Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko is a masterwork. The story begins with Hoonie, a quiet, resilient man whose death leaves behind Yangjin and Sunja. But as the pages turn, the focus shifts from mother to daughter, to in-laws and grandchildren, each carrying generational scars in their own way.
In Sunja and Kyunghee, I felt the pain of women in the extreme patriarchal society of Korea, hated Yoseb for being the head of the family, for overruling the women in his household who often made better, and more practical decisions. In Solomon, I recognized parts of my own daily struggles as an immigrant: of not knowing when I fit in and when I don’t, or even when I want to, and when I don’t.
The book is based on 20th century Koreans, primarily set in Osaka. With it, it brings the background of Japan’s annexation of Korea, racism, subjugation, and loss of identity of Koreans displaced, stories of families who move from Korea to Japan in search for stability. Min Jin beautifully narrates these struggles with historical context, first from annexation, through colonial oppression, later the second world war and the bits of pieces of news Sunja’s family hears about the Americans and the wars. At their best, Sunja’s was middle class family of Korean immigrants settled in Osaka, at their worst, they’d endured starvation, deaths, and unimaginable losses. Even at the very end, in Solomon’s adulthood in the 90s, we see impacts of stereotyping and racism on Koreans. The author doesn’t take us through the struggles of war from the front-lines, but explores it from the confines of the day to day of the hopes and dreams of Sunja: through their worn-out clothes and ingredients in their pantries.
I’d happily recommend this book to someone who’s looking for a deeply emotional work of fiction: one that is similar to Ruth Ozeki’s or Jhumpa Lahiri’s prose.
Perplexed Potatoes 