Review - 'Pachinko' by Min Jin Lee

"You’re living for a dream of a home that no longer exists."

At once intimate and sweeping, Pachinko takes us on a journey of one Korean family's struggle for survival, first in Korea, then in Japan. Set against the backdrop of Japan's brutal occupation of Korea, these poignant characters and their enduring legacy will linger in my mind long after I've turned the final page.

From the very first moment, the story transported me. Min Jin Lee has this way of writing that feels both straightforward and beautifully stirring. Her characters are fully realized, the plot tightly wound and historically relevant. But it's her deftness at capturing the range of emotions through the entire narrative arc of four generations of a single family that really sets her writing apart.

For such a long book, it certainly didn't feel like it. I always go on and on about how I want an immersive read to really sink my teeth into, and this was it. I flew through it, gobbling up this family saga and feeling bereft when I reached the end and had to say goodbye.

At its core, this story pays tribute to the immigrant experience and the need in all of us to find a place we can call home. Every character in here, through whatever trials and tribulations come their way, remains steadfast in their fervent hope to belong. They left their motherland of Korea, and the people there no longer consider them countrymen. But their new adopted country of Japan doesn't want them either, viewing them with contempt and loathing. In the face of such alienation from all sides, where can one call home?

I find Lee's portrayal of the often diverging experiences for different generations in the same immigrant family to be particularly astute. Sunja is first generation, making unimaginable choices and sacrifices to give her children a better life. But her children cannot possibly understand the costs and hardships they've never paid nor experienced, and so this wide gulf opens between the parent and the child. And that gulf can never be bridged, for in Sunja's shielding of her children from her struggles, she also prevents them from ever truly understanding who she is.

My heart ached for these characters. They go through so much, leaving everything they know behind—their families, their homes, their culture and language—just to have a chance to put food on the table and not go hungry. But it's not all sadness and anguish. There's still joy and happiness and love to be found. It just goes to show that life goes on, even in the most uncertain of circumstances, and that the human spirit endures.

Regarding the Japan-Korea conflict that serves as the backdrop, it's clear Lee did extensive research for this story. There is a level of authenticity embedded within that cannot possibly be imitated other than for the author to have heard firsthand what really happened during that period. Going in, I didn't realize the extent of Japan's aggression and occupation throughout Korea, so this story was particularly enlightening in that regard. It put a lot into perspective and helped me understand the feelings of hostility and resentment that still linger to this day, many decades after the war has ended.

When it comes to historical fiction, I can be hard to please. Often, I find the treatment of the main historical event (which is almost always a war) to be too heavy-handed, weighing down the whole narrative with a pervasive despair that feels more like emotional manipulation or trauma porn. Or that the treatment is too light, leading to shallow characters acting out frivolous desires not at all in line with famine and war. But this story gets it right, putting its characters center stage, and we never lose sight of their dignity and humanity through their struggles.

If I had one quibble, it would be that the first half of the book felt just a smidge more gripping than the second half. There were fewer characters, and I was really able to immerse myself into the tighter dynamics. As the story went on and the family got larger through the generations, it necessitated introducing more characters. And the flipping back and forth between so many different people and also the timeline jumps forward through the years lost some of the book's prior focus and momentum. But that is really a small quibble in an otherwise peerless tale.

When I come across a gem of a book like this, it's often hard to distill my thoughts down to just a few paragraphs. So much of this story feels special. But maybe the one overarching reason is that in this one Korean family—in their intense familial bond, their resilience and sacrifice, their unwavering hope for the future—we really see ourselves and the history of our own families reflected back to us.

What an absolutely stunning literary masterpiece this turned out to be. With its quietly deft prose and memorable characters, it sweeps across the landscape of historical fiction and family sagas, and cements itself as a classic of our time.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!