The Art of What Remains: Kyung-Ran Jo’s “Blowfish” and the Echoes of Trauma

By Tony Huang

Blowfish, by Kyung-Ran Jo (Astra House, July 15, 2025)

Kyung-Ran Jo’s Blowfish, rendered into English with poised and perceptive grace by Chi-Young Kim, is not merely a novel to entertain; set to release on July 15th, 2025, it invites readers into a profound exploration of the elusive contours of identity, the lingering ache of trauma, and the fragile, often unspoken language of human connection. Chi-Young Kim, whose translations—most notably the Man Asian Literary Prize-winning Please Look After Mom and the recent International Booker-shortlisted Whale—are themselves works of art, ensures that Blowfish adeptly crosses the linguistic divide with both fidelity and a profound understanding of Jo’s artistry.

The opening moments of the novel are indelible, particularly the visceral unveiling of the art installation Sew Me—silicone casts of a body laid bare and stitched with thread. This arresting imagery serves as a stark meditation on vulnerability, the shedding of self, and the painstaking act of piecing together what remains. Displayed unceremoniously on a table, devoid of artifice, it compels an unsettling intimacy, forcing a confrontation with mortality and the tangible echoes of existence. The work, serving as a remote counterpart to the protagonist’s other piece, Breath of Being, creates a haunting resonance, inviting readers to view art as both a desperate grasp at permanence and a raw exposure of transience.

As the narrative current pulls us further in, we encounter a man framed by a narrow window, a rectangle of light and shadow that becomes a potent symbol of his internal confinement. His gaze, fixed on the distant pulse of the city, reveals a mind wrestling with the illusion of escape and the crushing weight of unseen walls. This image of self-imposed isolation underscores the novel’s exploration of the labyrinthine complexities of being, complicated further by varying forms of absence and loss.

In symmetry with the man obsessed with windows, Jo paints a haunting portrait of a woman on a rooftop, her gaze tracing a lonely trajectory across the urban sprawl, yearning for connection with—yet possibly separating from—the spectral presence of family. This paradox of proximity and profound solitude encapsulates the struggle to navigate the relentless currents of modern life while tethered to heritage, both inspiring and burdensome. Shuttling mainly between these two figures, the novel begins its delicate excavation of identity, the indelible marks of familial legacy, and the silent burden of inherited trauma.

The setting subtly shifts between Seoul and Tokyo, and within the liminal space between these two cities, Jo delves into the subterranean currents of family history, with unspoken wounds rippling through generations, embodied in poignant stories of troubled families and the spectral echoes of suicide. These heavy undercurrents create a profound backdrop for the characters’ quiet contemplations on mortality and the fragile nature of existence.

The recurring motif of the cloaked figure—a silent observer and ghost of a deceased family member—embodies the ever-present shadow and mystery of death, a sense of inevitability that permeates the narrative. Yet, rather than succumbing to despair, this spectral presence catalyzes stark acceptance, prompting profound questions about the value of a life lived and the quiet agency one possesses in the face of its finite nature.

As the narrative unfolds with a measured, nearly dreamlike cadence, deeper thematic layers are revealed, including the unsettling disquiet that often accompanies personal transformation. The female protagonist’s journey to Tokyo—a departure rendered in the symbolic weight of black and a palpable sense of alienation—marks a pivotal shift. Her introspective gaze lingers on the enduring ache of familial pain, juxtaposed with the unfamiliar textures of a new landscape, culminating in a profound meditation on the fluid, often fractured, nature of selfhood.

Moments of connection, both luminous and shadowed, flicker throughout the story. In the female protagonist’s quiet encounters with the architect—a figure who mirrors her own internal fragmentation and grapples with familial anxieties—readers are drawn into a shared space of vulnerability. Their evolving relationship, conducted often in the unspoken language of shared solitude, underscores the complex interplay between the yearning for understanding and the persistent pull of isolation or something even darker that resonates at the novel’s core.

The dense, symbolic imagery—the blowfish itself serving as a potent metaphor for the beauty and inherent danger woven into the fabric of existence—permeates every layer of the narrative. With each precisely chosen phrase and carefully rendered scene, Jo crafts a world that is both hauntingly beautiful and profoundly unsettling, compelling readers to confront their own vulnerabilities, question the nature of their connections, and ultimately discover the fragile yet enduring appeal of art as a means of redemption.

Through the eloquent translation of Chi-Young Kim, Blowfish is more than a novel; it is an immersion into the luminous stillness of profound human experience. Kyung-Ran Jo invites us to navigate the depths of our vulnerabilities, examine the often-unspoken language of our connections and disconnections, and ultimately find fragile beauty within the weight of existence. This is a book that will linger in the quiet yet unsettling corners of the mind, urging us to consider not just the burden of our stories, but the delicate, shimmering threads of love, care, and connection that weave through them.

Tony Huang

Tony Huang, PhD, is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Hong Kong Review. He is also the founder of Metacircle Fellowship, Metacircle (Hong Kong) Culture and Education Co., Ltd. and Metaeducation. He works as a guest-editor for SmokeLong Quarterly. His poems and translations have appeared in Mad Swirl, The Hong Kong Review, The Best Small Fictions Anthology Selections 2020, Tianjin Daily, Binhai Times, SmokeLong Quarterly, Nankai Journal, Large Ocean Poetry Quarterly, Yangcheng Evening News and other places.

Copy editor: Nancy He