I've never quite read a book like this before, but I found it very compelling. A bit slow and meandering, but in a way where one can't help but enjoy the journey. I like books where the prose itself lulls you into the world of the story, and this was no exception. Deeply unconventional, but no less enjoyable. Kudos to the translator!

Blowfish was a beautiful and intense study of two characters whose lives are vastly different and yet they share the same desire…to no longer exist in this world. I loved the psychological examination of both characters, as well as the non linear (ish) story telling. Learning about past experiences of not just the main characters but their families and friends was both heartbreaking while somehow being hopeful at times. It goes without saying that the subject matter is heavy and could be triggering for some readers (myself included) so keep that in mind if you’re picking up this book. Overall, this was a fantastic translation of a story that I think many people may find relatable. 4.5/5 stars!

"when she had said her final goodbyes, Abe-san said one thing and one thing only, his face inscrutable: "Sayonara!"

Maybe he knew all along, the only reason she met him was to get closer to death.
the reason why she dedicatedly learnt about blowfish was not to be cautious about removing its poison, but to extract the precise thing, to build the final piece of art of her career- her own death.

BLOWFISH tells the story of two people, a successful sculptor who decide to commit suicide by artfully preparing a lethal dish of blowfish and consuming it, and a male architect- whose brother's suicide haunts him throughout his life. as life brings them together- two times- things inevitably gets entangled. Chaotic.

This book reeks of death. every page of this book carries the musty scent of death, blended with the warm blood of the blowfishes Abe-san cured for her. depressing, dark and hauntingly relieving. She orchestrates her death for her. As a final tribute to the life she led, to the eyes that watched her. To the world and fate that made her come to that decision.

I wouldn't say I enjoyed this book as a whole, but a million details, a million instances, a million times the characters made me reconsider the philosophy of my own life- this book is a strong literary piece. it's strong enough to claw your heart and hang onto it, when the arteries tear and bleed. i would say that i enjoyed this book as a million individual pieces, each having its own independent existence, relevance, and arrival in my life in the future.

"when she happened to look through his diary, she discovered that each entry began with "If I live".

BLOWFISH is the testimony of the darkest alley of the human existence, crawling through the gutters of disparity, lost hopes rotting at the far end of the dungeon. Kyung-Ran Jo crafted this novel as a masterpiece, where the blowfish swimming passively in the tank representing the woman's contemplation of failures in life, love, and art.
"Isn't half of life embarrassment? And the rest of it fear and greed?"

This book pulled me back to the time when i read 'The Vegetarian' by Han Kang and now i'm excited to read the other works of Kyung-Ran Jo.

But before that, i need to learn how to cook a Blowfish.

Thank you Astra Publishing House and NG for sending the Advance Reader Copy of this book.

Blowfish is a haunting, cerebral meditation on art, death, and the fragile threads that tether us to life. Told in four interwoven parts, this postmodern novel is less a conventional narrative and more a quiet reckoning—a slow, aching dissection of two lives orbiting despair, flickering with the faintest pulses of connection.

The alternating stories of a female sculptor and a male architect are elegantly constructed, each echoing with personal tragedy: a grandmother’s violent suicide by poisonous blowfish, a brother’s fatal leap. These events linger like ghosts in the protagonists’ minds, shaping their present and clouding their futures. Their occasional intersections—in Seoul and later Tokyo—are charged not with romance but with the muted tension of people standing at the edge of something final, perhaps irreversible.

The prose is sparse and emotionally restrained yet deeply evocative. The cities—Seoul and Tokyo—aren’t just backdrops but living entities layered with memory, silence, and a strange kind of beauty. Through these urban landscapes, the novel explores alienation in modern life and how creativity can be both an escape and a reason to stay alive.

Despite its somber subject matter, Blowfish is not without hope. Art becomes a lifeline, a fragile but luminous thread that binds the two protagonists to the world and each other, however fleetingly. Jia resists tidy conclusions or dramatic catharsis, offering a subtle, thoughtful look at what it means to create in the face of despair.

The publisher provided ARC via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

Some says it reminds them of Han Kang, but it leans towards Mieko Kawakami's All the Lovers in the Night, Moshfegh's My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Marguerite Duras' The Lover & Territory of Light by Yūko Tsushima- in Moshfegh case; losing hope of living & Tsushima for lumionous, hypnotic language style.

As the summary goes, you can guess the tone and mood- it's dark and sardonic, and some are devastating.
"She had once said to him, “Isn’t half of life embarrassment? And the rest of it fear and greed?”She hadn’t explained herself, but he’d understood that the rest meant death. He had to tell her that the truly embarrassing thing wasn’t always thinking about death and being pulled toward it, but having never loved anyone."

I love how blowfish as a general statue in this book- from how it represent pressures (one wrong cut and you're out. literally), the God complex (on how u can choose to live or die just by eating the same thing), and subsequently, delicacy in Japan and Korea, but one that can be fatal if prepared incorrectly. This duality is something beautiful and refined yet harboring death- mirrors the inner lives of the main characters.

Definitely would recommend this! 4.5/5.

I enjoyed this. It was a fun and interesting read - it really made me have deep moments of thought. It also made me really appreciate the life that I’m living. I enjoy being in the head of such a complex character.

thank you astra house for this early arc ebook!

i was super excited and nervous to read this book. mostly nervous because the premise is so tempting to me, nervous because what if it doesn’t deliver.

but it delivered. a book with alternating POVs, about two people who live in a creative art space of the world and who have a life touched by suicide.

not much of this book is dialogue, more descriptions of areas, thoughts, past/present situations, but the author had the ability to create this intense relationship between the two main characters. i enjoyed the read very much, and felt the only thing truly missing was more conversation.

Suicide is a difficult subject to discuss, let alone write about. This is because ending one’s life is a totalising decision to make, and because of this totalisation—voluntarily reducing all history, anticipation, future, time, and reality to nothing, it is often either mischaracterised in literature as a completely irrational decision made by someone who is obviously ‘wrong’, or it is treated too metaphorically, too aesthetically, in so much that the overwrought-ness of prose can detract from the extremely serious subject-matter—in essence, the sign taking precedence over the signified. An author tackling the subject therefore has to meet the difficult balance of empathetic presentation without making light of the act through its description of it. It is so difficult to write about that even writing this review is difficult and writing words about suicide is difficult. But it is so very important that there are works addressing the topic, and by empathising with those who have suicidal tendencies and/or have experienced suicide in the family through literature, we can learn better how to be there for those in our own lives.

Blowfish by Kyung-Ran Jo is a novel about suicide. It tells the story of two protagonists, their point-of-view alternated between chapters: the first, a successful female sculptor who, from the very beginning of the novel, we find has decided to end her life, ‘choosing death’ after reflecting on the suicide of her own grandmother; the second, a male architect who is attempting to recover from the recent suicide of his brother and balances his work life alongside his fractured family life, including dealing with the newly-stirred suicidal tendencies of his father. Both characters meet at an event dinner in Seoul, and their paths cross again at an event in Tokyo. The Sculptor, deciding on a method of suicide, intends to find out how to procure and prepare blowfish in a way that kills her. The Architect, reeling from trauma and guilt, looks to save this woman who has come into his life, not letting her be like the brother who slipped through his grasp.

Kyung-Ran’s writing is sparse and minimalist, with staccato sentences, metaphorical language, and very little flourish or description. It doesn’t hold your hand when it comes to exposition or chronology, which makes approaching the novel difficult initially. As mentioned, the chapters alternate between the female sculptor narrator and the male architect narrator, which is told in third person limited, and the protagonists are never given names, only referred to by their pronouns. The blurb to the novel calls it ‘postmodern’, and though I think it’s a nebulous term to apply in this case, it definitely comes with some of the difficulty associated with non-conventional literature. The effect of these deliberate stylistic choices is that Kyung-Ran offers a depersonalised heaviness; the experience of reading is existential and distressing, but gives the characters a humanising edge—the nameless protagonists could equally be given the name of anyone in our lives.

The depiction of suicidality in this novel was realistic and heavy. It is presented not as a decision made consciously, but as an urge, potentially genetic and familial, that is then justified intellectually after-the-fact. It is also presented as something with no true solution, just as in real life, people ‘slip through’ everyone’s grasp, and the guilt that comes with that can be immobilising. The Sculptor’s suicidal ideation is established from the beginning and this long thread continues throughout. The depiction of the Architect’s regret and trauma and how it seeped into his waking thoughts is similarly an inescapable continuum. The structure of the alternating perspectives of the novel will influence readers to believe that the characters can save each other. Perhaps they can, but Kyung-Ran doesn’t shy away from the idea that there is sometimes nothing one can do.

But though the novel is heavy, its ultimate intention is life-affirming. We are given breath through its portrayal of the life-affirming nature of art, specifically art in its relation to sculpture and architecture. I have always enjoyed when different artistic media is discussed within literature, and in Blowfish, learning about how interior and exterior spaces are designed in the Architect’s chapters, or learning how in the Sculptor’s chapters how she thinks about air, space, shape and form and its relation to herself and her artistic intentions was enlightening to read. The other life-affirming aspect is its presentation of love and companionship, and how much meaning in life can come from someone just being there for another, being there to speak, listen, and love unconditionally.

In a chapter late in the novel, the Sculptor discusses the concept of art with a friend. The Sculptor declares that all art is about ‘death’, her artist friend counters that it is about ‘life.’ It is a great encapsulation of the overarching theme of the novel. Because through all the death in this novel, what it is really about is life, like a glint of light in the dark. Or, perhaps, light and dark are intertwined, like the shadows in rooms that architects have designed, or the chiaroscuro in artwork. The same principles apply to literature, and Kyung-Ran Jo has delivered this message through this novel. What we learn is to covet this light within ourselves, to bring it to others, both in the form of art and design, but also in our friendships and relationships. To be by someone’s side, that is all we can do. There are no answers, but we can only try.

Blowfish is a haunting exploration of art, death, and the delicate ties that anchor us to existence. Carefully structured in interwoven parts, this postmodern novel unfolds less as a traditional story and more as a quiet confrontation—a slow, poignant unraveling of two lives circling despair, illuminated by fleeting moments of connection.

The parallel narratives of a female sculptor and a male architect are intricately crafted, each shadowed by personal tragedy: a grandmother’s violent suicide through blowfish poisoning and a brother’s fatal plunge. These losses linger in their consciousness, shaping their present realities and clouding their sense of hope. Their fateful encounters—in Seoul and later in Tokyo—carry not quite a romantic spark but a profound connection, as if each meeting teeters on the brink of something irrevocable.

The prose is minimalistic and emotionally restrained, yet charged with deep resonance—qualities that become the novel’s greatest strengths.

Though steeped in sorrow, Blowfish still clings to a fragile sense of hope. Art emerges as a tenuous yet luminous thread, connecting the protagonists to life—and to each other, however briefly. Jia avoids easy resolutions and dramatic climaxes, instead offering a subtle, contemplative meditation on the act of creating in the shadow of despair.

Thank you to NetGalley for allowing me to read this fantastic e-ARC.

Thankyou Netgalley for allowing me to read this fantastic e-ARC

gorgeous, grasping, tugging, ripping work filled with the scent of death and fish. the story is impeccable, but the contemplation even more so. 5 stars. tysm for the arc.

This was a beautiful yet sad read. Two people whose lives are touched by suicide in some manner. One is set on ending their life while the other is given the chance to make a difference in someone’ else’s life. There’s not much dialogue but the author was able to convey a meaningful story through setting descriptions and backstories told from the character’s points of view. While this is a pretty short book, it is a slow read. I definitely took a couple breaks because I found myself not in the mood for it at times. Some things did feel unnecessary to the story but overall this was a moving piece.

Blowfish is beautifully written, smooth as cream laced with something intriguing and hypnotic. Jo delves into the minds of two people haunted by death and meditating on their own inevitable demise, one with resignation and the other desperate for one last try at happiness. A somber premise, but Blowfish also explores life's absurdities as the main characters reflect on their choices and relationships. An absorbing, surprisingly relatable, and ultimately satisfying read.

Blowfish is a moody, atmospheric, and quietly devastating novel that lingers long after the final page. Both of the main characters—a sculptor and an architect—have been deeply marked by the suicides of loved ones, and they now move through life tethered to the notion of their own eventual deaths. What emerges is a narrative that uses the inevitability of mortality as both creative fuel and a slow, elegiac surrender.

I was especially drawn to the nonlinear structure and the way the story drifts between Tokyo and Seoul. These cities, while full of life and beauty, also carry a certain cold mysticism—perfect backdrops for this introspective, melancholic tale. As someone who often finds myself creatively stifled or emotionally overwhelmed, I found the novel’s tone deeply resonant. Its exploration of the intersection between art, despair, and longing was both painful and strangely comforting.

Despite its focus on suicide, Blowfish is not hopeless. There’s a fragile, haunting beauty in the way Jo portrays the characters’ inner worlds. It’s a dark book, yes—but also a work of quiet grace.

Thank you to NetGalley and Astra Publishing House | Astra House for the advanced eARC in exchange for my honest opinion.

Blowfish is a haunting, introspective novel that delves into themes of mortality, artistic expression, and the complexities of human connection. The narrative follows two protagonists: a female sculptor and a male architect, whose lives intertwine as they grapple with their own existential crises. The sculptor, inspired by her grandmother's suicide, contemplates ending her life through a final, artful act, while the architect, dealing with his own grief, becomes a reluctant companion on her journey.

Jo's writing is minimalist yet evocative, employing sparse prose and metaphorical language to create a somber, contemplative atmosphere. The alternating perspectives between the two characters offer a nuanced exploration of their inner turmoil and the delicate balance between life and death. The novel's structure, though unconventional, invites readers to engage deeply with the characters' emotional landscapes.

While the pacing may feel deliberate and the narrative non-linear, these stylistic choices enhance the novel's meditative quality. The ambiguity in the characters' relationship, neither a traditional romance nor a platonic bond, adds depth to the story, highlighting the transient and often elusive nature of human connections.

Blowfish is a compelling read for those who appreciate literary fiction that challenges conventions and delves into the darker aspects of the human experience. Its melancholic tone and introspective themes resonate long after the final page.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC.

Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC.

“Isn’t half of life embarrassment? And the rest of it fear and greed?” She hadn’t explained herself, but he’d understood that the rest meant death.

This story has very heavy themes involving depression, suicidal ideation, and death. The author does not shy away from exploring them.

“Blowfish”— in which a sculptor decides to use pufferfish toxin to end her life—presents a moving story about two people whose lives are affected by suicide. It touches on trauma, resilience, self-determination, art, love and depression.

I enjoyed the pace of this book and the chapters with alternating perspectives that jumped between the sculptor and the architect who crosses paths with her. Both characters find themselves alone, both bear the weight of family deaths that have shaken their families to their core, and both have chosen different paths for processing that trauma.

An element in “Blowfish” that especially interested me was the complicated women in the book —from learning about the sculptor’s grandmother’s life to finding that the sculptor has borne comparisons to a woman she’s never met for her entire life. How do they come to take control over their own lives? The final exhibit where we see the sculptor’s newest piece was a really satisfying conclusion to this element of the book, for me.

Ultimately, I enjoyed this book about learning to understand light and shadow, joy and sorrow. I am going to be thinking about it for a long time.

An immersive, atmospheric novel that leans heavily into setting as character. The worldbuilding is rich but never overwhelming, and every location feels textured and purposeful. The plot unspools gradually, rooted in mystery and emotional revelation. Characters feel slightly elusive at first but deepen over time. There’s a sense of quiet dread running through the narrative, not horror but something unsettling. The themes—loss, legacy, and home—are woven subtly throughout. It’s a book that rewards patience, and the payoff is worth it. A good fit for fans of mood-heavy fiction with literary sensibilities.

Blowfish is often brilliant, and is one of the most realistic descriptions of depression I’ve experienced in a novel.

The non-linear narrative is deeply effective. The gaps in chronology; relative extensions and contractions in perceived time; and the blurring of memory, imagination and present all serve to produce one of the most realistic descriptions of how time is experienced while suffering from depression that I have ever read.

The stagnation of the characters, their inability to recognize or process emotions, the inability to do or want, and the overwhelming feeling of being unable to connect with those around them perfectly encapsulate what it feels like to be depressed around people who aren’t.

Strangely, this realism doesn’t quite extend to the purported subject of the novel — suicide. The ideation and discussion around the actual act often feel trite. It feels strange to go from such awe-inspiring recreations of the realities of depression to passages where the motivations of suicide are reduce to “unrequited love” or a “fear of living”. This disconnect is especially pronounced since the book begins with an interesting question about suicide: is it heritable? I think if the discussion had not had such an auspicious opening salvo, I likely wouldn’t have cared as much that it didn’t stick the landing, but I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

The relationships among the characters, major and minor, were impactful. The relationships designed to insulate oneself from hurt, the refusal to deal with past trauma, and the frustrating decisions to actively avoid pursuing desires all feel incredibly realistic. The “love story” structure didn’t really land for me, but it’s a minor quibble in the grand scheme of things.

In general, I think there’s a lot to like here. It’s one of the most realistic depictions of depression I’ve read in a novel, and the prose, structure, and characterization all contribute to the impact. I just wish that the suicide aspect of the story had lived up to the standards of the rest of the novel.

The chapters involving blowfish were the strongest parts of the book. Overall I enjoyed, but I feel like it could've been shorter. I'd love to read a short story with this premise.

Thanks NetGalley and Astra Publishing House for the early review copy.

Absolutely beautiful novel. I would reread this many times over in order to focus a bit more on the chapters to truly feel the devastation

i have been getting into korean literature lately, and i really enjoyed this book! thank you so much to the publisher for giving me this e-arc ♥️

What I liked: I appreciate how, although this novel revolves around the relationship dynamic between the female sculptor and the male architect, this is not a romance novel. The story continues to explore the ephemeral quality of art and its relevance to the decision to live through the development of familial relationships and the development of each character. There are also several discussions on suicide, highlighting historic cases where artists take their lives and how their reasoning relates to their artistic endeavors. These discussions directly relate to the novel's plot, particularly with the female sculptor's obsession with death and growing intrigue with blowfish.

What I didn't like: I believe the way the novel is translated has made it confusing to read. There are several spelling mistakes, with words being smushed together (example: "takingaway" instead of "taking away") and words missing letters (example: "cofee" instead of "coffee"). The way that some sentences have been framed can also make certain paragraphs seem superfluous and unnecessarily long.

Takeaway: This novel is extremely introspective and handles topics of guilt, depression, and grief. I hope the grammatical errors and sentence framing can be cleaned up because I did find this book to be interesting, and I think Kyung-ran Jo is an impactful writer.

This piece was slow, dreamy, and quiet, reading the way breathing feels. Everything feels so intentional, with lots of motifs of light and death and color and such. The chapters are pretty short, alternating between two perspectives, and they sometimes feel disjointed. It kind of felt like watching a tennis match: you know the two sides of the court are connected, but each side feels like its own world. Sometimes I felt a little thrown off by the switch, but the book is quite slow so I didn't always mind the abrupt switches. I knew exactly what I needed to know. This is not a riveting or exciting book, but it’s written really beautifully. The translation is terrific as there isn’t any sort of awkward part that makes it obvious that it is a translation; everything comes together smoothly and perfectly.

This book is both bingeable and easy to put down. I wasn't always in the mood for the book, but I always felt a bit slower, more peaceful than when I had picked it up. The chapters sometimes feel like their own little short stories, coming together as we slowly piece together the world of the two nameless main characters. I wasn’t quite annoyed they were nameless as it sort of made sense to the theme of the story and also because it usually wasn’t too confusing. Even though I was maybe a little lost in the beginning, everything soon fits together really well.

I liked how this was broken up into four parts. It took me longer to read than normal, but I did end up liking it. Even with a quiet plot, I was drawn in by all the descriptions and musings on life. The writing is really the highlight of this book, above the plot and characters and such. I struggle to rate this book numerically because of this. Although the narration is a bit detached, I started to feel for the characters as I learned more about them. It was so calming to read, and somehow not overly depressing despite the content. It just felt real. I would definitely read more from this author (or translator!).

It took me some time to get used to the writing style and the characters. During the first part, I felt a lot for disconnection. When I would start to engage with the characters the chapter would finish and I was taken to the other character storyline.
But afterwards it was amazing! Kyung-Ran has the power of the unwritten story and I just love the way that myself as a reader accepted the story. For example, her grandma's box that her aunt gives it to her; many chapters happen before we understand what was inside. This may had annoyed me in many books but even if this is my first time reading Kyung-Ran, I just understood and trusted that if the contents were important there would came a time where I would be told about it.
This is definitely a book that I will search for the physical copy, re-read it and annotate it.

While on the surface 'Blowfish' deals with death and self-destruction, when you move deeper beneath, it is about grief, depression, obsessions and moving on from them. It's about living and holding onto a unique story of life with all its twists, turns, dives and endings. Our small slither of life, that is like a slice of slippery sashimi, just trying to cling on to the plate before being taken away from us and eaten, forever gone.

This melancholy permeates through the two main characters (an artist & an architect) & the two cities of the novel: Seoul & Tokyo. It's like being lost in a city of lonely highrises that you know intimately. The fog and your inner conflicts are pulling you further down away from reality towards the asphalt or a blowfish. But inevitably the seasons keep changing and time keeps on moving as you try again and again to break the surface and breathe. Maybe it won't ever happen for you, but there is always the continuing hope that it just might.

Thanks to netgalley & astrapublishinghouse for the eARC for my review