Name: Omar Fernandez's review of Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner
Item: Crying in H Mart
Rating: 3
Author: Omar Fernandez

Michelle Zauner

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.

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

Maui Santos

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

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

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. 

Weeks went by before I saw the fridge in person. It was Thanksgiving, the second without my mother. I made sweet potato tempura, which was what my mother always brought to Thanksgiving at Uncle Ron’s house. I remember on the drive over holding the heavy serving plate in my lap, stacked high with fried, battered sweet potatoes covered in cling wrap. On the drive home, the plate would be empty, and my mother would boast about how much my American cousins loved her tempura.

Saved this because I simply do not know what it means!

“I can’t believe you’re actually getting married,” Corey said, gazing at me misty-eyed and in disbelief, as if just the other day we had been twelve, brainstorming names for our tennis balls.

We’d giggle and shush each other as we ate ganjang gejang with our fingers, sucking salty, rich, custardy raw crab from its shell, prodding the meat from its crevices with our tongues, licking our soy sauce–stained fingers. Between chews of a wilted perilla leaf, my mother would say, “This is how I know you’re a true Korean.”

Nami Emo’s room was on the other side of the kitchen, abutting the small balcony that overlooked the street. She had a large, jade-colored vanity, its surface strewn with a hundred different kinds of nail polish. At the beginning of each visit, she would invite me to choose a color and after my careful deliberation, paint my nails on top of newspaper. When she was done, she’d use a special freezing spray from an aerosol can that helped them dry faster. The liquid would foam over my cuticles, then disappear like dry ice sneezed onto my fingertips.

Ausrine Blazyte

Let me feel this, I wanted to scream. Hold me, and let me wall ow in it. I thought to myself that if I ever had children, I'd never tell them to save their tears. That anyone who'd been hardened with those words would grow to hate them just as much as I did. And now discovered my rebellious mother had been scolded with this phrase all along.

 It felt like the world had divided into two different types of people, those who had felt pain and those who had yet to.

 That night, lying beside her, I remembered how when I was a child I would slip my cold feet between my mother's thighs to warm them. How she'd shiver and whisper that she would always suffer to bring me comfort, that that was how you knew someone really loved you.

I remember these things clearly because that was how my mother loved you, not through white lies and constant verbal affirmation, but in subtle observations of what brought you 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 didn't eat seafood, if you hada large appetite. She remembered which banchan side dish you emptied first so the next time you were over itd be set with a heaping double portion, served alongside the various other preferences that made you, you.

Stavros Kosmas

My father and l ranuaiy daminsteIed liquid hydrocodone under her tongue. Minutes felt like hours as we held her, reassuring her over and over that it would pass. At last she settled into a deep sleep. Sandwiching her between us, I filled with insurmountable sadness. The doctor had lied to us. Hed told us she wouldn't feel any pain; hed told us it was his job to make sure of it. He looked into her eyes and made a promise, and he fucking broke it. My mothers last words were pain.

"Gwaenchanh-a, gwaenchanh-a," she said. It's okay, it's okay. Korean words so familiar, the gentle coo Id heard my whole life that assured me whatever ache was at hand would pass. Even as she was dying, my mother offered me solace, her instinct to nurture overwhelming any personal fear she might have felt but kept expertly hidden. She was the only person in the world who could tell me that things would all work out somehow. The eye of the storm, a calm witness to the wreckage spinning out into its end.

This obsession with my mother's caloric intake killed my own appetite. Since ld been in Eugene, I'd lost ten pounds. The little lap of belly my mother always pinched at had disappeared and my hair began to fall out in large chunks in the shower from the stress. In a perverse way I was glad for it. My own weight loss made me feel tied to her. I wanted to embody a physical warning- that if she began to disappear, I would disappear too.

It was not lost on me how different the circumstances were now. Here I was again, this time returned of my own free will, no longer scheming a wild escape into the dark but desperately hoping that a darkness would not come in.

In my opinion, definitely selfish of the author. A marriage is something one does it willingly at their own pace. Having to drive her then boyfriend to the edge with that “I don’t think I will be able to forgive you” is assigning guilt - manipulation at its best! 

Jun Sani

"If this is something you could see yourself doing in five vears and we don't just do it now, I don't think I will be able to forgive you," I said. 

Omar Fernandez

truly one of the best books i have read. could not put it down, cried intensely, loved every second! a must read

camille paradis

This book wasn't really for me, it won't stick with me, but I can appreciate the impact it can have for many other readers. Especially for readers of mixed race or readers who have lost a loved one or whose loved one is sick. It wasn't for me, but good book 👍 

Ari Rose

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.

Chitra Kokkirala

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.

Teresa Bonifácio

This book made me cry a lot. Hearing Michelle talking about her mother made me want to hug mine even more everytime. And the description of the Korean recipes? I wanted to try everything!

This book hit so close to home but while reading along, I felt some sort of relief. I'm glad I read this.

Deeply relatable as someone with a similar cultural background, especially when it comes to the feelings of loss and isolation growing up in the states. How much are you missing? How much did you never learn? And most importantly, what do you do with yourself when the one parent that anchored you to your culture is no longer in the picture? Left me hungry, homesick, and with plenty to think about. 

 soda

I listened to this book, read by the author, which I highly recommend. She has a lovely narrating voice, and because this is a memoir it feels that much more special.

The journey her Korean mom goes through with cancer is horrific. Both traumatizing and beautiful, it brings her mom and dad and her closer, but also further apart.

The deep connection she has with food and shared in her family is really beautifull, and I think a lot of people will be able to relate to that. How food is not only something that nourishes, but also has deep sense and taste memories and some dishes will forever remind her of her mother.

Suzanne

I listened to this book, read by the author, which I highly recommend. She has a lovely narrating voice, and because this is a memoir it feels that much more special.

The journey her Korean mom goes through with cancer is horrific. Both traumatizing and beautiful, it brings her mom and dad and her closer, but also further apart.

The deep connection she has with food and shared in her family is really beautifull, and I think a lot of people will be able to relate to that. How food is not only something that nourishes, but also has deep sense and taste memories and some dishes will forever remind her of her mother.

Nisindi

Isabella 

This is such a tender tribute to a mother. It was so heartbreaking, genuine, raw, and complex. It was so emotional, touching, and well written. It showed every aspect of their relationship, and it was so beautiful. I almost cried while reading it. This is such a great memoir, and it's a quick read. I enjoyed this book so much.

one of the first books i’ve ever read where i felt seen and understood. made me want to hold my asian mother even closer and cherish all that i love about her. 

geri chan 

gabby

Although the author talks about how she remembers her mom and what she went through when she was diagnosed with cancer, I could relate to the tiny things. This book makes me appreciate my mom and to just cook with her or watch a filipino movie.

February prompt: a book that gives you all the feels

I fell head over heels in love with the way Zauner writes. She tackles all of the senses and paints her whole world around you in immense detail. I felt completely immersed in every chapter. I loved the way she wrote about food, which is a huge part of her upbringing and comfort after her mother's death, but it doesn't overpower the other themes of this book, such as her hardships in balancing her identity and chasing after validation, connection and the pieces that make up the puzzle that is her mother, Chongmi. 

Her passion in keeping her mother's memory alive and the culture she shared with her is inspiring. 

I definitely recommend playing Psychopomp while reading the last chapter. 

joana ashley

BTS Book Club 2024 Reading Challenge
February prompt: a book that gives you all the feels

AAAALLLLL the feels indeed. 

I fell head over heels in love with the way Zauner writes. She tackles all of the senses and paints her whole world around you in immense detail. I felt completely immersed in every chapter. I loved the way she wrote about food, which is a huge part of her upbringing and comfort after her mother's death, but it doesn't overpower the other themes of this book, such as her hardships in balancing her identity and chasing after validation, connection and the pieces that make up the puzzle that is her mother, Chongmi. 

Her passion in keeping her mother's memory alive and the culture she shared with her is inspiring. 

I definitely recommend playing Psychopomp while reading the last chapter. 

An only daughter's love for her mother is something so sacred, it's a love that cannot be replaced by anything in this world. Since my biggest fear in life is losing my mom, this memoir felt like my chest was being stabbed by a sharp knife, but for some reason I couldn't stop reading, couldn't stop relating to Michelle as she went through the ups and downs in her relationship with her mother, with her home country, her mother town, the alienation she felt to both of the identities that made her. It was a very special and spiritual read especially with its very own soundtrack prepared for us in Michelle's own voice and words. Hearing her mother's reassuring words through the phone at the end of Psychopomp as I read the same words on the book was a reading experience I will never forget.

Michelle Zauner, you are now so close to my heart. Here's to music and to mothers.

An only daughter's love for her mother is something so sacred, it's a love that cannot be replaced by anything in this world. Since my biggest fear in life is losing my mom, this memoir felt like my chest was being stabbed by a sharp knife, but for some reason I couldn't stop reading, couldn't stop relating to Michelle as she went through the ups and downs in her relationship with her mother, with her home country, her mother town, the alienation she felt to both of the identities that made her. It was a very special and spiritual read especially with its very own soundtrack prepared for us in Michelle's own voice and words. Hearing her mother's reassuring words through the phone at the end of Psychopomp as I read the same words on the book was a reading experience I will never forget.

Michelle Zauner, you are now so close to my heart. Here's to music and to mothers.

D D D 

It was very good. i’ve been consuming a lot of maternal-death-related art lately. knock on wood

glad i finally got around to finishing this book, an absolutely raw and heartbreaking memoir 

maddy loch

Super personal. Engaging. But it didn't hit me as hard as I would have expected.

Frederik De Bosschere

Elena Kuran

Beautiful and achingly resonant descriptions of being a mixed daughter of an immigrant mother, how food is a form of love, and loss. Thank you Michelle

So so so so so painfully beautiful and beautifully painful. I started this as a literal beach read and finished it half a year+ later in a more appropriate space (fetal position on the couch, wiping tears away). I'm going to call my mom now.

skully

Simple, honest, and emotional, Michelle Zauner brings us pieces of her life grandly defined by the relationship she has with her late mother. An easy flowing narrative to read, Michelle managed to strike the fragile chords of grief and portrays the journey of healing in its naked flesh.

How do we move forward from the loss of a loved one? Michelle doesn’t beat around the bush. She show sadness, frustration, desperation, forms of love on the other side of the coin. The healing journey is never pretty, and Michelle doesn’t shy away from this.

When grief strikes, our paths go through a never ending journey of healing knowing that there’s one less hand to hold as we take the steps to the rest of our lives.

Gino Miguel

Simple, honest, and emotional, Michelle Zauner brings us pieces of her life grandly defined by the relationship she has with her late mother. An easy flowing narrative to read, Michelle managed to strike the fragile chords of grief and portrays the journey of healing in its naked flesh.

How do we move forward from the loss of a loved one? Michelle doesn’t beat around the bush. She show sadness, frustration, desperation, forms of love on the other side of the coin. The healing journey is never pretty, and Michelle doesn’t shy away from this.

When grief strikes, our paths go through a never ending journey of healing knowing that there’s one less hand to hold as we take the steps to the rest of our lives.

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.

What if now I am obsessed with Michelle and Japanese breakfast and am so scared to lose my parents ever and this is the best most well written and saddest book ever wow wow wow

jillian tenner

Ryan 

Tatiana

Crying in H Mart: 5/5


  “I remember these things clearly because that was how my mother loved you, not through white lies and constant verbal affirmation, but in subtle observations of what brought you joy, pocketed away to make you feel comforted and cared for without even realizing it.”

I knew Crying in H Mart would be five stars for me from the first paragraph. I started crying in the first chapter, and I didn't stop. How do I rate a book that I feel is part of my soul? So much of Michelle Zauner's writing, I saw in my own life. My mom is from Indonesia, not Korea, but still, my shared experience is undeniable. With the mannerisms Zauner eloquently describes, the slight tendencies, loss of identity, and even the strained relationship blossoming into understanding is something I know all too well. Some people may not fully understand Crying in H Mart, but as someone who shares a special connection with the topic of this book, I cannot express how meaningful Crying in H Mart is to me.

Premise:
Michelle Zauner recounts the heartbreak and loss of her mother due to cancer. This authentic account of complex emotions, the nuance of immigrant mother and daughter dynamics, and healing through food will have you crying on your couch, in your bed, in the bathtub, everywhere.

Somebody told me before I read this book to drink a lot of water. This is because you'll be crying out your eyes and drooling from the mouth. There has never been a more accurate statement.


  “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.”

Writing & Plot:
I honestly don't think I have ever read a book I've connected with as much as this one. It is so beautifully written and holds nothing back. Part of me doesn't want to say anything more because how can I? These are her words and experiences; how could you critique that? 

Characters:
Michelle Zauner does something so special with the people in her life. They take hold of your heart, and it feels as if you know them like they're your own family. Zauner takes the reader on a heartfelt journey, and you think everything she touched. All the grief, love, and understanding. 


  “In fact, she was both my first and second words: Umma, then Mom. I called her in two languages. Even then, I must have known that no one would ever love me as much as she would.”

Conclusion:
This book spoke to my heart. I just gave it to my mother to read and my cousins who share a similar experience. I didn't know how much I needed to see myself represented in a story until I read Crying in H Mart. This is one of my favorite books of all time, and I will never forget it.

never read this book while a mitski song is playing

nicole

the part when she finds out her mom has been breaking in her boots for her... yeah......

I stopped listening about 30-40% through. So far, the book had deeper moments that were great, but there were also long stretches that weren’t that engaging. I like the connection to food, the themes of wrestling with your ethnic heritage in America, etc. However, I think that my experience is too different to the author’s for this to be more relatable and engaging. 

Omar Fernandez &
Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

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