The Waiting

Starred review from October 1, 2021

Gendry-Kim's follow-up to Grass (the award-winning graphic novel based on her mother's life) starts with the onset of World War II, as Korean teenager Gwija prepares to a man she barely knows, in order to avoid being forced into sexual slavery by the Imperial Japanese Army. Within a few years, she's the proud mother of two small children. When the Korean War begins, her family joins countless others fleeing south to escape the fighting in the north of the peninsula. At one point in the trek, Gwija stops to nurse her infant daughter and loses her husband and son in the crowd. She never finds them. Seventy years later, Gwija's daughter from her second marriage promises she'll find her long-lost older brother before her mother dies--a heartbreakingly impossible task. Gendry-Kim's masterful black-and-white drawings and innovative layouts convey an uncanny sense of longing in this unforgettable account of the Korean War's lasting impact. VERDICT A remarkably empathic tour-de-force crafted around testimony by Gendry-Kim's mother and other Koreans who long to reunite with family in the North.

Copyright 2021 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

Starred review from July 1, 2021
The book is labeled fiction, but the extraordinarily haunting narrative is inspired by Gendry-Kim's mother and two elderly survivors of Korean War separations who were briefly allowed to meet their North Korean families; Gendry--Kim's mother still hopes to glimpse her sister. That survivor generation is dying, Gendry-Kim warns, "and with them, the painful memories are disappearing, too. The current generation has little interest in the reunification of the two Koreas." The critical urgency to save their stories--the same desperation for crucial preservation reflected in Gendry-Kim's Harvey-winning Grass (2019)--again engenders spectacular results. Jina, a graphic artist with real-estate woes, reluctantly plans to move away from her elderly mother. She works furiously to record Gwija's near-century-long odyssey, forever defined by the cleaving from her three-year-old son and husband as they fled from north to south. Even as Gwija later remarried, both she and her husband vowed they would return to their original spouses if a reunion miracle happened. Gendry-Kim's arresting cover displays that promise--the signs hanging on Jina's aging parents memorialize the hope of finding missing loved ones. Visually, Gendry-Kim's stark black-and-white compositions couldn't be more affecting: the ominous efficacy of all-black pages, unpredictable layouts with and without panels, and prodigiously empathic expressions throughout. Translated into English by lauded Hong, Gendry-Kim's latest import proves to be another stunning masterpiece.

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Starred review from August 9, 2021
Gendry-Kim (Grass) returns with an arresting portrayal of what happened to the families that were split apart during the frenzied migration of refugees from North to South Korea after WWII. Gendry-Kim’s considerable powers as a graphic storyteller breathe life into the tragic tale of Song Gwija, who grew up during the war in what would later become North Korea under constant threat from invading Japanese soldiers. Gwija, now in her old age, begs her adult daughter Jina to help locate her lost son, and Gendry-Kim brilliantly articulates the exasperation and sense of duty that characterizes their relationship. Their present-day narrative frames Gwija’s recollections of the war. In one of the most impactful artistic sequences, she watches a group of refugees crossing the country and realizes she and her family must flee as well. From tension with other migrants to the confused horror when American jets turn their guns on the caravan, Gwija’s exhaustion is palpable. The inevitable moment she is separated from her husband and son, and her subsequent panic and loss, hits powerfully. Back in the present, Gwija’s hope hinges on a program in which select families, separated by the division of the country, can win a lottery to be reunited—if only for a limited time. Throughout, Gendry-Kim’s inky brushwork evokes a rich sense of place, from the hostile, scrubby landscape of North Korea to the crowded alleyways of modern-day Seoul. Much like Thi Bui’s The Best We Can Do, this family portrait reveals in heartbreaking detail the impacts of colonization and political upheaval that reverberate for generations.