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The End of August
In 1930s Japanese-occupied Korea, Lee Woo-cheol was a running prodigy and a contender for the upcoming Tokyo Olympics. But he would have had to run under the Japanese flag.
Nearly a century later, his granddaughter is living in Japan and training to run a marathon herself. She summons Korean shamans to hold an intense, transcendent ritual to connect with Lee Woo-cheol. When his ghost appears, alongside those of his brother Lee Woo-Gun, and their young neighbor, who was forced to become a comfort woman to Japanese soldiers stationed in China during World War II, she must uncover their stories to free their souls. What she discovers is at the heart of this sweeping, majestic novel about a family that endured death, love, betrayal, war, political upheaval, and ghosts, both vengeful and wistful.
Nearly a century later, his granddaughter is living in Japan and training to run a marathon herself. She summons Korean shamans to hold an intense, transcendent ritual to connect with Lee Woo-cheol. When his ghost appears, alongside those of his brother Lee Woo-Gun, and their young neighbor, who was forced to become a comfort woman to Japanese soldiers stationed in China during World War II, she must uncover their stories to free their souls. What she discovers is at the heart of this sweeping, majestic novel about a family that endured death, love, betrayal, war, political upheaval, and ghosts, both vengeful and wistful.
710 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2004
146 people are currently reading
11875 people want to read
About the author
Yū Miri
48 books444 followersAssociated Names:
* Yū Miri (English)
* 柳美里 (Japanese, Chinese)
* 유미리 (Korean)
is a Zainichi Korean playwright, novelist, and essayist. Yu writes in Japanese, her native language, but is a citizen of South Korea.
Yū was born in Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan, to Korean parents. After dropping out of the Kanagawa Kyoritsu Gakuen high school, she joined the Tokyo Kid Brothers (東京キッドブラザース) theater troupe and worked as an actress and assistant director. In 1986, she formed a troupe called Seishun Gogetsutō (青春五月党), and the first of several plays written by her was published in 1991.
In the early 1990s, Yū switched to writing prose. Her novels include Furu Hausu (フルハウス, "Full House", 1996), which won the Noma literary prize for best work by a new author; Kazoku Shinema (家族シネマ, "Family Cinema," 1997), which won the prestigious Akutagawa Prize; Gōrudo Rasshu (ゴールドラッシュ, "Gold Rush" 1998), which was translated into English as Gold Rush (2002); and Hachi-gatsu no Hate (8月の果て, "The End of August," 2004). She has published a dozen books of essays and memoirs, and she was an editor of and contributor to the literary quarterly "en-taxi ". Her best-selling memoir Inochi (命, "Life") was made into a movie, also titled Inochi.
Yū's first novel, a semi-autobiographical work titled Ishi ni Oyogu Sakana (石に泳ぐ魚, "The Fish Swimming in the Stone") published in the September 1994 issue of the literary journal Shinchō, became the focus of a legal and ethical controversy. The model for one of the novel's main characters—and the person referred to indirectly by the title—objected to her depiction in the story. The publication of the novel in book form was blocked by court order, and some libraries restricted access to the magazine version. After a prolonged legal fight and widespread debate over the rights of authors, readers, and publishers versus individuals' rights to privacy, a revised version of the novel was published in 2002.
Yū has experienced racist backlash to her work because of her ethnic background, with some events at bookstores being canceled due to bomb threats. After the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami Yū began to travel to the affected areas often, and from March 16, 2012, she hosted a weekly radio show called "Yū Miri no Futari to Hitori" (柳美里の二人と一人, "Yū Miri's Two People and One Person") on a temporary emergency broadcasting station called Minamisōma Hibari FM, based in Minamisōma, Fukushima.
Her book "Tokyo Ueno Station" reflects her engagement with historical memory and margins by incorporating themes of a migrant laborer from northeastern Japan and his work on Olympic construction sites in Tokyo, as well as the March 11, 2011 disaster.
Since April 2015, Yū has lived in Minamisōma, Fukushima. In 2018, she opened a bookstore called Full House and a theatre space called LaMaMa ODAKA at her home in Odaka District
* Yū Miri (English)
* 柳美里 (Japanese, Chinese)
* 유미리 (Korean)
is a Zainichi Korean playwright, novelist, and essayist. Yu writes in Japanese, her native language, but is a citizen of South Korea.
Yū was born in Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan, to Korean parents. After dropping out of the Kanagawa Kyoritsu Gakuen high school, she joined the Tokyo Kid Brothers (東京キッドブラザース) theater troupe and worked as an actress and assistant director. In 1986, she formed a troupe called Seishun Gogetsutō (青春五月党), and the first of several plays written by her was published in 1991.
In the early 1990s, Yū switched to writing prose. Her novels include Furu Hausu (フルハウス, "Full House", 1996), which won the Noma literary prize for best work by a new author; Kazoku Shinema (家族シネマ, "Family Cinema," 1997), which won the prestigious Akutagawa Prize; Gōrudo Rasshu (ゴールドラッシュ, "Gold Rush" 1998), which was translated into English as Gold Rush (2002); and Hachi-gatsu no Hate (8月の果て, "The End of August," 2004). She has published a dozen books of essays and memoirs, and she was an editor of and contributor to the literary quarterly "en-taxi ". Her best-selling memoir Inochi (命, "Life") was made into a movie, also titled Inochi.
Yū's first novel, a semi-autobiographical work titled Ishi ni Oyogu Sakana (石に泳ぐ魚, "The Fish Swimming in the Stone") published in the September 1994 issue of the literary journal Shinchō, became the focus of a legal and ethical controversy. The model for one of the novel's main characters—and the person referred to indirectly by the title—objected to her depiction in the story. The publication of the novel in book form was blocked by court order, and some libraries restricted access to the magazine version. After a prolonged legal fight and widespread debate over the rights of authors, readers, and publishers versus individuals' rights to privacy, a revised version of the novel was published in 2002.
Yū has experienced racist backlash to her work because of her ethnic background, with some events at bookstores being canceled due to bomb threats. After the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami Yū began to travel to the affected areas often, and from March 16, 2012, she hosted a weekly radio show called "Yū Miri no Futari to Hitori" (柳美里の二人と一人, "Yū Miri's Two People and One Person") on a temporary emergency broadcasting station called Minamisōma Hibari FM, based in Minamisōma, Fukushima.
Her book "Tokyo Ueno Station" reflects her engagement with historical memory and margins by incorporating themes of a migrant laborer from northeastern Japan and his work on Olympic construction sites in Tokyo, as well as the March 11, 2011 disaster.
Since April 2015, Yū has lived in Minamisōma, Fukushima. In 2018, she opened a bookstore called Full House and a theatre space called LaMaMa ODAKA at her home in Odaka District
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 98 reviews
August 7, 2023
Zainichi author Yu Miri once referred to herself as a “traveller wandering in search of a homeland,” criticised in Japan for being too Korean and in Korea for not being Korean enough. In many ways her novel’s an attempt to reclaim her Korean roots through a fictional exploration of her family history. It’s loosely based on the life of her grandfather Yang Im-deuk, a more-than-talented runner who missed his chance for glory, after war led to the cancellation of the 1940 Summer Olympics. Here Im-deuk is reimagined as the now-dead Lee Won-cheol whose spirit is conjured up in a shamanistic ceremony laid on for his grand-daughter Yu Miri – a version of the author. Yu’s piece then moves back into time following Lee Won-cheol from his early teens in 1920s Korea onwards, channelling a host of voices and characters to reconstruct key moments in Korean history. Yu draws on approaches now commonplace in postcolonial fiction, mingling - what was in the original - Japanese with elements of Korean language, disrupting the flow of her narrative in order to highlight the weight of colonialist oppression. Lee Won-cheol’s journey, and that of friends and family members, runs through WW2 to the Korean War and the substitution of Japanese imperialism for American and a Cold War strategy that stirred the brutal anti-communist massacres of the late 1940s and early 1950s, finally moving to Japan and the subsequent birth of Yu Miri.
Yu has been dubbed the “Korean Salman Rushdie” because of her controversial status in Japan, her work at one point resulting in right-wing attacks on her and her writing. The End of August, like many Japanese novels was originally serialised, running for over two years prior to its formal publication in 2004, both in Japan and in Korea. The story attracted further negative attention because of a plotline dealing with the plight of Korean women forced to become “comfort women” during WW2. The historical incidents singled out by Yu are unquestionably significant, and potentially fascinating, but they’re all too often buried here, lost in a morass of extraneous detail and digressive storylines. I struggled to see the relevance of certain plotlines to the novel as a whole, particularly the “comfort women” section. It felt shoehorned in, a deliberate counter-narrative challenging right-wing revisionist histories in Japan at the time, ones that denied the very existence of Korean “comfort women”; as well as attitudes in Korea that framed these women’s experiences largely in terms of national/familial disgrace or male shame at not being able to protect them. Instead, Yu places the emphasis on the women themselves, highlighting their personal trauma. Her points are often clear and convincing, just weirdly out of step with the rest of Lee Woo-cheol’s story.
To say that Yu’s narrative is uneven would be an understatement, the first 400 or so pages unfold at a snail’s pace, during which Yu seems more invested in displaying her knowledge of Korean customs and everyday life than actual storytelling: the level of detail can be excruciating, not to mention repetitive. These issues possibly link to the novel’s initial episodic release, but they also suggest an author who’s much too close to her material, unable to see the wood for the distraction of the trees. A period of a few years takes place over a few hundred pages, then suddenly time speeds up and decades pass in a flash. Yu’s plodding presentation of Korean rituals, clothing, cookery, often felt like outtakes from an introductory primer on Korean culture. Other aspects felt far too truncated: readers unfamiliar with post-WW2 Korea may find themselves scrabbling for a foothold when they get to the later chapters. I found some scenes irritatingly clumsy, flat and overstretched; others, like the death of a key character, ludicrously overwrought. The style - in what’s essentially a rambling, family saga - is unbalanced overall, brief passages of would-be experimental writing struggling to compete with acres of distinctly conventional prose. Translated by Morgan Giles.
Yu has been dubbed the “Korean Salman Rushdie” because of her controversial status in Japan, her work at one point resulting in right-wing attacks on her and her writing. The End of August, like many Japanese novels was originally serialised, running for over two years prior to its formal publication in 2004, both in Japan and in Korea. The story attracted further negative attention because of a plotline dealing with the plight of Korean women forced to become “comfort women” during WW2. The historical incidents singled out by Yu are unquestionably significant, and potentially fascinating, but they’re all too often buried here, lost in a morass of extraneous detail and digressive storylines. I struggled to see the relevance of certain plotlines to the novel as a whole, particularly the “comfort women” section. It felt shoehorned in, a deliberate counter-narrative challenging right-wing revisionist histories in Japan at the time, ones that denied the very existence of Korean “comfort women”; as well as attitudes in Korea that framed these women’s experiences largely in terms of national/familial disgrace or male shame at not being able to protect them. Instead, Yu places the emphasis on the women themselves, highlighting their personal trauma. Her points are often clear and convincing, just weirdly out of step with the rest of Lee Woo-cheol’s story.
To say that Yu’s narrative is uneven would be an understatement, the first 400 or so pages unfold at a snail’s pace, during which Yu seems more invested in displaying her knowledge of Korean customs and everyday life than actual storytelling: the level of detail can be excruciating, not to mention repetitive. These issues possibly link to the novel’s initial episodic release, but they also suggest an author who’s much too close to her material, unable to see the wood for the distraction of the trees. A period of a few years takes place over a few hundred pages, then suddenly time speeds up and decades pass in a flash. Yu’s plodding presentation of Korean rituals, clothing, cookery, often felt like outtakes from an introductory primer on Korean culture. Other aspects felt far too truncated: readers unfamiliar with post-WW2 Korea may find themselves scrabbling for a foothold when they get to the later chapters. I found some scenes irritatingly clumsy, flat and overstretched; others, like the death of a key character, ludicrously overwrought. The style - in what’s essentially a rambling, family saga - is unbalanced overall, brief passages of would-be experimental writing struggling to compete with acres of distinctly conventional prose. Translated by Morgan Giles.
August 14, 2023
Names are like obi sashes. Just as a sash left untied means your kimono will slip off, if not tied down by a proper name, your life will be stolen by the grim reaper. Whether you're Japanese or Korean, a person without a name cannot live.
This is written in a stylised form that will either work or not for individual readers: with repeated onomatopoeia, the textual breathing of runners, and untranslated Korean, it might be challenging but I also found the prose mesmerising, almost hypnotic. At least, I did for the first 300 or so pages. Then it starts to become tiresome, eventually exhausting, and to stand in the way between me and the events being described.
I like, too, the way Miri writes Korean culture through her storytelling with images, fables and mythology; and the way these gradually become subsumed by the images of the tarot cards, originally created in northern Italy but which get adapted and customised to represent Japanese culture, art and history.
In the foreground is an extended family history with the requisite branches to represent Korean lives under Japanese occupation. Here Miri writes with visceral attention to the details of cooking, birth and motherhood: female occupations that take up much textual space across the generations. With a strand following the now ubiquitous 'comfort women' this doesn't surprise in the trajectory of the story.
For me, this was all about the innovative mode of telling but even that can't stand up to the weight of over 700 pages. Flawed, in the end, but fascinating.
October 10, 2024
Shortlisted for the 2024 Republic of Consciousness Prize, UK & Ireland
Shortlisted for the 2024 National Translation Award in Prose
Translated by Morgan Giles, a published by Tilted Axis, The End of August (2023) is from Yu Miri’s 2004 Japanese language original.
Although that she writes in that language is key to this novel, a tale both of the colonial oppression of Korea by Japan, as well as the post WW2 division of the country as well as a loosely fictionalised family history centred non the figure of Lee Woo-Cheol grandfather of the character Yu Miri in the novel and based on her real-life grandfather, the runner Yang Im-deuk.
Much of the background to the novel and the links to Tokyo Ueno Station, a later novel in the original but earlier on Giles’ English translation, are explained in this very helpful article.
Yang was himself a younger contemporary of 손기정 (Sohn Kee-chung) who won Marathon gold at the 1936 Olympics but was forced to compete under the Japanese flag (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sohn_...) and Lee Woo-Cheol might have competed in the 1940 Olympics, except they were intended to be in Tokyo and of course cancelled.
The novel also focuses on three other characters, Woo-Cheol’s younger brother, Woo-Gun also a runner, but a Korean freedom fighter. While fighting for Korea against the Japanese colonialists pre independence, post the divide of Korea he finds himself associated with the Communist side and is shot by the police and, ironically, Woo-Cheol and some of his extended family are forced to flee to Japan to escape oppression from their own people, where Woo-Cheol opens a Pachinko Parlour and eventually his granddaughter, the author, is born.
The third key character, which felt something of a bolted on story to widen the book’s scope, is a 13 year old girl from the same Miryang region (from which the author’s name Miri is taken) of Korea as the brothers and an admirer of them from afar, who finds herself tricked in to becoming a comfort woman, and post the war kills herself rather than return home due to her shame.
This is both a sprawling 700 page story and unusual in its construction. The framing device has the author visiting some Mundangs (Shaman priests) to exorcise the “Han” of those caught up in these sorrowful events and to arrange a post-death wedding of her grandfather’s brother to the young girl who became a comfort woman.
And the novel is full of legends (the Miryang Arirang song plays a key role and the character Arang from that story appears at times as a spirit), Korean colonial history and most distinctively full of Korean words that are Romanized but untranslated. Such as in this extract which also showcases another distinct stylistic feature, characters thinking while running:
The ilbon saram (일본 사람) is presumably reasonably easy to translate from the gloss given, but the non Korean speaking reader will I suspect not know what say “sikkeureopda” means (literally 'noisy', more colloquially 'shut up' or 'be quiet') and almost anyone who does would likely find it easier to read 시끄럽다 rather than the Romanized version.
The chapters also are titled in English (sometimes translated as on the first example but sometimes only Romanized as in the 2nd example shown - here baegiljanchi is the 100-day celebration for a new baby), Korean and Japanese:
I assume an equivalent approach was followed on the original although presumably playing only between two languages not three, and Giles is to be commended for her translation. Although the text is something of a distraction: to the non-Korean speaker I suspect much will be skipped and as noted to those (like me) with some familiarity it would have been easier to read in 한글.
And for my taste 700 pages, much of it told in a sort of gossipy direct speech, was a little too long.
A book I am glad I read but was also glad to finish. Will be interesting to see if the International Booker judges are swayed by this one or find it off putting, but it is certainly different.
3.5 stars overall rounded down to 3 for excessive length.
Shortlisted for the 2024 National Translation Award in Prose
Translated by Morgan Giles, a published by Tilted Axis, The End of August (2023) is from Yu Miri’s 2004 Japanese language original.
Although that she writes in that language is key to this novel, a tale both of the colonial oppression of Korea by Japan, as well as the post WW2 division of the country as well as a loosely fictionalised family history centred non the figure of Lee Woo-Cheol grandfather of the character Yu Miri in the novel and based on her real-life grandfather, the runner Yang Im-deuk.
Much of the background to the novel and the links to Tokyo Ueno Station, a later novel in the original but earlier on Giles’ English translation, are explained in this very helpful article.
Yang was himself a younger contemporary of 손기정 (Sohn Kee-chung) who won Marathon gold at the 1936 Olympics but was forced to compete under the Japanese flag (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sohn_...) and Lee Woo-Cheol might have competed in the 1940 Olympics, except they were intended to be in Tokyo and of course cancelled.
The novel also focuses on three other characters, Woo-Cheol’s younger brother, Woo-Gun also a runner, but a Korean freedom fighter. While fighting for Korea against the Japanese colonialists pre independence, post the divide of Korea he finds himself associated with the Communist side and is shot by the police and, ironically, Woo-Cheol and some of his extended family are forced to flee to Japan to escape oppression from their own people, where Woo-Cheol opens a Pachinko Parlour and eventually his granddaughter, the author, is born.
The third key character, which felt something of a bolted on story to widen the book’s scope, is a 13 year old girl from the same Miryang region (from which the author’s name Miri is taken) of Korea as the brothers and an admirer of them from afar, who finds herself tricked in to becoming a comfort woman, and post the war kills herself rather than return home due to her shame.
This is both a sprawling 700 page story and unusual in its construction. The framing device has the author visiting some Mundangs (Shaman priests) to exorcise the “Han” of those caught up in these sorrowful events and to arrange a post-death wedding of her grandfather’s brother to the young girl who became a comfort woman.
And the novel is full of legends (the Miryang Arirang song plays a key role and the character Arang from that story appears at times as a spirit), Korean colonial history and most distinctively full of Korean words that are Romanized but untranslated. Such as in this extract which also showcases another distinct stylistic feature, characters thinking while running:
The ilbon saram (일본 사람) is presumably reasonably easy to translate from the gloss given, but the non Korean speaking reader will I suspect not know what say “sikkeureopda” means (literally 'noisy', more colloquially 'shut up' or 'be quiet') and almost anyone who does would likely find it easier to read 시끄럽다 rather than the Romanized version.
The chapters also are titled in English (sometimes translated as on the first example but sometimes only Romanized as in the 2nd example shown - here baegiljanchi is the 100-day celebration for a new baby), Korean and Japanese:
I assume an equivalent approach was followed on the original although presumably playing only between two languages not three, and Giles is to be commended for her translation. Although the text is something of a distraction: to the non-Korean speaker I suspect much will be skipped and as noted to those (like me) with some familiarity it would have been easier to read in 한글.
And for my taste 700 pages, much of it told in a sort of gossipy direct speech, was a little too long.
A book I am glad I read but was also glad to finish. Will be interesting to see if the International Booker judges are swayed by this one or find it off putting, but it is certainly different.
3.5 stars overall rounded down to 3 for excessive length.
Read
August 27, 2025this coulda been like 300 pgs shorter and i love big books. there were too many characters to try and keep up with
December 2, 2023
Does in 700 pages what can be done in 120 pages.
Ceaseless repetition, much of which is in Korean. Songs and prayers and onomatopoeia constantly invoked. The rhythm reminded me of Ducks, Newburyport, which I hated. -5 stars for abusing the reader's time and patience. +2 stars for strong descriptions interspersed throughout the book. +2 stars for "going there" for not holding back on rich detail during the scenes of birth, slaughtering a chicken, etc. -3 stars for the glorification of rape. I simply don't understand why someone being raped would suddenly contract Stockholm Syndrome and begin making love to the rapist, and then do it with him again. +1 star for political messages, veiled by a screen of obscure songs and untranslated Korean, for the author's internal plight, filtered through her characters, of being an outsider.
The trend these days for "literary" novels is to include snippets that are guaranteed to baffle your reader. Like if one of my characters suddenty says: "na hana hana huhu daga, mato seiohogat seioyuna." And I don't explain that this is a catchphrase from the Tibetan monk character from Virtua Fighter 4. This is how random the nonsense in this book seems. "Anheleni demoneki kozhili nodem mnoi."
Twas Brilig, if you ask me.
The stream of consciousness veered all over the place. The narrator uses running to process her thoughts but her thoughts are too mundane to remember, comment on, or care about.
The confused chronology leads me to believe this novel was cobbled together without regard to structure or flow. That is the fashion nowadays. Just compile 800 pages of notes and force it into the shape of a novel without regard to why things are happening. The reader is expected to feel something from these pithy phrases and characters being ravished and then acting like everything is okay two pages later, and not addressing whatever you just wrote in the last chapter until four hundred pages later. It's just a huge, obnoxious mess.
Ceaseless repetition, much of which is in Korean. Songs and prayers and onomatopoeia constantly invoked. The rhythm reminded me of Ducks, Newburyport, which I hated. -5 stars for abusing the reader's time and patience. +2 stars for strong descriptions interspersed throughout the book. +2 stars for "going there" for not holding back on rich detail during the scenes of birth, slaughtering a chicken, etc. -3 stars for the glorification of rape. I simply don't understand why someone being raped would suddenly contract Stockholm Syndrome and begin making love to the rapist, and then do it with him again. +1 star for political messages, veiled by a screen of obscure songs and untranslated Korean, for the author's internal plight, filtered through her characters, of being an outsider.
The trend these days for "literary" novels is to include snippets that are guaranteed to baffle your reader. Like if one of my characters suddenty says: "na hana hana huhu daga, mato seiohogat seioyuna." And I don't explain that this is a catchphrase from the Tibetan monk character from Virtua Fighter 4. This is how random the nonsense in this book seems. "Anheleni demoneki kozhili nodem mnoi."
Twas Brilig, if you ask me.
The stream of consciousness veered all over the place. The narrator uses running to process her thoughts but her thoughts are too mundane to remember, comment on, or care about.
The confused chronology leads me to believe this novel was cobbled together without regard to structure or flow. That is the fashion nowadays. Just compile 800 pages of notes and force it into the shape of a novel without regard to why things are happening. The reader is expected to feel something from these pithy phrases and characters being ravished and then acting like everything is okay two pages later, and not addressing whatever you just wrote in the last chapter until four hundred pages later. It's just a huge, obnoxious mess.
did-not-finish
July 3, 2023I read 300 pages of this and my pea brain cannot handle this rn. This novel expects so much from the reader and whilst I LOVE that. Life is too short to force me to read a 700+ page novel :)
October 3, 2024
"Names are like obi sashes. Just as a sash left untied means your kimono will slip off, if not tied down by a proper name, your life will be stolen by the Grim Reaper. Whether you're Japanese or Korean, a person without a name cannot live."
🏃🏻 🕯 🎋
Haunting, lush, and experimental in its weight and scope, "The End of August" gives a dramatic portrayal of colonial control in Korea that readers will find difficult to shake. With an expansive cast of characters, this multigenerational saga draws from Miri’s own family history as Zainichi Koreans in Japan, rich in cultural, historical, and literary references. Miri weaves autobiography and history together, examining not just the Japanese empire's subjugation of Koreans, but also their resistance and tenacity under the shadow of oppression and cruelty. At its core, The End of August is a vast, lyrical tale about a family who have endured death, passion, treachery, war, political turmoil, and vengefully wistful spirits.
Masterfully blending elements of Japanese and Korean language, this saga is expansive, chaotic, difficult to define, and frequently brutal. The narrative examines politics and history through a personal prism, never shying away from the violence and shameful facets of a complicated history. The significance of names, challenges of nationhood, and individuality are only a few of the major topics covered in this sweeping novel.
At times, the book is an exhilarating melodrama, an unadorned political-historical chronicle, or an evocative genre-bending literary fiction. Yu Miri's supreme talent is in expressing the frailty of emotional ties, the complexity of the human condition, and the burning desire to keep moving forward despite generational trauma weighed down by figurative and literal ghosts of the past.
🏃🏻 🕯 🎋
Haunting, lush, and experimental in its weight and scope, "The End of August" gives a dramatic portrayal of colonial control in Korea that readers will find difficult to shake. With an expansive cast of characters, this multigenerational saga draws from Miri’s own family history as Zainichi Koreans in Japan, rich in cultural, historical, and literary references. Miri weaves autobiography and history together, examining not just the Japanese empire's subjugation of Koreans, but also their resistance and tenacity under the shadow of oppression and cruelty. At its core, The End of August is a vast, lyrical tale about a family who have endured death, passion, treachery, war, political turmoil, and vengefully wistful spirits.
Masterfully blending elements of Japanese and Korean language, this saga is expansive, chaotic, difficult to define, and frequently brutal. The narrative examines politics and history through a personal prism, never shying away from the violence and shameful facets of a complicated history. The significance of names, challenges of nationhood, and individuality are only a few of the major topics covered in this sweeping novel.
At times, the book is an exhilarating melodrama, an unadorned political-historical chronicle, or an evocative genre-bending literary fiction. Yu Miri's supreme talent is in expressing the frailty of emotional ties, the complexity of the human condition, and the burning desire to keep moving forward despite generational trauma weighed down by figurative and literal ghosts of the past.
January 14, 2025
To sum up this behemoth 720 pages of historical fictionalized family saga adapted from Yu Miri's personal background and her great grandfather was excruciatingly hard to simplify. Its mind bogglingly complex with many different narrative styles thats hard to get used to. This is my first time reading Yu Miri albeit her more popular book, Tokyo Ueno Station seems to be the one people talked about the most so I came into this with high expectations and ultimately was left with complicated feelings. On one hand, I guess this book is too hard for someone like me, on the other hand, I have always appreciated books that talked about Korean history and culture and this book was the epitome of it. Centralized on Korean history with the background setting from the WW2 up till the present day, we followed Lee Woo Cheol in his life.
What proved to be difficult in terms of reading for me in here is the usage of disjointed narrative styles such as the inner monologue of the characters with the constant insertion of actions such as when Lee Woo Cheol is running his mind is wheeling with the in hale and ex hale used in each sentences as if we are breathing alongside with him. Its clever in a way that you are being with the character but it can get pretty repetitive at some point that i just basically skimmed through this kind of monologue whenever they appear every few chapters. There are traditional folk songs being used a lot in here, to highlight on the cultural aspect as well as the form of resistance to the occupation. Whats interesting the most is the utilization of onomatoepia of sounds and romanized Korean were heavily used in here, with some context being described for us to know what are they, while others may be left as they are which can be baffling for those who may not have the understanding of the Korean language. In my case, i understand most of them bcus im familiar with Korean but this will be proven hard for those who doesnt. Its interesting that the translator left the text as it is and i have to say its quite a bold move but also an approach to translation that may suit the context of the story.
Lee Woo Cheol to me is a horrible womanizer, having affairs with so many women knowing how his mother also suffered from his father's affairs too. The misogyny is so loud in here is sickening yet the exploration of the female in here especially Hee Hyang broke my heart of how strong she was. This book is a journey of tragedy during Japanese occupation, the devastating war, the broken family dynamics, the atrocity of girls being subjected to sexual slavery, the losses, and the unfairness of all, its a story that transcends time and generation, a story that showcased generational trauma and the brutality of the reality set in Korea, Miryang from 1910 until the current time.
Arang, the revengeful spirit that resides in Miryang, the ghostly woman who appeared to the women in distress signify the bad luck and premonition either to warn them of deaths or the horrible fate that will befell them. The Arirang song constantly sung throughout the story evokes the spirit of solidarity, their loyalty to their birth and the inner resistance towards the invasion.
Thank you to Times Reads for the review copy in exchange for an honest review
What proved to be difficult in terms of reading for me in here is the usage of disjointed narrative styles such as the inner monologue of the characters with the constant insertion of actions such as when Lee Woo Cheol is running his mind is wheeling with the in hale and ex hale used in each sentences as if we are breathing alongside with him. Its clever in a way that you are being with the character but it can get pretty repetitive at some point that i just basically skimmed through this kind of monologue whenever they appear every few chapters. There are traditional folk songs being used a lot in here, to highlight on the cultural aspect as well as the form of resistance to the occupation. Whats interesting the most is the utilization of onomatoepia of sounds and romanized Korean were heavily used in here, with some context being described for us to know what are they, while others may be left as they are which can be baffling for those who may not have the understanding of the Korean language. In my case, i understand most of them bcus im familiar with Korean but this will be proven hard for those who doesnt. Its interesting that the translator left the text as it is and i have to say its quite a bold move but also an approach to translation that may suit the context of the story.
Lee Woo Cheol to me is a horrible womanizer, having affairs with so many women knowing how his mother also suffered from his father's affairs too. The misogyny is so loud in here is sickening yet the exploration of the female in here especially Hee Hyang broke my heart of how strong she was. This book is a journey of tragedy during Japanese occupation, the devastating war, the broken family dynamics, the atrocity of girls being subjected to sexual slavery, the losses, and the unfairness of all, its a story that transcends time and generation, a story that showcased generational trauma and the brutality of the reality set in Korea, Miryang from 1910 until the current time.
Arang, the revengeful spirit that resides in Miryang, the ghostly woman who appeared to the women in distress signify the bad luck and premonition either to warn them of deaths or the horrible fate that will befell them. The Arirang song constantly sung throughout the story evokes the spirit of solidarity, their loyalty to their birth and the inner resistance towards the invasion.
Thank you to Times Reads for the review copy in exchange for an honest review
August 1, 2023
Thank you to Riverhead Books for the gifted ARC
In the 1930s, during Japanese occupation, Korean long-distance runner Lee Woo-cheol is a contender for the Tokyo Olympics. But he has to run under the Japanese flag. Under these oppressions, the Lee family has to find a way to survive the unimaginable.
END OF AUGUST covers similar background as PACHINKO (Min Jin Lee), focusing on the lives of one Korean family across generations under Japanese occupation. But compared to PACHINKO, the writing is more experimental, sometimes fragmented, and has a more slice-of-life style. As such, readers might take a while to get accustomed to Yū's storytelling.
The loss of name and nation is a focal point in END OF AUGUST. There are several chapters where the characters are referred to by their Japanese names instead of Korean ones without any notes. I wonder if this is to represent the fracture of an individual's identity. How do you pass on your legacy when one's nationality is stripped, forbidden to use their name, and prohibited from discussing family history?
I deeply resonated with this theme as Taiwan, too, experienced Japanese rule for 50 years and, even to this day, can't use "Taiwan" or its flag in any international organizations/competitions.
Losing your independence, nationality, name, and identity is like losing your anchor. What can you do except run away from that immense loss? Yū brilliantly weaves in themes of loss and grief through the characters' long-distance runs and explores running away from trauma vs. towards freedom.
I also adore the relationships between the Lee brothers and Yū's inclusion of the harrowing experiences of comfort women & girls. WW2 stories sometimes end as the war ends and the people are "liberated." But in the case of END OF AUGUST, Yū also covers the insurmountable challenges after Korean liberation.
For a book clocking at 700+ pages, the first two chapters are quite intimidating, as the readers are introduced to various characters and an almost stream-of-consciousness writing style. I wasn't sure where the story was going even halfway through the book. But I'm glad I stuck to the end, as I became invested in the story of the Lee brothers. There are A LOT of triggers in this book, so definitely check that before reading.
END OF AUGUST is a profound story of generational trauma and healing that moved me to tears but might not be for everyone. I recommend this book to those who have tried slimmer translated Japanese novels and enjoy the writing style and to those interested in learning more about Korean history.
In the 1930s, during Japanese occupation, Korean long-distance runner Lee Woo-cheol is a contender for the Tokyo Olympics. But he has to run under the Japanese flag. Under these oppressions, the Lee family has to find a way to survive the unimaginable.
END OF AUGUST covers similar background as PACHINKO (Min Jin Lee), focusing on the lives of one Korean family across generations under Japanese occupation. But compared to PACHINKO, the writing is more experimental, sometimes fragmented, and has a more slice-of-life style. As such, readers might take a while to get accustomed to Yū's storytelling.
The loss of name and nation is a focal point in END OF AUGUST. There are several chapters where the characters are referred to by their Japanese names instead of Korean ones without any notes. I wonder if this is to represent the fracture of an individual's identity. How do you pass on your legacy when one's nationality is stripped, forbidden to use their name, and prohibited from discussing family history?
I deeply resonated with this theme as Taiwan, too, experienced Japanese rule for 50 years and, even to this day, can't use "Taiwan" or its flag in any international organizations/competitions.
Losing your independence, nationality, name, and identity is like losing your anchor. What can you do except run away from that immense loss? Yū brilliantly weaves in themes of loss and grief through the characters' long-distance runs and explores running away from trauma vs. towards freedom.
I also adore the relationships between the Lee brothers and Yū's inclusion of the harrowing experiences of comfort women & girls. WW2 stories sometimes end as the war ends and the people are "liberated." But in the case of END OF AUGUST, Yū also covers the insurmountable challenges after Korean liberation.
For a book clocking at 700+ pages, the first two chapters are quite intimidating, as the readers are introduced to various characters and an almost stream-of-consciousness writing style. I wasn't sure where the story was going even halfway through the book. But I'm glad I stuck to the end, as I became invested in the story of the Lee brothers. There are A LOT of triggers in this book, so definitely check that before reading.
END OF AUGUST is a profound story of generational trauma and healing that moved me to tears but might not be for everyone. I recommend this book to those who have tried slimmer translated Japanese novels and enjoy the writing style and to those interested in learning more about Korean history.
October 17, 2023
For several long, hot days in Florida, and then cool, fall days in Chicago, I let myself take my time reading The End of August by Yu Miri, translated by Morgan Giles. I had to. It's a book that's not challenging once you settle into its pace and form. Its repetitions of "inhale exhale" and "hana, dul, set" (one, two, three). Once you settle a little bit, too, into its family tree.
The core of the book is protagonist Yu Miri (how autobiographical this book is, I don't know), whose family comes from South Korea but who was raised in Japan, engaging two mudangs who will help her engage with her family's spirits and put them to rest. After she attempts to run a marathon in hopes of connecting to her grandfather, Lee Woo-Cheol, and discovering why he was the way he was, the reader and Yu dive into Woo-Cheol's story, beginning with his own parents and their story, and following the multi-generational tale of his brother, his sons and daughters, his wives. Meanwhile the spirit of Arang watches over the events as they unfold in the city of Miryang in modern-day South Korea.
I agree with some reviews that the pacing could be uneven—the beginning unfolds so slowly and richly, and the second half skips and jumps and darts through time and can get confusing, and in the end, the marathon chapter feels like an aberration—and I agree that Yu could get overly expository (does it need to be 700 pages? I could argue that it needs to be more than 500, which I rarely am willing to argue, but I think it could have been successfully shorter).
Still, it was beautifully written throughout, and I loved what Yu did with her more experimental writing. The End of August is vivid, beautiful, and epic. I simply couldn't put this novel down. I loved the running, the spirits, that grounded this historical fiction that covers a Japan-occupied Korea straining at the seams, war-time Korea, Korea divided. Still, it was beautifully written throughout, and I loved what Yu did with her more experimental writing. Even when I was confused, I just chugged along or referenced my family tree, and it was worth all my patience. This epic left me with a satisfying heartache.
Content warnings for death (of a child), suicidal ideation/suicide, sexual assault, sex trafficking, racism and ethnic violence, Sinophobia, torture, ableism.
The core of the book is protagonist Yu Miri (how autobiographical this book is, I don't know), whose family comes from South Korea but who was raised in Japan, engaging two mudangs who will help her engage with her family's spirits and put them to rest. After she attempts to run a marathon in hopes of connecting to her grandfather, Lee Woo-Cheol, and discovering why he was the way he was, the reader and Yu dive into Woo-Cheol's story, beginning with his own parents and their story, and following the multi-generational tale of his brother, his sons and daughters, his wives. Meanwhile the spirit of Arang watches over the events as they unfold in the city of Miryang in modern-day South Korea.
I agree with some reviews that the pacing could be uneven—the beginning unfolds so slowly and richly, and the second half skips and jumps and darts through time and can get confusing, and in the end, the marathon chapter feels like an aberration—and I agree that Yu could get overly expository (does it need to be 700 pages? I could argue that it needs to be more than 500, which I rarely am willing to argue, but I think it could have been successfully shorter).
Still, it was beautifully written throughout, and I loved what Yu did with her more experimental writing. The End of August is vivid, beautiful, and epic. I simply couldn't put this novel down. I loved the running, the spirits, that grounded this historical fiction that covers a Japan-occupied Korea straining at the seams, war-time Korea, Korea divided. Still, it was beautifully written throughout, and I loved what Yu did with her more experimental writing. Even when I was confused, I just chugged along or referenced my family tree, and it was worth all my patience. This epic left me with a satisfying heartache.
Content warnings for death (of a child), suicidal ideation/suicide, sexual assault, sex trafficking, racism and ethnic violence, Sinophobia, torture, ableism.
January 17, 2024
A mournful, magnificent ode to the nation of Han.
November 22, 2023
A thorough multigenerational plot that brought me to follow Yu Miri who is training to run a marathon trying to hold a superstitious ritual and connecting with the spirit of her grandfather, Lee Woo Cheol; a running prodigy who lived during the Japanese occupation in 1930s. The ritual has took an unexpected turn when the spirits of her grand-uncle and a young neighbour who was forced to become a comfort woman to Japanese soldiers appeared alongside. Soon, Yu Miri was brought to traverse the past and must unravel the tragic heart-rending stories of these spirits before she could set their souls to rest in peace.
The idea was massive and felt quite hectic with its alternating POVs. From Yong Ha to both Woo Cheol and Woo Gun as well the perspectives of Hee Yang and In Hye (love the motherhood part in their chapters), the intricacies were so engaging that I was so immersed delving into their familial drama and conflicts— not favouring much on Yong Ha and Woo Cheol’s infidelities part but I fancy how the author managed to narrate a realistic perspective and impact from the aftermath. Love the historical setting that appealingly explored the slice-of-life and cultural reflection during those era of Japanese occupation and both pre and post WWII; of love, betrayal, loss, death and tragedy— a glimpse on the democratic movement in Woo Gun’s narrative that stuck me with another gripping view of hardship and survival.
A sad chapter for Yeong Hee/Namiko that observed on the brutalities of sex slavery during the colonial rule— too heartwrenching with that ending after she met Woo Cheol. A rush wrapped-up on the post WWII but intriguing much of how it brought me back to Yu Miri’s narrative; a surreal ritual in progress that tied Woo Gun to his bridal fate and later with her intense adventure in running a marathon.
Such an expressive plot overall (I guess I really get used to those inhale-exhale in its running scenes along the way) and I love how the plotline entwined its scenes with days in August even until the last chapter. Will go with 4 stars to this!
Thank you Times Reads for the gifted review copy!
The idea was massive and felt quite hectic with its alternating POVs. From Yong Ha to both Woo Cheol and Woo Gun as well the perspectives of Hee Yang and In Hye (love the motherhood part in their chapters), the intricacies were so engaging that I was so immersed delving into their familial drama and conflicts— not favouring much on Yong Ha and Woo Cheol’s infidelities part but I fancy how the author managed to narrate a realistic perspective and impact from the aftermath. Love the historical setting that appealingly explored the slice-of-life and cultural reflection during those era of Japanese occupation and both pre and post WWII; of love, betrayal, loss, death and tragedy— a glimpse on the democratic movement in Woo Gun’s narrative that stuck me with another gripping view of hardship and survival.
A sad chapter for Yeong Hee/Namiko that observed on the brutalities of sex slavery during the colonial rule— too heartwrenching with that ending after she met Woo Cheol. A rush wrapped-up on the post WWII but intriguing much of how it brought me back to Yu Miri’s narrative; a surreal ritual in progress that tied Woo Gun to his bridal fate and later with her intense adventure in running a marathon.
Such an expressive plot overall (I guess I really get used to those inhale-exhale in its running scenes along the way) and I love how the plotline entwined its scenes with days in August even until the last chapter. Will go with 4 stars to this!
Thank you Times Reads for the gifted review copy!
September 27, 2023
For readers of Ducks, Newburyport, probably.
April 9, 2024
There's a great multi-generational family drama in here, but it's somewhat held back by the writing. The details of life in Korea during the Japanese occupation were fascinating and heart-wrenching. However, the story would have truly flourished without all the onomatopoeia and confusing POV switches.
The story is centred around what I believe is a fictionalised history of Yu Miri's grandfather. The character is named Lee Woo-cheol - he has a talent for running and was born under the Japanese occupation of Korea. The book is mostly set in Miryang, following Woo-cheol, many different members of his family, and other associated characters. The last quarter rushes through to when Yu Miri herself was born.
The choices in style frustrated me. Large sections of the chapters are written as streams on consciousness with lots of repeated onomatopoeia. So it's broken thoughts with "inhale, exhale" or such repeated throughout. I found this difficult to follow, and it doesn't get easier.
The romanised Korean bothered me too. To be clear, I'm happy to see untranslated Korean, but not when a non-speaker can't translate it for themselves. If it remained in hangul at least we could have run it through a translator app or something. It meant that I couldn't understand a decent portion of the text, unless I re-typed it all out in hangul first, but who has the time. This may not bother everyone but it bothered me. I learned a few words from context, but I don't get why they put the effort into romanising it.
In the first half of the book, I felt the dark treatment of women was glossed over by the narrative. It seemed romantic rather than disturbing. The book leans too hard into sympathising with a misogynistic character who had children with three different women, especially after we see his mother's anguish during his father's infidelity. I'm not sure how much is fictional though, considering the character is based on Yu's grandfather. It's an odd read because of this, but if the author had anything further than this to say about her grandfather, I didn't get it from the text.
The scope expands after Woo-cheol leaves Korea. Then we follow his brother Woo-gun and a young girl who is tricked into becoming a comfort woman. This part of the book is beyond harrowing. A massive warning to anyone thinking of reading this book - it contains very graphic details of the experiences of a comfort woman, so be warned. This book is deeply disturbing at times.
The chapters following this girl are broken up by smaller ones of ajummas gossiping back in Miryang. This is what I mean about random POV switches. The flow is so uneven, it felt like an odd choice when the main topic is something so serious.
In the second half, I started to lose the narrative. It's less family history and more Korean history, but not written in way that makes sense following what's already happened. Long passages about Korean anti- colonial heroes are inserted into the narrative, also breaking up the flow. It seemed like the author was adding things that are part of a different non-fiction book about Korea during the occupation. I get her overall point, but a story about Woo-cheol and his family would have been enough to portray this time period. This book could have been like 300 pages shorter and still been great.
The last 30% has so many different POVs of people related to Kim Won-bong (a real historical figure) and/or Lee Woo-cheol, and they just dive right into it without explanation of who they are. It's very confusing. Plus this last part of the book, after Japan exits Korea, is rushed. Through all these random POVs, we zip through the rest of Woo-cheol's family line to reach Yu Miri's birth. But it's a blur and mostly in that stream of consciousness style, so I didn't take in much here. I do like that it ended with another ritual though. That was the one stylistic choice I enjoyed - the literal script of Yu participating in the shaman ritual.
The emotions here are incredibly intense, and I get the general picture, but many of the details included in this story escaped my understanding. Much of the style didn't agree with me, which led to skimming. It was a frustrating experience because I can see there's a great historical story here, but it was so muddled by the writing. 2.5 stars.
The story is centred around what I believe is a fictionalised history of Yu Miri's grandfather. The character is named Lee Woo-cheol - he has a talent for running and was born under the Japanese occupation of Korea. The book is mostly set in Miryang, following Woo-cheol, many different members of his family, and other associated characters. The last quarter rushes through to when Yu Miri herself was born.
The choices in style frustrated me. Large sections of the chapters are written as streams on consciousness with lots of repeated onomatopoeia. So it's broken thoughts with "inhale, exhale" or such repeated throughout. I found this difficult to follow, and it doesn't get easier.
The romanised Korean bothered me too. To be clear, I'm happy to see untranslated Korean, but not when a non-speaker can't translate it for themselves. If it remained in hangul at least we could have run it through a translator app or something. It meant that I couldn't understand a decent portion of the text, unless I re-typed it all out in hangul first, but who has the time. This may not bother everyone but it bothered me. I learned a few words from context, but I don't get why they put the effort into romanising it.
In the first half of the book, I felt the dark treatment of women was glossed over by the narrative. It seemed romantic rather than disturbing. The book leans too hard into sympathising with a misogynistic character who had children with three different women, especially after we see his mother's anguish during his father's infidelity. I'm not sure how much is fictional though, considering the character is based on Yu's grandfather. It's an odd read because of this, but if the author had anything further than this to say about her grandfather, I didn't get it from the text.
The scope expands after Woo-cheol leaves Korea. Then we follow his brother Woo-gun and a young girl who is tricked into becoming a comfort woman. This part of the book is beyond harrowing. A massive warning to anyone thinking of reading this book - it contains very graphic details of the experiences of a comfort woman, so be warned. This book is deeply disturbing at times.
The chapters following this girl are broken up by smaller ones of ajummas gossiping back in Miryang. This is what I mean about random POV switches. The flow is so uneven, it felt like an odd choice when the main topic is something so serious.
In the second half, I started to lose the narrative. It's less family history and more Korean history, but not written in way that makes sense following what's already happened. Long passages about Korean anti- colonial heroes are inserted into the narrative, also breaking up the flow. It seemed like the author was adding things that are part of a different non-fiction book about Korea during the occupation. I get her overall point, but a story about Woo-cheol and his family would have been enough to portray this time period. This book could have been like 300 pages shorter and still been great.
The last 30% has so many different POVs of people related to Kim Won-bong (a real historical figure) and/or Lee Woo-cheol, and they just dive right into it without explanation of who they are. It's very confusing. Plus this last part of the book, after Japan exits Korea, is rushed. Through all these random POVs, we zip through the rest of Woo-cheol's family line to reach Yu Miri's birth. But it's a blur and mostly in that stream of consciousness style, so I didn't take in much here. I do like that it ended with another ritual though. That was the one stylistic choice I enjoyed - the literal script of Yu participating in the shaman ritual.
The emotions here are incredibly intense, and I get the general picture, but many of the details included in this story escaped my understanding. Much of the style didn't agree with me, which led to skimming. It was a frustrating experience because I can see there's a great historical story here, but it was so muddled by the writing. 2.5 stars.
August 20, 2023
Considering this is semi-autobiographical revolving around Yu Miri's extended family, my personal rating is more to do with my own enjoyment and does not reflect my views on the characters (non-fictional or otherwise) depicted within the narrative. This is a family saga a la Pachinko that chronicles the life of Lee Woo-Cheol, a Korean man who would have had a chance to win the Tokyo Olympics' running event as a Japan representative (as Korea was occupied by Japan at the time) had it not been for WWII.
Questions of nationhood, the importance of names, and personhood are just some of the main themes discussed within this tome, which were interesting in themselves. However, the narrative got bogged down by the man's familial drama which was brought about due to his own behavior, which I wasn't a fan of. I don't necessarily have to like a 'character' depicted in the story, it's enough that I can empathize with them, but the only one I was really rooting for was Woo-Cheol's brother (Lee Woo-Gun) who sadly didn't have a bigger role in this one, so I wasn't completely invested in any of them.
I'm not sure how much of the instances, circumstances, and characters in this story were truly rooted in reality; one should assume that Yu Miri has taken some liberties with the narrative. In any case, I wasn't completely in love with the various narrative styles she has chosen to adopt in this book. While I recognize that in terms of technicality, "The End of August" has a lot of merits going for it, I would personally recommend Tokyo Ueno Station over this one.
Questions of nationhood, the importance of names, and personhood are just some of the main themes discussed within this tome, which were interesting in themselves. However, the narrative got bogged down by the man's familial drama which was brought about due to his own behavior, which I wasn't a fan of. I don't necessarily have to like a 'character' depicted in the story, it's enough that I can empathize with them, but the only one I was really rooting for was Woo-Cheol's brother (Lee Woo-Gun) who sadly didn't have a bigger role in this one, so I wasn't completely invested in any of them.
I'm not sure how much of the instances, circumstances, and characters in this story were truly rooted in reality; one should assume that Yu Miri has taken some liberties with the narrative. In any case, I wasn't completely in love with the various narrative styles she has chosen to adopt in this book. While I recognize that in terms of technicality, "The End of August" has a lot of merits going for it, I would personally recommend Tokyo Ueno Station over this one.
September 16, 2023
Interesting premise but an incredibly frustrating read. Confusing, repetitive, poorly structured, tone/pace fluctuates wildly. Feel for the characters but it could’ve been so much more impactful if it was a shorter, more cohesive story. So sorry Yu Miri girl but glad it’s over….😭
March 23, 2024
"Names are like obi sashes. Just as a sash left untied means your kimono will slip off, if not tied down by a proper name, your life will be stolen by the grim reaper. Whether you're Japanese or Korean, a person without a name cannot live."
The End of August is a multigenerational family saga that mainly follows the life of Lee Woo-Cheol (the author's grandfather) with the Japanese Occupation in Korea as well as the early Communist Movement in Korea as the backdrop. The story opens with an "opera-like" Korean shaman ceremony where Yu Miri (who is a "zainichi" writer i.e. born in Korea but residing and raised in Japan) engages the mudangs (female shamans) to summon 3 spirits: Lee Woo-Cheol (Yu Miri's grandfather and a talented marathon runner who could have won a gold medal in the 1940 Tokyo Olympics but it was canceled due to World War II); Lee Woo-Gun (Woo-Cheol's younger brother, another talented runner, who was killed by fellow Koreans as he was a communist operative who was loyal to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea); Kim Yong-Hui (Woo-Cheol and Woo-Gun's neighbor, who was tricked by a Japanese recruiter into becoming a comfort woman in a Japanese military brothel in China). Immersed with the memories of these 3 spirits, Yu Miri not only embarked on an autobiographical investigation and explored her ancestral roots, but also depicted the state of Korea during the Japanese Occupation, the Korean War, and the post-war migration of Koreans to Japan.
As a 710-page novel, The End of August is not an easy read. With an experimental prose and narrative structure, Yu Miri blended the genres of autofiction, and historical fiction with several notions of magical realism and folklore in telling the story of Korea, not only from the perspective of her family, but also from the perspective of Koreans, Japanese, and the "Zanichi". Readers will be introduced to a huge cast of characters immediately (due to Lee Woo-Cheol's infidelity as he has several wives and mistresses and many children and grandchildren), which may disrupt the reading experience of some readers. In this regard, the family tree provided before the start of the novel is definitely helpful. Yu Miri's choice of introducing the characters as well as portraying their state of mind is daring and experimental. For instance, Yu Miri uses the voice of the locals of the town of Miryang in a "greek-chorus" manner to provide details of the characters. More prominently, she invoked the rhythm of breathing by using "in-hale ex-hale" (when a character is running) to depict the state of mind of her characters and retain the echoic and meditative atmosphere. This breathing rhythm seems to also function as a cut-off point in Yu Miri's efforts to synchronize the timelines of the historical events. Not only that Yu Miri inculcated Korean folklore and culture as well as a lot of important historical events (surrounding the Japanese Occupation of Korea and Manchuria, World War II, Korea's independence, and the Korean War), Yu Miri used a lot of untranslated Korean words in her efforts to retain the Korean culture though this also may disrupt the reading experience of some readers who are not well-versed in Korean. Most of the historical events and news about national heroes were introduced in a newspaper or article format, some even censored in order to invoke the state of secrecy during that period of time. To amplify the conflicted state of identity of Koreans during the period of war as well as the immigrant experience, Yu Miri invoked the power and importance of names to Koreans who lived through that period of history. They were deprived from using their Korean names during the Japanese Occupation and at the same time, strived to retain their love for their nation: "…only those who have been deprived of their name can understand the feeling of hunger that comes from not being allowed to use their true name not being called their true name in-hale ex-hale in-hale ex-hale the Korean people are starving because our rations for rice, wheat, and sugar are so small but what we are most starved for is names the Korean people are hungry for our own names…". While the length of the book may be intimidating (though I feel that certain portions of the book may be omitted as they are rather repetitive), it is rather fulfilling to finally complete this novel. The End of August is without a doubt a very ambitious piece of work by Yu Miri and I can imagine that a lot of effort has to be put in by Morgan Giles to translate this epic story. A solid 4/5 star read from me and I would love to see this being nominated for the 2024 National Book Award! Thanks to Definitely Books and Pansing Distribution for sending this review copy to me!
The End of August is a multigenerational family saga that mainly follows the life of Lee Woo-Cheol (the author's grandfather) with the Japanese Occupation in Korea as well as the early Communist Movement in Korea as the backdrop. The story opens with an "opera-like" Korean shaman ceremony where Yu Miri (who is a "zainichi" writer i.e. born in Korea but residing and raised in Japan) engages the mudangs (female shamans) to summon 3 spirits: Lee Woo-Cheol (Yu Miri's grandfather and a talented marathon runner who could have won a gold medal in the 1940 Tokyo Olympics but it was canceled due to World War II); Lee Woo-Gun (Woo-Cheol's younger brother, another talented runner, who was killed by fellow Koreans as he was a communist operative who was loyal to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea); Kim Yong-Hui (Woo-Cheol and Woo-Gun's neighbor, who was tricked by a Japanese recruiter into becoming a comfort woman in a Japanese military brothel in China). Immersed with the memories of these 3 spirits, Yu Miri not only embarked on an autobiographical investigation and explored her ancestral roots, but also depicted the state of Korea during the Japanese Occupation, the Korean War, and the post-war migration of Koreans to Japan.
As a 710-page novel, The End of August is not an easy read. With an experimental prose and narrative structure, Yu Miri blended the genres of autofiction, and historical fiction with several notions of magical realism and folklore in telling the story of Korea, not only from the perspective of her family, but also from the perspective of Koreans, Japanese, and the "Zanichi". Readers will be introduced to a huge cast of characters immediately (due to Lee Woo-Cheol's infidelity as he has several wives and mistresses and many children and grandchildren), which may disrupt the reading experience of some readers. In this regard, the family tree provided before the start of the novel is definitely helpful. Yu Miri's choice of introducing the characters as well as portraying their state of mind is daring and experimental. For instance, Yu Miri uses the voice of the locals of the town of Miryang in a "greek-chorus" manner to provide details of the characters. More prominently, she invoked the rhythm of breathing by using "in-hale ex-hale" (when a character is running) to depict the state of mind of her characters and retain the echoic and meditative atmosphere. This breathing rhythm seems to also function as a cut-off point in Yu Miri's efforts to synchronize the timelines of the historical events. Not only that Yu Miri inculcated Korean folklore and culture as well as a lot of important historical events (surrounding the Japanese Occupation of Korea and Manchuria, World War II, Korea's independence, and the Korean War), Yu Miri used a lot of untranslated Korean words in her efforts to retain the Korean culture though this also may disrupt the reading experience of some readers who are not well-versed in Korean. Most of the historical events and news about national heroes were introduced in a newspaper or article format, some even censored in order to invoke the state of secrecy during that period of time. To amplify the conflicted state of identity of Koreans during the period of war as well as the immigrant experience, Yu Miri invoked the power and importance of names to Koreans who lived through that period of history. They were deprived from using their Korean names during the Japanese Occupation and at the same time, strived to retain their love for their nation: "…only those who have been deprived of their name can understand the feeling of hunger that comes from not being allowed to use their true name not being called their true name in-hale ex-hale in-hale ex-hale the Korean people are starving because our rations for rice, wheat, and sugar are so small but what we are most starved for is names the Korean people are hungry for our own names…". While the length of the book may be intimidating (though I feel that certain portions of the book may be omitted as they are rather repetitive), it is rather fulfilling to finally complete this novel. The End of August is without a doubt a very ambitious piece of work by Yu Miri and I can imagine that a lot of effort has to be put in by Morgan Giles to translate this epic story. A solid 4/5 star read from me and I would love to see this being nominated for the 2024 National Book Award! Thanks to Definitely Books and Pansing Distribution for sending this review copy to me!
May 26, 2025
interesting to learn more about a side of history I don’t know much about, style was a bit tough to follow though
did-not-finish
December 23, 2023This book asks for too much from its readers imo, and I am not willing to slogging through to the end
October 1, 2024
not an easy read by any means but very worthwhile, being chinese or korean we are still so connected to our family that suffered at the hands of japanese imperialism. we feel it in our bodies and yu miri shows us stories and history carried through time
December 25, 2024
I bought this book while on a long layover at Changi Airport in January of 2024. The bookstore had a buy one, get one 50% off deal. I was intrigued by this book, originally written in Japanese by a Japanese-Korean author. It takes place in Japanese-occupied Korea, a setting I am not too familiar with. I decided to purchase it, though it was not until the end of 2024 that I finally stopped being intimidated by its page count and decided to read it. My thoughts are organized below.
Why this was not a five-star book for me
Pacing and style: I agree with a lot of the other reviews about this book. The first 500 pages or so are very slow, and the experimental style is at times hard to get through. I will admit that the beginning was a rough start for me; after reading most of the book and going back to it I appreciated it a lot more, now that I had a sense of the story that was being foreshadowed. I am glad I continued reading after the beginning but am surprised I had the patience to get through it. I am also glad that there was a family tree included to help me keep track of the many different characters. The last chapter in the end that was formatted as shuffled tarot cards was a really cool concept, but it felt somewhat forced. Like where did the tarot cards come from? It would have helped with continuity if there were a scene where another character was using them.
Cultural context lost in translation: Some of the reviews of this book mention that having a background in the Korean language would help, and as someone who does not speak Korean, I felt a little lost at times, wishing I had more of the linguistic and cultural context. A lot of phrases and songs are left untranslated and in romanized hangeul, and I found myself wishing I had some idea of what they were saying so that I could understand their significance to the story. This brings up a bigger question about whom literature is for, and whether a piece of literature should strive to be appreciated by all, regardless of language barriers; I don't have the answer to this, but I think at least increasing the accessibility of translated literature (by at least including footnotes or "optional" explainer pages) is never a bad idea.
Details glossed over: There were some parts of the narrative that I wish had been more developed. For instance, how did Woo-gun end up becoming such an activist? It felt a little sudden, and like I didn't get to know his character as much as I would have liked. Spending more time on his story would have increased the emotional impact of his death, as well as given the reader a greater appreciation of the political context in which it occurred.
Why I did eventually finish it
Characters: I applaud the author for being able to put together a multi-generational narrative with such painstaking detail, and for being able to maneuver a story with so many characters. I was also impressed by how developed the internal thoughts of each character were, giving them each distinct personalities. While I find that the external development of their stories a bit lacking (as in the case of Woo-gun), the author did a fantastic job of helping the reader get to know the characters from their own—very personal—perspectives.
History: I lam a big believer in the importance of knowing how history connects to modern-day injustices, and love historical fiction for being a vehicle that encourages us to make those connections. This book did an incredible job of humanizing a period of history I did not previously know much about through the experiences of its characters. It did not shy away from going into details about certain atrocities, particularly regarding the comfort women and the persecution of communists post-independence. Such histories today tend to be obscured (or even rejected) in dominant narratives, so I appreciate that this book challenges those narratives by not shying away from the violence that did happen in real life. If I were to one day be an author, I would aspire to do the same.
Why this was not a five-star book for me
Pacing and style: I agree with a lot of the other reviews about this book. The first 500 pages or so are very slow, and the experimental style is at times hard to get through. I will admit that the beginning was a rough start for me; after reading most of the book and going back to it I appreciated it a lot more, now that I had a sense of the story that was being foreshadowed. I am glad I continued reading after the beginning but am surprised I had the patience to get through it. I am also glad that there was a family tree included to help me keep track of the many different characters. The last chapter in the end that was formatted as shuffled tarot cards was a really cool concept, but it felt somewhat forced. Like where did the tarot cards come from? It would have helped with continuity if there were a scene where another character was using them.
Cultural context lost in translation: Some of the reviews of this book mention that having a background in the Korean language would help, and as someone who does not speak Korean, I felt a little lost at times, wishing I had more of the linguistic and cultural context. A lot of phrases and songs are left untranslated and in romanized hangeul, and I found myself wishing I had some idea of what they were saying so that I could understand their significance to the story. This brings up a bigger question about whom literature is for, and whether a piece of literature should strive to be appreciated by all, regardless of language barriers; I don't have the answer to this, but I think at least increasing the accessibility of translated literature (by at least including footnotes or "optional" explainer pages) is never a bad idea.
Details glossed over: There were some parts of the narrative that I wish had been more developed. For instance, how did Woo-gun end up becoming such an activist? It felt a little sudden, and like I didn't get to know his character as much as I would have liked. Spending more time on his story would have increased the emotional impact of his death, as well as given the reader a greater appreciation of the political context in which it occurred.
Why I did eventually finish it
Characters: I applaud the author for being able to put together a multi-generational narrative with such painstaking detail, and for being able to maneuver a story with so many characters. I was also impressed by how developed the internal thoughts of each character were, giving them each distinct personalities. While I find that the external development of their stories a bit lacking (as in the case of Woo-gun), the author did a fantastic job of helping the reader get to know the characters from their own—very personal—perspectives.
History: I lam a big believer in the importance of knowing how history connects to modern-day injustices, and love historical fiction for being a vehicle that encourages us to make those connections. This book did an incredible job of humanizing a period of history I did not previously know much about through the experiences of its characters. It did not shy away from going into details about certain atrocities, particularly regarding the comfort women and the persecution of communists post-independence. Such histories today tend to be obscured (or even rejected) in dominant narratives, so I appreciate that this book challenges those narratives by not shying away from the violence that did happen in real life. If I were to one day be an author, I would aspire to do the same.
August 22, 2025
in-hale ex-hale yes I have finally finished this 710-page book in-hale ex-hale right in time before the end of august aka women in translation month in-hale ex-hale this is a multi-generational family epic blended with the painful history of Korea in the early 20th century in-hale ex-hale complex and rich historical background mixed with complicated family relationships in-hale ex-hale aigu who's who? in-hale ex-hale grateful for the family tree at the start of the book in-hale ex-hale
The story starts off with Yu Miri carries out an intense ritual with shamans to summon her ancestor spirits, great-grandfather, the famous long-distance runner, Lee Woo-cheol, to find out the family past and attempt to lift the han, the generational trauma caused by foreign invasion and oppression. During the messy and engrossing ritual, we find out the complicated and painful histories of the family and the country.
Huff huff huff huff huff huff sometimes the author reveals the fates of the principal characters through strangers' accounts or gossips, which can be quite confusing at times figuring out which characters they are referring to... huff huff huff huff
oh, oh the translator purposefully kept the phrases, certain words and song lyrics in hana, dul, set original languages (korean, japanese and chinese) in the translated text, without english translations again quite confusing for me... aigo
Ari, arirang suri, surirang arariga nanne
Coming over Arirang Pass
The skilful inclusion of traditional Korean folklore of the Miryang area - Arang throughout the book via the local women singing to accompany their daily chores, stories told from mothers to their children, an actual character observing the fates of the principal characters. The importance of the Miryang river acts as an anchor for the characters.
Oooh, aah, ahhhhh, ahhhhhhh, the most uncomfortable sections of the book are of course 13-year old Eiko's being tricked to travel to China becoming a 'comfort woman' for the Japanese army aigu
in-hale ex-hale overall I don't really gel with the writing style in-hale ex-hale but interesting to learn about the 20th century Korean history in-hale ex-hale this is indeed an epic family historical fiction
The story starts off with Yu Miri carries out an intense ritual with shamans to summon her ancestor spirits, great-grandfather, the famous long-distance runner, Lee Woo-cheol, to find out the family past and attempt to lift the han, the generational trauma caused by foreign invasion and oppression. During the messy and engrossing ritual, we find out the complicated and painful histories of the family and the country.
Huff huff huff huff huff huff sometimes the author reveals the fates of the principal characters through strangers' accounts or gossips, which can be quite confusing at times figuring out which characters they are referring to... huff huff huff huff
oh, oh the translator purposefully kept the phrases, certain words and song lyrics in hana, dul, set original languages (korean, japanese and chinese) in the translated text, without english translations again quite confusing for me... aigo
Ari, arirang suri, surirang arariga nanne
Coming over Arirang Pass
The skilful inclusion of traditional Korean folklore of the Miryang area - Arang throughout the book via the local women singing to accompany their daily chores, stories told from mothers to their children, an actual character observing the fates of the principal characters. The importance of the Miryang river acts as an anchor for the characters.
Oooh, aah, ahhhhh, ahhhhhhh, the most uncomfortable sections of the book are of course 13-year old Eiko's being tricked to travel to China becoming a 'comfort woman' for the Japanese army aigu
in-hale ex-hale overall I don't really gel with the writing style in-hale ex-hale but interesting to learn about the 20th century Korean history in-hale ex-hale this is indeed an epic family historical fiction
April 24, 2025
This is an ambitious, sprawling, epic story. Compared to her other novel, 'Tokyo Ueno Station,' this one is a tome. You have to be committed to get used to the style and follow through to the end. It's not just the experimental stream of consciousness narrative—if you hate Sally Rooney's style this is definitely not for you—but that there is a multiplicity of text all layered and interjected into one another. There's the framing device of multiple ghosts returning to share their life stories via the mudang/ shamaness, then their spectral voices are overlaid with their human hosts' breaths and interjected with political speeches, newspaper articles, propaganda fliers, and most of all, folk songs. My one advice is to persevere till the 10% mark; it gets easier after you've acclimatised to the style.
At its core, this novel is a semi-autobiographical family saga spanning the Korean occupation, independence, war, and post-war. Some characters existed IRL. It is very detailed and you almost feel transported back in time. The author uses a fictionalised version of herself as the starting point, which is also the ending point of the family tree. I could not believe just how shitty the men in this novel were—one had a wife and two mistresses, then his son also had a wife and two mistresses but divorced the wife to marry a mistress but went on to have another wife in Japan. Men are seriously too much.
Despite knowing it's fiction, this was a very painful novel to read because all the atrocities (of war and occupation and life as a woman in patriarchal Korea) are laid bare. Her characters shit/ piss/ fuck/ kill/ rape/ lie/ cheat/ lust. Nothing is left out, and at no point can the reader delude themselves into thinking that all this brutality and suffering is totally made up. Because it isn't. This novel is a reminder that no matter what a country's leaders say now, the aftereffects of the wars on the common people still continue to linger and that the generational trauma still haunts present-day Korea.
At its core, this novel is a semi-autobiographical family saga spanning the Korean occupation, independence, war, and post-war. Some characters existed IRL. It is very detailed and you almost feel transported back in time. The author uses a fictionalised version of herself as the starting point, which is also the ending point of the family tree. I could not believe just how shitty the men in this novel were—one had a wife and two mistresses, then his son also had a wife and two mistresses but divorced the wife to marry a mistress but went on to have another wife in Japan. Men are seriously too much.
Despite knowing it's fiction, this was a very painful novel to read because all the atrocities (of war and occupation and life as a woman in patriarchal Korea) are laid bare. Her characters shit/ piss/ fuck/ kill/ rape/ lie/ cheat/ lust. Nothing is left out, and at no point can the reader delude themselves into thinking that all this brutality and suffering is totally made up. Because it isn't. This novel is a reminder that no matter what a country's leaders say now, the aftereffects of the wars on the common people still continue to linger and that the generational trauma still haunts present-day Korea.
July 24, 2024
I wanted to like this book soooo badly. Where this book fell short for me was its writing. The story itself and the stories and experiences of Koreans living under Japanese occupation is so incredibly important to tell.
I learned a lot about the conditions of comfort women from this book, and it led me to look into the atrocity further. I was familiar with the general understanding of what these women experienced, but I was not aware of the scale of that horror.
I also really appreciated the inclusion of political events and resistance movements. Yet, near the end this part of the story felt rushed.
Essentially it was the delivery of this story threw me off. I was left confused many times while reading and frustrated at the other parts that were engulfed in repetition.
I learned a lot about the conditions of comfort women from this book, and it led me to look into the atrocity further. I was familiar with the general understanding of what these women experienced, but I was not aware of the scale of that horror.
I also really appreciated the inclusion of political events and resistance movements. Yet, near the end this part of the story felt rushed.
Essentially it was the delivery of this story threw me off. I was left confused many times while reading and frustrated at the other parts that were engulfed in repetition.
November 8, 2024
I really wanted to like this more. But I felt like some parts were very repetitive and could’ve been condensed into 400 pages instead of 700. It was a bit hard to follow with the amount of characters but the story was very important and historically significant.
December 24, 2023
DNF @ 10%.
There must have been something wrong with my copy of the book and the text was all over the place. So many typos, some words would be bold, and no punctuations.
There must have been something wrong with my copy of the book and the text was all over the place. So many typos, some words would be bold, and no punctuations.
January 27, 2025
A challenging read - but it must have been even more challenging to translate.
https://findingtimetowrite.wordpress....
https://findingtimetowrite.wordpress....
September 28, 2023
DNF @ page 103
I'm just not getting along with the writing style, and because of the slow pace, I'm just not invested enough in wanting to see where the story goes despite the writing style. Maybe if the book was only 300 pages, but 700 is too much for a book I'm not even enjoying that much yet.
I'm just not getting along with the writing style, and because of the slow pace, I'm just not invested enough in wanting to see where the story goes despite the writing style. Maybe if the book was only 300 pages, but 700 is too much for a book I'm not even enjoying that much yet.
April 9, 2025
i think this one will stay with me for a long time.
ari, arirang suri, surirang arariga nanne
jal gasio, budi, jal gasiso
annyeonghi gasio budi, annyeonghi jal gasio
ari, arirang suri, surirang arariga nanne
jal gasio, budi, jal gasiso
annyeonghi gasio budi, annyeonghi jal gasio
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