Review by Booklist Review
Henrik's story begins with the death of his loved one, Fumiko, a Japanese student he met in Paris while studying to become a translator. Despite their difficulty communicating at times, he believed their love was real, and his grief over Fumiko's apparent suicide leads him to question everything he used to take for granted. Fumiko haunts Henrik wherever he goes, and he wonders endlessly how things could have been different. He observes others while investigating how growing up as an adopted Asian boy in Denmark shaped his understanding of the world. When he and his goddaughter spend more time together, playing a game of convincing others that they are father and daughter despite their strikingly different looks, it reveals an unspoken desire for genuine intimacy that seems to haunt them both. Debut novelist Kim takes readers on a dreamlike journey through Paris. With flowing language and lavish detail, he delves deep into the "what if's" of infinite possibilities and explores how language and translations can affect one's perspectives and experiences.
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Kim's splendid if scattered debut centers on a Paris university student who is left reeling after his girlfriend's death. Henrik Blatand has long struggled with his identity as a Japanese man adopted by Danish parents . After his Japanese girlfriend, Fumiko, dies by suicide, he feels consumed by guilt, believing he could have helped her. Here, Kim introduces a confusing break in the narrative. Fumiko's body was donated to science, and the medical student who is dissecting Fumiko's body in the lab meets Henrik, who has joined the lab as an arts student after learning her body would be there. Later, Henrik trains to be a translator and befriends charismatic Swiss translator René, whose seven-year-old daughter, Gém, reminds Henrik of Fumiko, even though she's not Japanese, and who takes to claiming Henrik is her father when they're in public, leading him to see himself as a father figure to her. Throughout, Henrik describes his various encounters with women and girls who remind him in some way of Fumiko. While there are many beautiful passages of longing (Henrik remembers falling in love with Fumiko's "strangeness"), the incurably woebegone narrator lacks a clear motive, which will leave readers feeling puzzled. Kim sets a captivating mood, but not enough is done with it. Agent: PJ Mark, Janklow & Nesbit Assoc. (Aug.)
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Review by Kirkus Book Review
A translator carries the burden of his girlfriend's suicide through the City of Light and beyond. Henrik Blatand, the narrator of much of Kim's ethereal debut novel, is a Dane of Japanese descent attending college in Paris, and he acutely recognizes the host of identities thrust upon him: "I feared I was no one, in the end," he thinks early on. He has a girlfriend, Fumiko, who's Japanese, but as the novel opens she rapidly succumbs to depression, locking herself in her room and ultimately killing herself. The story that follows is less a plotted narrative than a group of set pieces that underscore Henrik's uncertain sense of both self and place before and after that event. He seems to find himself in dark, liminal places throughout the city: the catacombs, the Metro, a remote pocket of the city a Korean acquaintance insists is a secret enclave of North Korea's elite. Fumiko's presence lingers: Henrik mistakes another woman for her, and the medical student dissecting Fumiko's corpse obsesses over who she was in life. Later, Henrik becomes godfather to a former classmate's daughter, who's being pressed to become an actress in B-list Italian horror films; subtly, the girl's predicament stokes Henrik's guilt over Fumiko. Kim is an elegant writer who knows how to set a mood, and the early portions of the novel thoughtfully interweave Henrik's identity crisis and Fumiko's loss without pat and easy gestures of grief. But Kim is so determined to strip Henrik of conventional emotion that he becomes awkward and static. Later, Henrik says, "I don't know what I am now. Nothing, I guess." Kim is a talented observer, but the novel betrays a frustrating lack of forward movement. An overly careful and restrained tale of a character who's a constant expat, emotionally and physically. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
