Hak Jeonga is 105 years old and suffers no fools. The youngest of four sisters, Jeonga had always felt like she was doing what her father would’ve wanted her to do—uphold the family’s reputation, no matter the cost. So when she receives a letter that could ruin what she’s worked her whole life for, she moves quickly. And as a result, she is met with an untimely death during her visit to the U.S. It is when she is in the space between life and death that she realizes the gravity of her actions to protect her family’s secrets. In the afterlife, she must reckon with the past, the decisions she made, and the consequences of her actions.
Immediately, we learn that Jeonga, our sammonim, is exactly that — a rich, snooty, and very proudful sammonim who has little patience for foolishness, or rather, little patience for anything. Her candor and self-righteousness reminded me of all the dreadful Korean mother-in-laws you see in Korean dramas. And I loved every bit of it. But as Jeonga’s tone was sharp and commanding in the world of the living, her voice in the afterlife was like that of a whining child. A child that’s been desperately waiting and searching for her favorite sister, Seona. Lost and exasperated, Jeonga must learn to move through the afterlife if she wants to right her wrongs, pay penance, and atone. Her death and afterlife being the last apology she can offer. Despite Jeonga’s irritating tone, her time in the afterlife was one of my favorite parts of the book. The window into the beyond, and our ties to it, were fascinating to see (and also explains the persimmon on the cover).
More than my fascination with the afterlife, what I loved about Han’s depiction of Jeonga’s purgatory was how much of Korea’s two prevalent cultural factors were loaded in its pages. The first is one that most readers of Korean literature or consumers of Korean media are familiar with—han. In the book, han, fueled by the trauma from years of oppression and war, including the forced separation of families, is never raging in Jeonga, but rather smoldering underneath the resentment, lies and secrets. Never visible, but ever so present. The second, chae myun, is also deeply rooted in Korean culture and goes back thousands of years to the days of Confucianism and the rise of social classes in pre-modern Korea. It means to save face. And we see the price Jeonga pays to uphold her family’s chae myun. It is an obvious theme to the book, but the nuances and how it applies to a Korean family is what I appreciated the most. Familial sacrifice, especially when saving face, in Korean culture is so deeply ingrained. It is a given.
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The book moves fast and Jeonga, ever the entertaining and spirited MC, always kept me on my toes. It was a nice surprise given that when I first started THE APOLOGY, I had to immediately put it down. Because the manner in which the MC dies in the beginning was so specifically triggering to me, I had to step away for a bit. Once I came back to it, I was so glad I did because this was absolutely a joy to read. Jeonga was both funny and infuriating, and I loved her. And I loved that this book exists. A book that grapples generational trauma and familial sacrifice but with wit, humor and tenderness.
Thank you to the publisher and author for the ARC!