Here are 13 books that Grass fans have personally recommended once you finish the Grass series.
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I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
This is less of a book about mental illnesses and human atrocities, but it still makes me want to chew my own heart and spit it out like bubblegum. Igarashi’s work leans heavily on the concept of living in a universe while in turn, having universe live inside of all of us.
I am in constant awe of all the drawings on every page, and every concept (i.e., the waves on a shore carrying messages and memories from the open ocean) makes me look at the world in a different light.
When Ruka was younger, she saw a ghost in the water at the aquarium where her dad works. Now she feels drawn toward the aquarium and the two mysterious boys she meets there, Umi and Sora. They were raised by dugongs and hear the same strange calls from the sea as she does.
Ruka's dad and the other adults who work at the aquarium are only distantly aware of what the children are experiencing as they get caught up in the mystery of the worldwide disappearance of the oceans' fish.
I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
My god, the cover picked me up so quickly, and the story is just as beautiful as that painting. I think about everyone I’ve known as a child, what they might have been going through in their lives, and how they evolved as adults, just like me.
To hear about a friend who took their own life and realize that what you have seen over a decade ago had something to do with it is so gut-wrenching. It makes me want to back and hug every sad kid I was friends with. Huge trigger warnings for rape and suicide.
Shiino is an ill-tempered office assistant, but when her friend Mariko diesunexpectedly, she becomes determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.Portraying the soulful connection between girls, this is a striking story ofsisterhood and romance.
I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
Ever loved a book series so much that you got it permanently etched on your skin? (That’s me) Punpun, the titular character seen to readers as a line drawing of a bird, has one of the most broken families I’ve ever read about. Still, I found solace in his life. Ending the series (even though I couldn’t sleep that night) I wanted to go back and start again just to see how much he has developed.
Most of the characters are pretty unlikeable which makes them realistic. Even with the way Asano draws them, you’d think he’s pretty pessimistic about the overall human spirit too. I will say that this book has nearly every trigger warning I can think of, so be careful.
A dark coming-of-age tale where slice-of-life slices back.
This is Punpun Onodera's coming-of-age story. His parents' marriage is falling apart. His dad goes to jail, and his mom goes to the hospital. He has to live with his loser uncle. He has a crush on a girl who lives in a weird cult. Punpun tries talking with God about his problems, but God is a jerk. Punpun keeps hoping things will get better, but they really, really don't.
Meet Punpun Punyama. He's an average kid in an average town.
He wants to win a Nobel Prize and save the world.…
I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
Everyone I love who’s seen my shelf knows how much I love this picture book. I adore the simple ink drawings; it’s all I need to understand to story.
I never expected a 32-page book to break me like this. It makes me want to hug my cat Marlie and never let go (to her annoyance). To me, it explained life and death so perfectly—when one goes away, another comes into our lives.
There was a cat who lived alone. Until the day a new cat came . . .
And so a story of friendship begins, following two cats through their days, months, and years until one day, the older cat has to go. And he doesn't come back.
This is a poignant story, told in measured text and bold black-and-white illustrations about life and the act of moving on.
A professor of Chinese and Japanese, Asian Studies, and Women’s Studies at Vassar College, my research has focused on the cross-cultural fertilization between Chinese and Japanese literary traditions and the influence of Daoist philosophy in East Asian Literature. I’ve published widely on the subject, including a book, Bashô and the Dao: The Zhuangzi and the Transformation of Haikai. I began research on the “comfort women”—victimsof Imperial Japan’s military sexual slavery during the Asia Pacific War (1931-1945)—in 2002when working with a Vassar student on her thesis about the “comfort women” redressmovement. Since then, I’ve worked closely with Chinese researchers and local volunteers, interviewing the eyewitnesses and survivors of the Japanese military “comfort stations” in China,and visiting the now-defunct sites.
“Lolas” is the Tagalog word for “grannies,” referring to the aged women who survived Japanese military sex slavery in WWII. Lolas’ Houseskillfully weaves the heartrending first-person accounts of sixteen Filipina “comfort women,” snatched away from their homes and repeatedly violated by Japanese soldiers, with the riveting narratives of M. Evelina Galang, an American writer and professor of Filipina descent, who traveled with the Lolas to the sites of their abduction, protested with them at the gates of the Japanese Embassy in Manila, and became their trusted friends in documenting their stories. Galang says she “cannot rest until the stories are told.” I feel the same way. This book gives a powerful voice to the Filipina “comfort women.”
During World War II more than one thousand Filipinas were kidnapped by the Imperial Japanese Army. Lolas' House tells the stories of sixteen surviving Filipino "comfort women."
M. Evelina Galang enters into the lives of the women at Lolas' House, a community center in metro Manila. She accompanies them to the sites of their abduction and protests with them at the gates of the Japanese embassy. Each woman gives her testimony, and even though the women relive their horror at each telling, they offer their stories so that no woman anywhere should suffer wartime rape and torture.
A professor of Chinese and Japanese, Asian Studies, and Women’s Studies at Vassar College, my research has focused on the cross-cultural fertilization between Chinese and Japanese literary traditions and the influence of Daoist philosophy in East Asian Literature. I’ve published widely on the subject, including a book, Bashô and the Dao: The Zhuangzi and the Transformation of Haikai. I began research on the “comfort women”—victimsof Imperial Japan’s military sexual slavery during the Asia Pacific War (1931-1945)—in 2002when working with a Vassar student on her thesis about the “comfort women” redressmovement. Since then, I’ve worked closely with Chinese researchers and local volunteers, interviewing the eyewitnesses and survivors of the Japanese military “comfort stations” in China,and visiting the now-defunct sites.
Born in Java of the former Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), Jan Ruff-O’Herne was the first European “comfort woman” to speak out. She was interned in Ambarawa prison camp with her mother and two sisters when Japanese troops invaded Java in 1942, and forcibly taken to the military comfort station at Semarang two years later. Jan’s depiction of her happy family life before the war and the atrocities she suffered at the prison camp and the military brothel form anunforgettable contrast. Equally unforgettable is her resilience in the face of extraordinary brutality and her courage in breaking the silence around "comfort women" at an international public hearing on Japanese war crimes in 1992. Her book offers a strong message of hope for peace and reconciliation.
'How can you tell your daughters, you know? I mean, the shame, the shame was still so great. I knew I had to tell them but I couldn't tell them face to face . . . so I decided to write it down.'
Jan Ruff O'Herne's idyllic childhood in Dutch colonial Indonesia ended when the Japanese invaded Java in 1942. She was interned in Ambarawa Prison Camp along with her mother and two younger sisters. In February 1944, when Jan was just twenty-one years old, she was taken from the camp and…
A professor of Chinese and Japanese, Asian Studies, and Women’s Studies at Vassar College, my research has focused on the cross-cultural fertilization between Chinese and Japanese literary traditions and the influence of Daoist philosophy in East Asian Literature. I’ve published widely on the subject, including a book, Bashô and the Dao: The Zhuangzi and the Transformation of Haikai. I began research on the “comfort women”—victimsof Imperial Japan’s military sexual slavery during the Asia Pacific War (1931-1945)—in 2002when working with a Vassar student on her thesis about the “comfort women” redressmovement. Since then, I’ve worked closely with Chinese researchers and local volunteers, interviewing the eyewitnesses and survivors of the Japanese military “comfort stations” in China,and visiting the now-defunct sites.
This book is essential reading on the “comfort women” issue. Originally published in Japanese in1995, it has inspired many readers to look more deeply into the history of Imperial Japan'swartime “comfort women.” I consulted this book frequently in my own research and writing about the subject. The book provides a wealth of documentary evidence and first-person testimonies, convincingly proving the Japanese military’s direct involvement in setting up andadministering the comfort stations. This English edition includes introductions by both the authorand the translator, making the story accessible for English-speaking readers.
The colorful handmade costumes of beads and feathers swirl frenetically, as the Mardi Gras Indians dance through the streets of New Orleans in remembrance of a widely disputed cultural heritage. Iroquois Indians visit London in the early part of the eighteenth century and give birth to the "feathered people" in the British popular imagination. What do these seemingly disparate strands of culture share over three hundred years and several thousand miles of ocean? Artfully interweaving theatrical, musical, and ritual performance from the eighteenth century to the present in London and New Orleans, Cities of the Dead takes a look at…
A professor of Chinese and Japanese, Asian Studies, and Women’s Studies at Vassar College, my research has focused on the cross-cultural fertilization between Chinese and Japanese literary traditions and the influence of Daoist philosophy in East Asian Literature. I’ve published widely on the subject, including a book, Bashô and the Dao: The Zhuangzi and the Transformation of Haikai. I began research on the “comfort women”—victimsof Imperial Japan’s military sexual slavery during the Asia Pacific War (1931-1945)—in 2002when working with a Vassar student on her thesis about the “comfort women” redressmovement. Since then, I’ve worked closely with Chinese researchers and local volunteers, interviewing the eyewitnesses and survivors of the Japanese military “comfort stations” in China,and visiting the now-defunct sites.
The novel One Left begins when the elderly protagonist hears a TV report on the lastsurviving Korean “comfort woman.” She is in fact also a comfort station survivor, one who has remained silent and hence unknown to the public. At the age of thirteen, she was kidnappedinto a Japanese military comfort station in northeast China. The protagonist's thoughts flash back andforth between her present-day life and the wartime horrors, the details of which are drawn from real survivors’ testimonies. “Fifteen men a day was normal,” she recalls, “but on Sundayfifty men or more might come and go from a girl.” “If a girl got pregnant, her uterus wasremoved fetus and all as a preventive measure.” It is a difficult read, but necessary, moving, and profound.
During the Pacific War, more than 200,000 Korean girls were forced into sexual servitude for Japanese soldiers. They lived in horrific conditions in "comfort stations" across Japanese-occupied territories. Barely 10 percent survived to return to Korea, where they lived as social outcasts. Since then, self-declared comfort women have come forward only to have their testimonies and calls for compensation largely denied by the Japanese government.
Kim Soom tells the story of a woman who was kidnapped at the age of thirteen while gathering snails for her starving family. The horrors of her life as a sex slave follow her back…
Fresh from college, I arrived in South Korea in 1976 to teach English as a Peace Corps Volunteer, and despite my naivete, or maybe because of it, I fell in love with the country—the people, the food, the culture, the history. I have since lived and worked in many other countries, but Korea will always be my first love and I have returned many times for both work and pleasure. When I became a fiction writer, I was keen to read the work of Korean novelists who, naturally, had an even better understanding of their culture than I did, and I love staying connected to the country in this way.
This one is set in North Korea and is by a sanctioned North Korean writer. As a result, there is no criticism directed at the North’s restrictive society and on the surface it isn’t at all political. Instead, it shows the mundane existence of a judge and his wife, ordinary people who work hard to contribute to the development of the nation. It seems to be about traditional values, and the rising prevalence of divorce is seen as a problem. Those of us who follow Korea rarely get this kind of insight into what life in the North is really like, and while these characters may be relatively privileged, their existence is tellingly monochromatic.
Paek Nam-nyong's Friend is a tale of marital intrigue, abuse, and divorce in North Korea. A woman in her thirties comes to a courthouse petitioning for a divorce. As the judge who hears her statement begins to investigate the case, the story unfolds into a broader consideration of love and marriage. The novel delves into its protagonists' past, describing how the couple first fell in love and then how their marriage deteriorated over the years. It chronicles the toll their acrimony takes on their son and their careers alongside the story of the judge's own marital troubles.
Fresh from college, I arrived in South Korea in 1976 to teach English as a Peace Corps Volunteer, and despite my naivete, or maybe because of it, I fell in love with the country—the people, the food, the culture, the history. I have since lived and worked in many other countries, but Korea will always be my first love and I have returned many times for both work and pleasure. When I became a fiction writer, I was keen to read the work of Korean novelists who, naturally, had an even better understanding of their culture than I did, and I love staying connected to the country in this way.
This is a surreal novel that suggests a complexity to modern Korean life that I can’t say that I’ve witnessed. It’s a novel of patterns—repeated images and passages that may be indicative of what it’s like to live in Seoul at this point in time. The main character has lost her job—and an odd job it was—but she is now even more immersed in the world of artists and writers, which is another reason the book spoke to me. The book was something of a challenge, given its shifts and ghost-like characters, but that too made it more exciting.
A seductive, disorienting novel that manipulates the fragile line between dreams and reality, by South Korea s leading contemporary writer
A startling and boundary-pushing novel, Untold Night and Day tells the story of a young woman s journey through Seoul over the course of a night and a day. It s 28-year-old Ayami s final day at her box-office job in Seoul s audio theater. Her night is spent walking the sweltering streets of the city with her former boss in search of Yeoni, their missing elderly friend, and her day is spent looking after a mysterious, visiting poet. Their…
