THAT LONELY SPELL

A fresh take on the Korean American memoir by a writer from a generation whose voice has seldom been heard.

Unlike most Korean Americans, who emigrated after the late 1960s, Park’s father was part of a small wave of Korean scholars who left shortly after the Korean War ended. In this memoir in essays, a collection of previously published pieces, the author describes the eagerness with which her cosmopolitan father—a Harvard-educated economist who worked for the World Bank—embraced the “American way of life” for his family. Park adeptly captures little details of a bygone era: her father’s love for Reader’s Digest, references to Camel cigarettes or Saturday night barbecues, and “the sweet stuff of life: Juicy Fruit gum, butterscotch candies, 7-Ups.” Although her sketches of ordinary life are engaging, the narrative is less a memoir of the times, or cultural identity, than a story of loss. At its heart, this is an elegy to Park’s father, who died when the author was in her early 20s. These essays, she notes, are “love letters to my dad and his life, both glorious and cheated.” Though Park writes about other loved ones—her mother, a childhood friend, an old sweetheart, her ex-husband—all ultimately echo her defining loss, the beloved patriarch taken too young. Recalling the death of a beloved dog, the author writes, “You know Jefferson, I never got to say good-bye to my dad; he was here then gone forever. So, despite the tragic hour, I’m grateful I could say good-bye to you.” She revisits her last moments with her father repeatedly. Had she known he was near death, “I would have…grabbed my father so hard he could’ve never left this earth, not even if God, the angels, and fate willed it.” Yet despite the deep dive into grief, Park’s tender, self-aware voice is never maudlin, and her journey is relatable.

Heart and humanity shine through in essays that speak to a fierce love of family and longing for home.