Yesterday I finished reading Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner, a memoir about her mother dying of cancer and how she cared for her and coped with her death. I'd already read the opening chapter in the New Yorker and found it very moving. Now, after my own mother's death from cancer, I felt compelled to read it. She reflects on her relationship with her Korean mother through food. Her descriptions of hospice care for her mother at home resonated with me, although their experience took much longer than ours. I still can't believe that we lost her in one month.
I picked up (on the street) and read in one sitting The Italian Girl by Iris Murdoch, a lurid melodrama but beautifully written. I decided to take it home because it too was about a family's response to a mother's death, although that event remains a background catalyst. I had read a few of Murdoch's novels many years ago, and remember that I liked them although I can't remember what they were about at all.
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