The Eyes Are the Best Part

“There are some things that you can never truly escape. Not really. Maybe that’s why, even now, she’s stuck in the past, long after everyone else has moved on.”

This passage draws a parallel between physical and psychological imprisonment to contextualize Umma’s behavior—e.g., her passivity in the face of men’s abandonment. The voice shifts from universal to personal, suggesting how Ji-won’s worldviews are rooted in this inherited trauma.

“Appa is a man with big dreams, the type of person who is smart and works hard but is held back only by the hand that fortune has dealt him. In Korean, the word for ‘fortune’ is palja. It comes from the term saju palja, which means ‘the four pillars of destiny.’ These four pillars are based on the year, month, day, and hour of a person’s birth. And, according to my father, these seemingly meaningless components determine whether your brief existence will be good or bad before you even have the opportunity to live.”

This quote introduces the Korean concept of palja through exposition while establishing notions of predetermined fate versus free will; such cultural details contextualize Ji-won’s experiences as a second-generation immigrant, laying the groundwork for the exploration of The False Promise of Assimilation. The quote also foreshadows Ji-won’s future actions and, in particular, the questions the novel raises about her responsibility for the murders she commits.

“More than anything, he hated that everything in his life served as a reminder of his failures. I don’t blame him. Maybe because I know what it’s like, to live a life so defined by want. That’s why I was able to recognize it in him—it was what I had been feeling for so long.”

Ji-won uses her self-analysis—in particular, the feelings of desire, or “want,” that inform her relationship with American society at large—to try to understand her absentee father. In doing so, she creates a comparison between them, with her violence being an extension of the feelings she inherited from her father.

“There’s a cracked vase on the side table next to the couch, the one Appa used to hate. Umma never let him throw it out because it was a gift from her mother, who passed away years ago. She runs her finger along the split, and I find myself wondering: Is it my father she’s remembering, or her mother?”

The cracked vase symbolizes fractured family relationships. Despite the vase’s crack, Umma never let Appa throw it out, showing her desperate attempts to keep her family together despite Appa’s abandonment of them.

“Swearing on your mother’s life is something so American, so white, that neither of us can truly understand it. In our culture, swearing on your mother’s life is probably one of the worst sins you can commit. What is there that’s more important than your mother, your father, or your grandparents? It doesn’t sound like George has ever heard of filial piety.”

This quote employs cultural contrast to explore themes of assimilation and identity. The juxtaposition of white America with Korean cultural values creates tension and positions the two cultures as being opposed in behavior and values. The episode also underscores the hollowness of George’s claims to appreciate Korean culture, as his actions demonstrate that he lacks a deep understanding of it.

“Her tears dripped onto my hands, onto the carpet; I watched them fall and had the sudden realization that our roles had reversed. Somehow, I had become the mother and she the daughter. Her weight was heavy against me, her head resting on my chest. I wondered if she could hear how fast my heart was beating. There was a delicate, tenuous thread tying us together. If I moved, would it break? Just in case, I held still, as solid and unmoving as a statue.”

Throughout the novel, Ji-won is forced to parent her mother, who shows an inability to handle the circumstances of her life. Ji-won is forced into a position of responsibility despite elsewhere trying to rid herself of as much responsibility as she can, creating a distinct tension.

“‘Why?’ Han-byeol asks. She’s angry now, her brows furrowed. ‘Why do you do this? Whenever you do something wrong, you expect us to forgive you. Remember the time when you took Jenny’s train ticket so she couldn’t go to San Diego with me? You were jealous you couldn’t come, and when we asked you why you did it, you lied. You never apologized. You always expect us to get over it.’”

This quote frames Ji-won’s behavior as following a consistent pattern. Her manipulativeness and her antisocial behavior took root years back, before the tumor and before George, showing that outside pressures were not the only factors contributing to her violence. Rather, the novel implies that many of her actions stem from the intersection of gender norms and intergenerational trauma, with her manipulativeness a variation on Umma’s passivity that flows from fear of abandonment.

“I’ve always been jealous of the kids who have never had to deal with this crushing pressure. They have no idea how good they have it, how lucky they are. Often, I find myself wondering: What is it like to live freely, to live a life untethered, without having to be responsible for everyone around you?”

Ji-won’s desire for freedom is an instance of dramatic irony, as her own manipulative and violent behavior is partially the cause of her feelings of being trapped. Envy is one of Ji-won’s central character traits, directed at everyone from her high school friends to white men privileged by society.

“‘George told me everything.’ She tucks her hair behind her ear. The nail on her index finger is broken, the edges ragged. She’s shy about her hands because they’re stained and rough from years of hard work at dry cleaner and grocery store. Every time I see them, I feel small. I feel like I am responsible for every unhappiness and injustice she has ever experienced. Why couldn’t I have been born a boy? Someone strong and confident who would be capable of taking care of her? If I had a million dollars, I’d buy her a house and take her to get her nails done every week.”

This passage employs physical detail as character development, using Umma’s hands as a symbol of immigrant sacrifice and labor. The shift from external observation to internal monologue reveals Ji-won’s complex relationship with gender expectations and filial duty; though she resents the pressures of patriarchy, she also here echoes her father’s wish that she was a boy, displaying internalized misogyny.

“Umma seems incapable of speaking, of producing comprehensible words of any kind. She splutters nonsense while shoving her hand in my face again. I don’t understand, but Ji-hyun pushes past me, letting out an enormous gasp. Only then do I realize what she’s crying about. There’s an engagement ring on her finger, complete with a diamond the size of my pinky nail. Finally my mother finds her voice.

‘We’re getting married!’ she shrieks.”

This moment is one of the only times in the novel in which Umma demonstrates genuine happiness. However, the moment is tinged with irony and tragedy, as the only way that she can feel happiness is by being accepted by a (white) man. This develops the theme of Gender Expectations and the Performance of Femininity, as Umma struggles to imagine a secure or worthwhile existence without male protection.

“George sees himself as an alpha male. In his mind, only another man could pose any kind of threat or challenge. That’s why he behaves the way he does: ogling Ji-hyun and me and all the other women openly in front of my mother, treating us as though we are objects and not human beings. He does not fear her. He does not fear us. If anything, Umma is lucky that he chose her out of all the other Oriental women he could have chosen to save.”

Ji-won’s ironic narration reveals the depths of George’s manipulativeness and bigotry. In echoing the racist words (“Oriental”) and ideas (that he is “saving” Umma) that George might use to describe Umma and his relationship with her, Ji-won sarcastically portrays the man’s hypocrisy.

“The only power he has is the power you are willing to give him, and you’ve given him nothing.

Not a scrap.

By the time you’re done with him, he’ll be begging for mercy. Who is he if he can’t control you? Is he even a man anymore? It will seem like a relief when you give him a hand, even if that hand is holding a blade. And when you take everything from him, you can say what these men say about us: He was asking for it. He was begging for it. He must have wanted it, since he didn’t fight back.”

This passage uses parallel structure/repetition (“He was asking for it,” “He was begging for it,” etc.) and rhetorical questions to explore themes of power and gender violence. The use of phrases typically used against women who experience male violence creates a tone of righteous indignation, as Ji-won taps into a sense of rhetorical power, while the use of the second person encourages readers to share her outrage.

“Alexis thinks I’m joking. ‘If you miss home so badly, just go!’ she says playfully. ‘You’re what, ten minutes away?’ How do I explain to her that the home I miss isn’t a place? It’s a time when my life made sense. When things made sense.”

In employing the analogy of home, Ji-won implies a tension between the physical place in which she resides and the psychological state that she considers to be “home.” The dialogue reveals character through miscommunication, as Alexis’s literal interpretation highlights Ji-won’s psychological isolation, which stems in part from the false promise of assimilation: While George’s presence has exacerbated matters, she has never felt truly “home” in America.

“Tonight, I channel the ghost of George’s father, because I’m certain he will approve of what I’m doing: punishing his son in ways he couldn’t while he was still alive. I imagine him hovering over my shoulder, observing silently as I hold the heavy watch, the metal links cold in my hand. By 3 a.m., I’m outside the apartment, standing next to George’s truck.”

This passage combines supernatural and practical elements, reflecting Ji-won’s increasingly fractured perception of reality. Using George’s father’s ghost as a witness, Ji-won frames George’s behavior as in need of parental correction, positioning herself as more powerful than George while simultaneously reducing him to the role of a child.

“‘How did the meeting go?’ Umma asks. The chopsticks are halfway to George’s mouth, but he sets them down anyway. It takes me a second, but I realize the chopsticks he’s using are the ones Geoffrey gave me. I don’t know when George found them. ‘I was fired.’ He’s curt, offering no other explanation.”

This scene employs objects loaded with racist connotations (the chopsticks) to connect multiple character relationships. The chopsticks function as a symbol of cultural appropriation and racial fetishization while also serving a narrative purpose; Geoffrey’s gift is both the literal reason his relationship with Ji-won ends, as well as a representation of how he, as a white man, essentializes and tokenizes her. That George is now using them underscores the two men’s similar attitudes toward Ji-won and Asian women and culture broadly.

“Instead of dying quietly like he’s supposed to, Backward Cap screams. His eyes pop open, and blood spurts everywhere, over my clothes, my hair, my face. I muffle his mouth with my hand, but he bites down so hard that he breaks through skin. I leap away, howling, trying to shake off the teeth that are still clamped firmly over my hand.”

In describing Ji-won’s murder so vividly, the novel slips into horror imagery. Ji-won’s observation that her victim is “supposed” to “die quietly” reveals a detached state of mind despite the visceral and immediate nature of her actions; it also continues to invert traditional gender and racial hierarchies, with Ji-won positioning a white man as the one who “naturally” occupies a subordinate and victimized role.

‘I know what you did, Ji-won. I’m going to find the knife and turn you in. It’s the only way…’

‘I didn’t do anything!’ I rush over and try to take the bag back from her, but her grip is too strong. She’s glaring at me, and the anger burning through her is unmistakable. At the last second, I realize her eyes aren’t their usual shade of honey brown. Instead, they’re blue. I drop my hands in shock.”

As the novel goes on, the line between dreams and reality becomes increasingly blurred. Blue eyes here become markers of reality, with their presence indicating a dream state when attached to a face they should not be attached to (in this case, Alexis’s). At the same time, they point to Ji-won’s real, underlying anxieties; the (false) revelation that Alexis has blue eyes symbolically links her to the men who have victimized Ji-won, building on her sense of betrayal throughout this dream.

“‘I wish you would stop being so difficult,’ Geoffrey says, frowning. ‘But I know how shocked you must be. I’m an understanding guy, Ji-won. I’ll give you some time to think about it. I know you’ll come around.’ He grazes my shoulder, his touch light, and walks away.”

Geoffrey’s dialogue employs linguistic markers of manipulation (e.g., his description of Ji-won as “difficult”—a form of gaslighting and victim-blaming), revealing predatory behavior masked as reasonableness. His gentle physical touch contrasts with the underlying menace of his words, while the patronizing tone mirrors George’s earlier patterns of control, establishing parallel structures of male dominance and misogyny.

“‘Umma. You need to eat.’ She sighs deeply. Her cheeks are sunken, the hollows under her eyes dark and deep. She looks sickly, unwell. She’s alarmingly thin. I almost expect her to dissolve into the air.”

Through stark physical imagery, including the metaphorical dissolution of Umma’s physical body, this scene captures both literal and figurative consumption. Umma is being eaten from the inside as a result of her relationship with George, inverting Ji-won’s consumption of eyes as a method of capturing power. That Umma herself is not eating underscores the interpersonal dynamics at play and further develops the theme of Consumption as Power.

“It’s three in the afternoon. Students are flooding out of their classrooms excitedly. Tomorrow is the last day of finals, but like me, most people are done after today. Liberated, I throw my head back and stare at the blue sky. Blue like George’s eyes, blue like the ocean. Blue, blue, blue.”

The passage’s lyrical quality marks a shift in narrative tone as Ji-won embraces her obsessive urges. By repeating “blue” and linking it to both George’s eyes and natural elements like the ocean, the text creates a hypnotic effect that mirrors Ji-won’s psychological state.

“I’m deeply asleep when a set of hands wrap around my neck. They tighten, throttling me, cutting off my airflow. I pound at them, desperate to get free, but they’re too strong. And my eyes—for some reason, they’re sealed shut. There’s some kind of goopy liquid running over my lids, and I can’t open them. I can’t see, but I know who it is. The heavy breathing. The grunts. It’s George, trying to finish the job.”

By employing claustrophobic imagery and the restriction of breathing, this nightmare sequence conveys Ji-won’s sense of powerlessness and fear of death. The inability to see, combined with the “goopy liquid” over the eyes, inverts Ji-won’s usual role as observer and consumer of eyes. The auditory imagery of “heavy breathing” and “grunts” is also sexually suggestive, implicitly linking the attack to rape and thus underscoring George’s longstanding predatory behavior toward Ji-won.

“‘Your father is busy,’ Umma says softly. She’s sitting down again, while Ji-hyun holds me, cradling me like I’m a child. My mother picks at her broken nails. A line of blood floods the cuticle. She pops it in her mouth and sucks, her cheeks caving in. ‘I didn’t want to tell you until you were better, Ji-won. But…your father is having a baby.’ There is a pained, awful silence. I stare at Ji-hyun. She stares back. ‘Isn’t that good news?’ Umma says weakly. ‘A boy. You’ll have a baby brother soon!’”

Umma’s nail-biting here suggests a deep anxiety and ambivalence about reporting this latest turn of events to her children. The child’s male sex makes the topic particularly fraught, as both daughters know that Appa would have preferred a son; that he is now getting one heightens the family’s sense of abandonment. In addition, her consumption of her own body mirrors how Ji-won consumes parts of other people’s bodies. In doing so, Ji-won is claiming some of their power for herself, whereas in consuming herself, her mother is consuming her own power, contributing to her progressive weakness.

“I watch him move it all aside. He scurries back to me and sits down in the chair. ‘Listen, I’m so glad you called. It’s been so crazy. The police were questioning me about everything that happened, and they were skeptical when I told them I helped you.’ He grabs my hand. I wait a beat before shrugging out of his grasp. ‘I’m a nice guy, Ji-won. Like I’ve been telling you. You just have to give me a chance. Plus,’ he says, puffing out his chest. ‘You owe me, Ji-won. I saved you from that guy.’”

Geoffrey exhibits no self-awareness or concept that his behavior toward Ji-won has been manipulative and entitled. Instead, Geoffrey continues his earlier patterns of behavior, revealing a deeply self-centered mind.