Asian American Literature Fans

A Review of J.S. Lee’s Keurium (Pent-up Press, 2018)
By Stephen Hong Sohn

So, I was intrigued by this title because it comes out of what seems to be a new independent press devoted to marginalized writers. So far, all we have for the press is this page: http://www.pentuppress.com/. Apparently, they’re not quite fully off the ground, despite having published at least one title, which is being reviewed here.

J.S. Lee’s Keurium (Pent-up Press, 2018) is a compelling addition to the Korean American adoptee story, especially due to its quite traumatic depiction of gaslighting. In this case, the protagonist of the story, Shay, finds herself at the opening of the novel in a state of catatonia. Her existence is somewhat reminiscent of the “locked-in” syndrome, as she is aware of things going on around her but has no control over her body. ­­­Over the course of hospital visits, we get a sense of her life, which includes highly dysfunctional relationships with her adoptive sister Myra and her adoptive mother.

The thing is: Shay’s come to trust the perspectives of her adoptive family and so the novel is dealing with the long, drawn-out process by which Shay finds a new perspective. The body’s catatonia is perhaps a larger metaphor for what is going on in her life: her perception of the world around her has been compromised in some way. Fortunately, Shay has developed a strong and loving relationship with her Korean American boyfriend. Also, when she finally comes out of her catatonic state, she is connected with a therapist who helps her understand how so much of her adoptive family has come to skew what is going on in her life.  

Readers get a sense of serious relief once Shay makes concrete plans to move away from her family, both physically and emotionally. The novel’s title is a phonetic approximate of a Korean saying that generally translates as a kind of melancholic feeling related to some experience. For Shay, melancholia is not necessarily related to the loss of a birth family, which makes Lee’s work diverge from many other narratives concerning adoption. Instead, it’s really connected to her desire for authentic, intimate relationships. What is perhaps one of the most tragic moments of the novel is when Shay is able to reconnect with another Korean American adoptee (as a note, I’m beginning to research further into a more politically conscious way of referencing an American adoptee of Korean descent; I’ve seen the OAK one variant, which refers to an overseas adopted Korean), who she was friends with when she was a child. Shay begins to realize that her mother continually cut out people from her life that posed a threat to her control over her adopted daughter, so when she is finally able to break these kinds of bonds, we can finally begin to observe Shay’s recovery from a state of depression and melancholia.

The novel is best in its complex evocation of mental illness and healing, as it relates to a Korean American adoptee’s thorny upbringing. A late stage reveal completely upends the family dynamics, so much so that readers understand just how much Shay may have repressed just to have survived. The salve is that we’ll see her extract herself from such a dangerous community, suggesting that her future, perhaps for the first time, seems actually possible.

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Review Author: Stephen Hong Sohn
Review Editor: Gnei Soraya Zarook

If you have any questions or want us to consider your book for review, please don’t hesitate to contact us via email!
Prof. Stephen Hong Sohn at ssohnucr@gmail.com
Gnei Soraya Zarook, PhD Student in English, at gzaro001@ucr.edu