Where do I even start? This book isn’t just a gothic horror: it’s a gut-punching tale of grief that’ll have you sobbing into your floral throw pillow at 3 a.m. 

Soojin Han is a 17-year-old Korean American girl with a secret gift: she can resurrect the dead, but only critters smaller than her palm. More like pet rats, not people. But when her older sister Mirae drowns in the Black Pine River under shady circumstances, Soojin says, “Rules? What rules?” and brings her back.  

The sisterhood in this book is everything. Soojin and Mirae’s bond is so raw and real, it reminded me of those late-night giggle fests with my own sister, sneaking snacks and whispering secrets under the covers. Yun captures that messy, beautiful love where you’d do anything for each other... even, you know, defy the laws of nature with some light necromancy. But here’s the thing: resurrected Mirae isn’t quite the same. She’s restless, hungry, and maybe a smidge vengeful. When the town starts drowning in freakish rains and bizarre deaths, I was clutching my pearls (okay, my thrifted choker). The slow-burn horror had me checking my windows for creepy river spirits. But let’s get real: this isn’t just spooky vibes. It’s a story about grief, and just like Mirae drowned for real, Soojin is drowning in her sorrow. Every page aches with her loss, like she’s carrying a boulder in her chest. Her desperation to hold onto her sister felt so raw, it reminded me of the time I clung to my grandma’s old scarf after she passed, hoping to keep her close. Yun makes Soojin’s pain palpable, and it’s both heartbreaking and beautiful.

Yun’s world-building is perfection. The small coastal town feels like it could be your sleepy hometown, but with this eerie undercurrent that makes you side-eye every puddle. The Korean folklore woven in—ghost stories and ancestral magic—gave me chills and made my inner history nerd squeal. It’s like Yun took my love for The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea and cranked the spooky dial to eleven. And can we talk about the imagery? The silt-soaked atmosphere, the crimson ringlets of blood in water, the way Soojin’s grief feels like a physical ache that she's drowning in—I was living for it. I swear I could smell the damp earth and hear the river’s whisper.

Now, let’s get a tad snarky. If you’re expecting a neat little bow on this story, keep dreaming. Yun doesn’t spoon-feed you answers, and I respect the audacity. Some might whine about the ambiguity, but I’m over here clapping for a book that trusts me to think. The pacing? Divine. It’s a slow simmer that builds to a boil, and by the end, I was a wreck—in the best way. 

Soojin as a protagonist is my new bestie. She’s flawed, grieving, and stubborn as hell, but so relatable. I saw myself in her impulsive choices (like trying to cut my own bangs the midnight before picture day). Her journey through loss and love is so poignant, it’s like Yun reached into my chest and squeezed. 

And Mirae? Oh, she’s a force. I won’t spoil the twists, but let’s just say she’s the chaotic sister I’d both hug and hide from.

In And the River Drags Her Down is a masterpiece that’ll make you laugh, cry, and sleep with the lights on. Jihyun Yun, you’ve stolen my heart and probably a piece of my sanity. If you love dark, atmospheric YA with sisterly love and a side of revenge, pre-order this book. It’s a five-star stunner that’ll drag you under and leave you gasping for more. I’m already planning my reread later this year with a cozy sweater and a caramel frappe.