Editor’s note: The author of this column is an editor with the Iowa State Daily.

“In Seoul, most Koreans assumed I was Caucasian until my mother stood beside me and they could see the half of her fused to me, and I made sense. Suddenly, my “exotic” look was something to be celebrated.” – Michelle Zauner

Michelle Zauner’s memoir, “Crying in H Mart,” is genuinely one of the most devastating and emotionally fulfilling stories I have ever read. This book will have any Asian-American people suffering emotional whiplash from Zauner’s personal–yet communal–experiences. 

The memoir of the indie rock musician known as Japanese Breakfast details her complicated relationship with her parents, her Asian-American cultural identity, the start of her music career and her mother’s battle with cancer. 

Coming from a mixed Asian-American with a complicated relationship with their family and cultural identity, I felt deeply seen by Zauner’s words. So many of Zauner’s chapter-ending lines are what grabbed at my heartstrings, often causing internal reflections of my own identity. 

Zauner structures her memoir semi-chronologically, opening with a descriptive masterpiece of an essay initially written for the New Yorker in 2018. The vivid detail put into the descriptions of the people, products and interactions she sees at her local H-Mart is so emotionally captivating, setting the tone for the story of food and love. This is where the waterworks started. 

H Mart is a large grocery chain in America that specializes in Asian foods and caters to Asian shoppers. Zauner was inspired to write this book when shopping there, gathering ingredients to prepare the meals her mother used to make for her before her death. Meals that Zauner felt were imbued with her mother’s love that was never expressed verbally to her. 

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

Getting to know your family after their death is simultaneously gut-wrenching and wholesome. The idea of a parent’s death is hard enough to think of, but having to re-learn who they were through what is left behind and memory is heavy. As an alternate form of therapy, Zauner tried to connect with her mother by learning to cook the dishes her mother made for her throughout her life. 

The rest of the story goes through Zauner’s childhood and on, describing what led to her mother’s battle with cancer and ultimate death. Zauner described an isolating life as an Asian-American girl who was stuck in the woods of the majority white population of Eugene, Oregon, with no one to spend time with besides her Korean mother. Zauner had an internal struggle that many mixed Asian kids have: not feeling Asian enough. 

“I had spent my adolescence trying to blend in with my peers in suburban America, and had come of age feeling like 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 whole.”

This isolation led to Zauner’s interest in pursuing music, which began in her rebellious teenage years. This unsuccessful pursuit of music would be attempted throughout her teenage and adult life, until coming to a halt with her mother’s cancer diagnosis. 

The middle portion of the memoir is seemingly endless heartbreak. Zauner doesn’t hold back in discussing how painful and exhausting the battle was. Words that come to mind are raw, hope, denial, loneliness and guilt. It describes how frustrating watching a loved one fade away, attempting to avoid or ignore the inevitability of death is.

The final portion explores the after-effects of her mother’s death on the family. How does the relationship with loosely connected family members change when your anchor is gone? Zauner’s first album under Japanese Breakfast, “Psychopomp,” was released a year and a half after her mother’s death. The album detailed her experience and feelings during the cancer battle and found great success, leading to a record label signing, several more album releases and worldwide tours. 

The book cover showing noodles lifted by chopsticks against a vibrant red background is what caught my eye while browsing around Dog-Eared Books. Something about the simplistic design just spoke to me. After finishing the book, I looked up the alternative covers and found that they were just as beautiful. The Taiwanese cover presents a perfect visual summary of the memoir. It depicts a crying girl hugging a bowl of food. 

This book reinvigorated my love for reading, which is ironic coming from a member of a media organization and a journalism student. I am a 22-year-old student who hasn’t finished a book from cover to cover in years, but “Crying in H Mart” reminded me why reading stories matters. I found myself feeling more connected and reflective than ever. 

If you have the chance to listen to the audiobook, I would highly recommend it. Zauner’s reading of her memoir sounds like a friend confessing their life story to you, which aids in the personal connection to understanding their trauma and resilience. 

Whether you connect with this book through exploring the concept of grief, examining your own family relationships, contemplating your cultural identity or just a love for food, it will have you yearning to call your mom. 

Rating: 10/10