Kyung-ran Jo’s intricate novel follows two unnamed characters. One a woman, the other a man. Their stories are told in alternating sections. The woman’s an artist based in Seoul; the man’s a Korean architect who now lives and works in Japan. They once met very briefly at a business dinner. When the artist takes up a temporary residency in Tokyo they meet again, purely by chance, and realise they share an unlikely interest. They’re both overwhelmed by thoughts of death. The architect’s older brother died by suicide, now his father’s silent and withdrawn, his mother subdued. So, he’s moved back home to support them. When he sees the artist, he recognises her expression, it’s the same as his brother’s not long before he jumped to his death. The artist believes suicide is her legacy, just like her aunt and grandmother. She’s plagued by visions of a shadowy observer like a reaper from Korean legend: a psychopomp waiting to guide her spirit to the afterlife.

For the artist being in Japan has a special significance, it’s associated with blowfish, a potentially deadly delicacy. It’s also part of her heritage; her grandmother’s method of dying was toxic blowfish soup. The artist wonders if blowfish should be her own weapon of choice. The artist starts to make preparations; she befriends a specialist fishmonger who deals in different varieties of blowfish. She hires a death cleaner, one of the specialists who handle the aftermath of Japan’s many 'lonely deaths' transforming a possible ‘bad’ death into a ‘good’ one. The artist thinks about representations of suicide in art and in literature from Hemingway to Seneca. She dwells on facts about suicide in the wider culture. Death becomes her way of life, dominating her waking moments. Meanwhile the architect struggles to come to terms with losing his brother and tries to find a way to help his parents survive it. He contemplates the buildings around him, their design, the lifestyles and philosophies they promote. He thinks about the precision involved in mapping out a building versus grappling with chaotic emotions. He dreams of producing buildings that can withstand earthquakes, dependable, stable, capable of withstanding shocks. But then he begins to think of saving the artist as a means of atoning for his inability to help his brother.

Kyung-ran Jo’s meditations on grief and intergenerational trauma are partly inspired by her family history, her own grandmother died after deliberately consuming poisonous, blowfish soup – its toxins can be ten times more deadly than cyanide. Kyung-ran Jo’s relatively unconcerned with plot, her focus is on character, mood, and setting. Her elegant, fluid narrative’s overflowing with discussions of art and aesthetics, images of light and dark. These recurring images reminded me of Korean myths about the sun and the moon. Stories that highlight duality, emphasizing a notion that the artist and the architect are two sides of one being, warring impulses striving for unity and balance. Kyung-ran Jo uses certain scenes to suggest that the artist might overcome her death wish, for example a street performance centred on a giant balloon – based on one she saw on a visit to Tokyo. A man is seemingly devoured by the balloon, disappearing then re-emerging as if reborn.

It's quite a topical novel given South Korea’s unusually high suicide rates. And, at its best, it’s an impressively vivid, visual piece, with a distinctly painterly feel. It’s also highly detailed. Although I found the recreation of routes through Tokyo and Seoul, the meticulous depictions of their cityscapes a bit too much at times. Kyung-ran Jo’s style’s intended to create distance between author and subject, narrative and reader. But the pace can be extremely languid and the perspectives slightly self-indulgent. I also found it quite an oppressive, claustrophobic reading experience. In many ways that fits with the territory, but it made it difficult to fully engage with the material. Overall, worth reading, just didn’t entirely work for me.

I couldn’t get into this book which was a shame. I found it slow and depressing and ultimately couldn’t persevere. DNF 48%

Thoroughly enjoyed this and thought it was very well done, but it's quite likely that the style might take a bit getting used to for Anglophone readers, specifically monolingual readers and especially those completely unfamiliar with East Asian languages and culture. Perhaps this is more of a translation issue. Lovely cover, brilliant writing. Excited and very keen to read the author's future writings. I don't know why some thought that the themes and ideas of death and such were too hard to stomach in this one, while books like Plath's 'The Bell Jar' and such had and still are getting copious amounts of grand endorsements and adoration. If anything Plath's work do often especially in her poems slightly romanticises the idea of it all whereas Jo's narrative and approach is more direct with it which creates a sort of absurdist air akin to the work of Absurdist theatre which could transfer and translate into a sort of dark humour which I am totally into. Personally I love narratives about death and such that are explored and written with a more existential and philosophical stance instead of anything like a work of self-help or even those misconstrued, misused forms of contemporary ideas of stoicism. This was an intensely atmospheric piece of writing, so meticulously layered and ultimately so delicious in an almost perverse way that brings to mind of course the image and symbolism of the blowfish.

First and foremost, I would like to thank NetGalley and Headline for granting me an Advanced Reader Copy. All opinions in this review are honest and solely belong to me.

Blowfish by Jo Kyung-ran had a fascinating premise of a sculptor preparing to commit suicide by consuming a lethal dish of blowfish and the architect who she crosses path with during this time.

I'll start off with what I liked about the book. I really appreciated the experimental parallel chapters for the two protagonists: the sculptor and the architect in that order. There were some sections of the prose that I really loved in the book due to how viscerally vivid some of the descriptions were - the preparation of a blowfish by the blowfish seller was really well done and it did make me feel a lot of sympathy for the poor blowfish.

Now, I love reading about themes of death in novels because it is an inevitability of life and this is definitely present in this book, however, I expected something more in regards to it. Don't get me wrong there were quite interesting discussion about death, life, the autonomy of one's life and death, of art and of spaces to be used for art etc., but somehow it all ended up feeling repetitive as I read on. The story felt too slow, disjointed, and unclear for me. Nothing really happened much which I'm not too sure if that was the point but it definitely left me feeling nothing about the story or the main characters for example.

In terms of the latter, the two protagonists are nameless which I think was intentional but I felt that they felt distant and I couldn't really feel like rooting for them due to how I didn't really get to know them as realised people despite the detailed backstories of their relation to death in their family. There wasn't also really sufficient build up for the relationship between the sculptor and the architect and it just felt like they just suddenly started meeting up after seeing each other the first time. I didn't think they were developed enough as well as their relationship. It simply left me not caring about them even until the end.

If this book was possibly edited and shortened a bit more and focused more on going in-depth with the interactions between the sculptor and the architect then it may have felt less dull. I felt like the sculptor actually had a deeper relationship with the blowfish seller than the architect. Sadly, this was not for me and I really wish I enjoyed it more but I will say that at least I came away with knowing more about blowfish than I anticipated, and for that I am glad.

First off, I adore the cover. It would look so good on my shelf. Secondly, I FLEW through this book. I read it all in one sitting I could not put it down. It was a slight slog to begin with but when I was in I was in. This book has themes of suffering and pain and beauty and life which I really enjoyed. The commentary on life is what I adored the most. This book is dark but there is light to it. I was all for the two main characters and was rooting for them the whole way. I Definitley recommend this one as a literary read. The writing flowed and had some hard hitting quotes within this story and the ending was good. I would like to read more from this author now.

Sadly, I was not able to finish this book. The premise was really exciting but after dragging myself through 60% I cannot motivate myself to pick it back up.

The characters feel flat and lifeless and the writing focuses far too much on mundane scene setting rather than building the characters. I really wanted to enjoy this but started dreading picking it back up and have decided that this will now have to be one of the few books that make it onto my DNF list.

I didn't completely love this short novel and it took me a while to get through it.

We follow two unnamed characters - a woman from Seoul, a sculptor who accepts a work engagement in Tokyo and plans to use that trip to take her own life by eating the toxic parts of a blowfish, like her grandmother had done; and a man in Tokyo, an architect struggling to keep building skyscrapers after his brother took his own life jumping from one.

The chapters alternate between her point of view and his; we follow their conversations with friends, their encounters, their walks at night, their memories of the past. I found following the two characters at times confusing, I wasn't clear who the secondary characters were in relation to them, and despite the excellent translation, it was a bit hard to follow and hard to get into.
I liked the concept, didn't love the execution.

Blowfish is an unusual novel in that it deals with very heavy subject matter but somehow, whether the writing or the translation or both are to thank, it refrains from dragging the reader into despair and instead uses the bleakness of death and suicide to catalyse some beautiful and poignant reflection on life and death.

There is little plot, switching between our protagonists as she plans her suicide and he attempts to find and save her. Both have experienced loss by suicide, but in vastly different manners, and their responses to their grief are equally opposing.

The novel is well-written/translated but did feel like it was lacking something. Perhaps a little more interaction and dialogue, or maybe a more satisfying, or surprising, climax. However I did get the feeling that the author intended to keep it simple and retrospective, which it is.

I'd recommend to fans of translated fiction, if you like those books that tend towards 'no plot, just vibes'.

A difficult read on life and death.
Set in both South Korea and Japan.
Female character has become lifeless and thinks about death by using blowfish. She seeks the reasons how it is used, and how the past of her grandmother has given her the reason to choose this method.
The male character sets himself a mission to search for this female character, to save her from thinking of death, whilst in search of the reasons why his own brother died.
A sad story with coming to terms on why people decide to commit suicide.

Thanks to Netgalley and Headline for letting me read this book!

I quite liked this .. it is very atmospheric and there's a lot of musing of, as the author themselves put, "sadness and beauty and fear and death"...

It is a heavy book - mainly revolving around death, suicide and self-destruction - but it was exquisite in it's way of swapping the narratives between the female artist and the male architect.. it really set the scene in Tokyo and Seoul that it was almost like the book was describing a third main character..

The Blowfish aspect of the book was an intriguing premise of the book - not the most obvious form of suicide but which was captivating nonetheless

It WAS slow going and does lack a bit of a plot, but it more than makes up for it with the atmospheric prose and intriguing story-line... BUT i would not recommend this book if you are otherwise a little vulnerable - probably a little too much musing going on to be otherwise comfortable with it.

Thank you NetGalley and Headline for the opportunity to review this book

Blowfish is a Korean novel about two people whose impact on each other is interwoven with their thoughts about death and life, as a sculptor plans her own death using blowfish. A sculptor leaves Seoul for Tokyo with one goal: to end her life, as other family members have done before her. She learns to prepare blowfish from a man in Tsukiji Market, whilst she also meets up occasionally with an architect she once met before. He is haunted by his brother's death and sees something similar in the woman; their dance around each other and their own reflections take their lives in new directions.

This book is lyrical and hazy, alternating in perspective between the two characters, and this means that at times you have to pay careful attention to work out what is going on. I was expecting more of a focus on the blowfish element given the title, but really that is more of a means of death and a way for the woman to be connected to her grandmother, who died by purposefully making and eating toxic blowfish soup. The man's narrative is even hazier, with snippets slowly revealed about his relationship with his brother and his parents. There's quite a lot about art and architecture also woven in, and that lost me at times as I don't know much about either, but it formed part of the characters' reflections about life.

Overall, I think this book is good if you're looking for slow reflections about death and life (and it should be noted before going in that a lot of the book is about suicide), but for me, I was looking for something a bit more sharp, so I didn't always click with this one.

Sadly DNF -64% I’ve reached my limit.

Ordinarily I love translated fiction, especially quiet and introspective works where not a lot necessarily happens. Unfortunately for me this is just too disjointed, I don’t know if it’s the constantly swapping POVs or if something has been lost in translation. I’m finding myself confused more often than not and a little bit bored; the female POV was definitely stronger than the male, but not strong enough for me to continue soldering on.

I’m disappointed because I had expected to love this based on the description. I might return to it at some point, but right now it’s putting me in a reading slump trying to force through it.

Thank you NetGalley and Headline for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Thank you to Net Galley and the publishers for an e-ARC of this title.

From the outset the writing in this book is poetic and lyrical, written beautifully despite the difficult topics being discussed.

We follow two alternating narratives, swapping perspective every few pages between a male architect and female artist. Each has experienced suicide within their family, and now they grapple to find reasons to live and methods to end their lives. We follow their daily lives and thoughts as their paths occasionally cross, and see how our social circle and every day interactions influence our thoughts and behaviours.

This book had me hooked and I read within a few sittings. My only issue was I felt like I sometimes lost track of the story line, that might be my own fault, however it did lower my enjoyment and understanding of the overall story.

Highly recommend for fans of translated fiction such as Han Kang's Human Acts or Osamu Dazai's No Longer Human.

An interesting, dark topic, trigger warning there is constant talk about suicide and death so definitely not a book to read if you are at all vulnerable at the moment. I would not recommend unless you are feeling emotionally robust at the moment. thought I would enjoy it and for some of the writing I did. I found the alternating chapters between the characters helpful.

The writing was of good quality, unlike some/ most of this review, and yet at times my attention wandered. I’m not sure if it was the writing or my mind wanting to move away from the painful narrative. There are detailed interactions that can feel repetitive. I think maybe my head was not in the right place to be reading this and I had hoped for a longer and less bleak redemption arch but I think that’s on me not the author. I guess reading this book taught me that whilst I can be melancholy I crave to be uplifted. I do not think this is a bad book I think you just have to make sure it’s the right book for you, and you are in the right frame of mind at the time you read it. It felt like a book you take time and study and I did not feel it was a book I wanted to linger over at this moment in time so probably missed a lot.

“You don’t know what I was going to do with the blowfish,” she had said. “I got so close. I got something from it that you can’t get without touching it, without eating it. I’ve never experienced that before. I realized that death wasn’t the thing dragging me down, but the desire to live. That night the blowfish bones spoke to me. They said that sometimes life is something you have to work at with your whole being. The blowfish eyes spoke to me, too. They said that you have to look at and understand certain things before what matters to you ends up disappearing. And then I opened my eyes. What I saw when I opened my eyes—that’s what I'm waiting for right now.

"너는 내가 복어로 뭘 하려고 했는지 모르지. 가까이 갔어. 그리고 그것을 만져보지 않고는, 먹어보지 않고서는 얻을 수 없는 것을 얻었어. 그 이전에는 결코 해보지 못한 경험이었어. 왜냐하면 나를 압박하는 것은 죽음이 아니라 살고 싶다는 욕망이라는 걸 알아버렸으니까. 그 밤에. 복어의 뼈가 말했어. 온몸으로 밀고 가야만 하는 삶이 있다고. 복어의 눈이 말했어. 소중한 것이 사라지기 전에 똑바로 봐야 할 게 있다고. 그리고 나는 눈을 떴어. 내가 눈을 떴을 때 본 것, 그것이 지금 내가 기다리는 거야"

Blowfish is Chi Young Kim's translation of 복어 by 조경란 (Jo Kyung Ran).

I should start by review with a trigger warning as the novel centres around the issue of suicide.

It revolves around two, unnamed, characters:

A sculptor - "The gallery was so bright that her eyes burned. The light didn't shine down so much as it splintered coldly, like radium. People in their finest gathered under those lights. She didn't like coming to galleries. Often a gallery was filled with exaggerations, with fal-sities. This time she was hoping for something different. She wanted to fill the space with objects that were closer to the truth. With things that were true but couldn't be readily seen or felt, like silence. For all she knew, this was a quality impossible to capture in sculpture. It was time to do something she'd never done before. Before it was too late. The more challenging the better., It was the opening of her exhibition"

And an architect - "At one time he'd found windows alluring.

Some years ago he and Abe Kengo, who'd since become the CEO of the architecture firm, had accompanied the assistant director of TV Asahi to Konstantin Melnikov's house in Russia. It was for a documentary called The History of World Architecture. The house, which was in the heart of Moscow, resembled two white cylinders standing side by side. Melnikov was a key practitioner of Russian avant-garde architecture. The house was renowned for its orderly pattern of diamond-shaped windows. Even though sunlight was sparse in that northern country, light poured in from the third-floor windows. He'd had to lift a hand to shade his eyes. As with darkness, one needed time to get used to light. The dozens of hexagonal windows glittered like diamonds. They looked like doors through which wind and light and birds could come and go freely. They were what taught him about the beauty of architecture, not exteriors or large spaces or furniture or gardens. Later he would remember those windows. They'd gone to Melnikov's house in the fall of 2005. Everything changed the following March."

The architect lives in Japan, having moved there from Korea as a child with his parents, and the Korean-based sculptor goes there, ostensibly, on a three month residency, co-sponsored by the Tokyo Art Center and the Seoul Art Foundation, leading the two to meet as they move in similar artistic circles.

But each have a family history of suicide - in particular, in her case, a grandmother who deliberately ate blowfish soup where she had not removed the poison, and in his case, his brother. But it leads them to an opposite stance - she has come to Japan actually to end her life, while he, guilty that he may have ignored his brother's warning signs, senses her intent and wants to present it.

But this is not a direct dialogue they have - both seem to speak more to their lost loved one than to anyone else, and their conversation is facilitated by a 'death cleaner' who deals with the aftermaths of fatalities, and who was also present when they first met, and a blowfish dealer from the famous Tsukiji Market

And the novel itself is languid, with art and architecture as much of a feature of the text than the ostensible plot.

Her:

"Some things were difficult to classify. Like abstraction and materiality, regularity and irregularity. The gradually lightening early morning sky. Now a crimson glow ribboned up between buildings, as if pulled from deep underground. Dark pink and light blue bled over dawn, and above that, a blue tinged with yellow spread out like pigment in water. Standing at the entrance to the fish market, she watched and felt deeply the many layers of colors, colors stacked below a sky that was still mostly gray. It wouldn't be possible to depict what she was seeing. What the colors connected to might not even be part of this world. There was something else she couldn't easily classify. When he asked her why she wanted to visit Tsukiji Market, she wondered, Am I drawn here because of Halmeoni or me? If neither, who? How many people drew me here? But she could not ponder those questions here. She was shivering too much. The market floor was damp, and her feet were already frozen solid. The smell of the fish was precise and vivid. He was walking with her. She kept forgetting she was with someone else."

Him:

"Every time he came to this Kurokawa Kisho-designed National Art Center, he was reminded of the Guggenheim in New York. Frank Lloyd Wright had puzzled over creating a space that could accommodate specific intentions and experiences in a form that was not an ordinary cube. In Wright's design, each space was separate but still contributed to an overall open concept. There was no clear beginning or end, and you could see both the lobby and the ceiling from anywhere in the building. The National Art Center was quite a different design from the Guggenheim, but because of the tempered-glass-clad exterior and steel support structure, it felt open to the outdoors. In both buildings, he found himself contemplating accommodation as a concept. The power inherent in a curved line. Accommodation and reinforcement— characteristics that needed to be carefully considered when designing a new space, especially one that transcended preexisting forms. He watched her. He thought about her. All along, ever since that evening at Tokyo Tower when he had seen her again."

Perhaps not the 'will-he-stop-her-before-she-eats-the-fish' book that one might expect, but the better for it.