pham

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 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. PRAISE FOR CRYING IN H MART 'The book's descriptions of jjigae, tteokbokki, and other Korean delicacies stand out as tokens of the deep, all-encompassing love between Zauner and her mother, a love that is charted in vivid descriptions of her mother after death; in a time when people around the world are reckoning with untold loss due to COVID-19, Zauner's frankness around death feels like an unexpected yet deeply necessary gift.' Vogue 'Zauner's writing is powerful in its straight-forwardness, though some turns of phrases are as beautiful as any song lyric... but it is her ability to convey how her mother's simple offering of a rice snack was actually an act of the truest love that leaves the most indelible impression.' Refinery 29 'Poignant . . . A tender, well-rendered, heart-wrenching account of the way food ties us to those who have passed. The author delivers mouthwatering descriptions of dishes like pajeon, jatjuk, and gimbap, and her storytelling is fluid, honest, and intimate . . . Zauner's ability to let us in through taste makes her book stand out- she makes us feel like we are in her mother's kitchen, singing her praises.' Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

kari <33

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

🌞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

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.

Crying in H Mart

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