Philip Roth opens his memoir Patrimony: A True Story with a long and detailed description of his father's health that sets the stage for what is about to come: "My father had lost most of the sight in his right eye by the time he'd reached eighty-six, but otherwise he seemed in phenomenal health for a man of his age when he came down with what the Florida doctor diagnosed, incorrectly, as Bell's palsy, a viral infection that causes paralysis, usually temporary, to one side of the face." Michelle Zauner does the same, but in a much more concise way: "Ever since my mom died, I cry in H Mart." They are different, but they are the same: they are sparked by pain and suffering, they pay their respects to the ones who have gone and are missed, and they intensely connect with their roots, Jewish and Korean, respectively. And through them, Philip Roth and Michelle Zauner strive to heal their pain, using writing as therapy, no matter how different their success in that endeavor may have been. Michelle Zauner's writing may not be as ornamented as Philip Roth's, but her book is a treat all the same. Crying in H Mart is like listening to a candid confession from a close friend late at night, when everybody else has already left and you stay with her, a glass of wine and many stories. It is intimate, sincere, funny and sad, bittersweet, generously emotional. At the same time, it is also a gastronomic trip: Michelle meticulously uses traditional Korean food to connect and reconnect with her mother and her mother's relatives in Korea, and some descriptions of dishes, ingredients and dish preparations are as detailed as in a recipe book with mouth-watering pictures. There is even an almost literal transcription of one of Maangchi's tutorial videos, specifically the one where she prepares soothing jatjuk. By doing that, I think Michelle also tried to find roots in Asian references: take the Studio Ghibli movies with their beautiful scenes of food preparation, the importance of food in Haruki Murakami's novels or Bong Joon-Ho's movies. From my part, I am now a Maangchi fan. The text is extremely fluid, moving from the main plot involving Michelle's mother to flashbacks of her childhood and adolescence in a very logical and well-connected way. Up to mid-book (when the main plot sort of resolves itself), the text is so thought-of that it even sounds excessively edited--it is like a perfectly engineered, scientifically-paced Hollywood story: there is the punchline at the end of each chapter making reference to an idea cited before and causing a shiver to run up your spine, there's the perfect pacing from funny and comfy moments to describing delicious Korean food and then back to dramatic scenes, there is suspense and plot twists, all smooth and seamless. The last half of the book loses some of its stamina (except for a poignant scene at her parents-in-law's house in Bucks County, all Cinema Paradiso-like), but it is still charming, lyrical and beautiful. Philip Roth concludes his memoir concisely and in a rather bitter tone, with a short and dry sentence: "You must not forget anything." Michele grants us with a fluid, energetic and dreamlike last scene in a karaoke (noraebang), whose atmosphere made me think of Bill Murray and Scarlett Johanson in the karaoke scene in Lost in Translation, a strange simultaneous state of happiness and sadness. Indeed, this book is a testimony of Michelle's own "finding herself in translation", a funny feeling of being awkwardly out of context but even so pertaining, which is why this book seems to have resonated so much with many mixed-race children. Michelle trying her best to sing along Pearl Sister's Coffee Hanjan with her aunt Nami is indeed a beautiful image to conclude and summarize her search for her own identity by not denying but strengthening her Korean roots.

I generally do not read non-fiction because my primary purpose for reading is escapism. I want to go places and meet people that are far removed from my reality- where I know there will always be a happy ending. So, when a trusted friend suggested Crying in H Mart, I put it on my TBR without reading the synopsis or any reviews. I needed a non-fiction book to to earn a badge for my Prime Reading Spring Challenge, so I decided that this book would check that particular box. I had absolutely no idea just how much I needed to read this emotionally raw and poignant memoir. I have no knowledge of what growing up half-asian child in America feels like. But, as a black child of emigrant parents, I can identify with the disenfranchisement and the longing to fit in which Michelle Zauner so eloquently describes in this novel. As a daughter of a Mother who was brutally honest and lovingly hypercritical, I understood this writer's point of view. As a child whose mother's love language was cooking and serving food to feed as well as heal the soul, I loved experiencing the gastronomic journey Michelle and Chongmi traveled. As an woman who has lost her mother to the beast that is cancer, I appreciated the way that this author laid her most brutally painful feelings and memories bare for us, more than Ms. Zauner will ever know. I found myself reading this book and crying in the booth at Starbucks, overwhelmed with emotions that were latent and unresolved in the almost four years since my mother's death. I felt seen and understood for the first time in so many ways. Michelle Zauner writes with blatant honesty, humor, and humility. Her prose is so lyrical that I found myself flipping back to the cover in oder to make sure I was indeed reading a memoir. Her words are all necessary and cathartic for those who have ever served as care-givers for a treminally ill person. Any one who has had their family dynamic devastated by an unexpected malignant medical diagnosis will appeciate the care and detail that is used by this writer to describe the complete eviscerated that occurs when a loved one succumbs to the ir battle with a terminal disease. Crying in H Mart is a testimony that life and love do not end with the loss of a loved one. It is a true life reminder that the transformative power of love exceeds the human capacity to demonstrate it in mortal ways. I will recommend this book to others because its relevance transcends time and any other parameters influenced when a loved one physically leaves us to live life without them.