I really enjoyed this book! The original is in Korean, but the version I read was impeccably translated by someone with a masterful command of idiomatic English.

The book charts the life of a burnt-out Korean worker, Yeongju, as she embarks on a new venture by opening a bookshop. Seeing the stereotypes of Korean working culture explored through the interactions of Yeongju with her customers was both concerning and illuminating.

The moment she stepped inside [the bookshop], she relaxed, as if her body and senses basked in the comfort of returning to her workplace. In the past, she used to live by mantras like passion and willpower, as if by imprinting the words on her mind, they would somehow breathe meaning into her life. Then one day she realised it felt like she was driving herself into a corner, and she resolved never to let those words dictate her life again. Instead, she learnt to listen to her body, her feelings, and be in happy places. She would ask herself these questions: does this place make me feel positive? Can I be truly whole and uncompromisingly myself? Do I love and treasure myself here? For Yeongju, the bookshop checked all the boxes.

I enjoyed the fresh writing style; the way the protagonist’s inner monologue is rendered faithfully into prose never felt trite or overdone. The writing felt mellifluous and the book was a reflective read. It really is an ode to the love of the written word:

But now, she treated the silence as a day’s rest for her voice and was perfectly at ease. When she wasn’t talking, her inner voice grew louder. She wasn’t talking, but she still spent the whole day thinking and feeling. Instead of sounds, she expressed herself through the written word. Sometimes, she even wrote three essays on a single Sunday. But these belonged solely to her, and were never shared with anyone else.

I can’t say I’m this prolific a writer, but I suppose there’s something relatable about spending time in quietude writing and pondering.

… Koreans were raised in a culture where they were taught to be conscious of the eyes of others, which made them, Yeongju included, more self-conscious of how they were perceived. Perhaps this was what drew her to the writing of authors from abroad, to those who grew up in a different culture, and who were different in the way they thought, felt, and expressed themselves.

I think this interest is symmetric! It’s precisely why I enjoy reading works of foreign literature.

Dissonance before moments of harmony makes the harmony sound beautiful. Just as harmony and dissonance exist side by side in music, life is the same. Because harmony is preceded by dissonance, that’s why we think life is beautiful… Is there a way that will accurately tell us whether the current moment we’re living in is harmony or dissonance? How do I tell what state I’m in now? Hmm, you won’t quite know while you’re in the moment. It’s only when you look back that the answer is clear.

By the time Seungwoo finished showering, preparing dinner, eating, resting, and doing the dishes, the clock struck eight. This was when he turned into a completely different person. As he shrugged off the cloak of an ordinary company employee, it was as if he, too, put aside the responsibilities of his title, erased the preprogrammed thoughts and actions, and peeled off the facade of indifference. From this moment, every second belonged completely to him. Time was real.

For the past few years, the hours before bedtime were when he could be truly himself, diving deep into something that captivated his interest - the Korean language. He’d spent the past ten years immersed in programming languages, but he was no longer a programmer. Right now, he was just another ordinary company employee, dutifully checking in and out of the office every day. Immersing himself in the Korean language was tiring, but fun. He enjoyed having something to focus on whole-heartedly, devoting himself to studying something he liked. The energy expended at work, he recharged at home.

I strongly relate to this: I find I have almost boundless energy for dabbling with maths and CS outside of work (or whatever other random rabbit hole I find myself in). It’s a refreshing break from the day-to-day that I find restorative and joyful.

And last but not least, an interesting typesetting note I learned from the book jacket:

The text of this book is set in Minion, a digital typeface designed by Robert Slimbach in 1990 for Adobe Systems. The name comes from the traditional naming system for type sizes, in which minion is between nonpareil and brevier. It is inspired by late Renaissance-era type.