There There exposes the sad truth and harsh reality that comes with being an urban Indigenous person in the states. I really liked the additional context and historical information within the prologue and those scattered between chapters. Not all readers know the history of native Americans as it is, so I appreciate that.

I liked reading about the diverse cast and their different experiences—fetal alcohol syndrome, motherhood, assault, addiction, cultural disconnect, physical insecurities, etc. However, I think there may have been too many characters which makes it hard to keep up or remember who's who. The cast is stretched thin so room for development is scarce. I think this could have been more poignant and impactful if the cast was pruned a little bit, allowing individual characters to shine brighter. I thought Dene Oxendene was going to have a much greater impact/presence but he was very much a background entity.

Most of the book is just a buildup to the last few pages, which are fast and devastating. It's realistic—that's life, especially the countless lives lost and scarred due to colonization. I'm sure the abruptness is a commentary on that. However, I still think it could have been paced differently and wrapped up better. For now it seems like a setup for a sequel.

I love to read fiction based on real events and life experiences, but this book was a bit of a drag to get through until the actual powwow began.

Still very informative and interesting, but of course it fell flat for me as a non native who doesn't resonate with it as much. :[

Min Jin Lee's Pachinko plunges us into the onerous life of a young Korean girl named Sunja, and we follow the unfolding of her life during times of war and discrimination from Pyongyang to Yokohama. It's hard to encapsulate so many pages into one review, but it was great to see the world through Sunja's eyes. I had not as known much about Korean discrimination and their reputation among the Japanese until now. There were dozens of characters, and no matter their brevity they had life and purpose within the story. It was easy to sympathize and get attached to characters, even the ones you aren't rooting for.

The themes of motherhood, family and collectivism resonated a lot with me. As an Asian Canadian raised by immigrants, I felt very understood as I read about Sunja's family dynamics, and the chore that it is to be a matriarch, provider and daughter. 

The pacing was very well done, which is surprising since the chapters skip years at a time. Sunja begins as a teenager and ends as a grandmother. The different perspectives of her sons and their inner monologues had their own charm. 

Immigrant women work tirelessly and speak nothing of it—that I know for certain. I enjoyed the introduction of foreign perspectives, such as Phoebe's American views and more feminist customs clashing with those of Sunja's, which are traditional.

I see truth in both sides, as a very Westernized Asian myself who hates the gender divide and the expectations of sons versus daughters. 

This book really makes you sympathize with why people think the way they do, when they hold the responsibility of generations of self preservation.