Palimpsest by Lisa Wool-Rim Sjöblom
Translated from the Swedish by Hanna Strömberg & Richey Wyver
Published by Drawn and Quarterly, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
This graphic memoir follows the author’s journey to try and uncover her roots. Born in South Korea, she spent the first two years of her life in an orphanage before being flown to Sweden, where she was adopted and raised. Her attempts to explore her heritage as a teenager quickly met a brick wall, but upon the birth of her own children several years later, she feels compelled to reopen the search for her biological family.
Sjöblom does a fantastic job of reflecting the identity crisis that befalls many adoptees as they grow up, particularly people of colour who are adopted into white families. As a child, she is proud of her Korean ancestry and eager to explore the culture of her “first country”, but the reality of looking different from everyone else around her – including her own family – and the fierce racism this inspires soon take their toll. It’s heartbreaking to see the pride literally beaten out of her, and Sjöblom doesn’t shy away from the realities of rock bottom, with discussion of attempted suicide and hospitalisation.
She goes on to explain the power that lies in connecting to a people and their culture, and that the need to uncover the past is not necessarily about being unhappy within your adopted family, but about establishing roots that tether you to the world and make you feel seen. As she explains: “In Sweden I’m at home, but I feel like a stranger. In Korea, I’m a stranger, but I feel at home.” Her search is as much about finding closure for herself as it is sparing her children a similar longing for answers in the future.
As for the format, it makes a lot of sense given Sjöblom’s background as an illustrator and graphic designer. While I like the muted colour palette, the visuals themselves are quite simplistic in style and don’t do much to advance the narrative. Indeed, the book is very text heavy for a typical graphic novel or memoir, with several full-page transcripts of emails and letters that were exchanged during the author’s enquiries. On occasion, this can make it feel a little like reading a case file, with some of Sjöblom’s personal flair lost.
That said, I greatly admire her determination to speak frankly about the corruption her investigation unearths. Falsified information, withheld details, illegal practices, and outright lies hinder her personal search, but they also speak of the wider issues faced by many Koreans who were (often wrongfully) sent overseas for adoption. I also appreciate that Sjöblom makes clear not every search culminates in a neat and much longed for happily ever after: Not knowing is painful, but sometimes the truth is too.
In all, this is an excellent memoir that opened my eyes to an issue many of us should be more aware of. The author explains that most “adoption stories” are framed in a positive light, told from the perspective of a loving adoptive parent, and rarely from an actual adoptee who has experienced the process’ highs and lows in equal measure. It is her hope that this book may be a voice for a generation of Korean adoptees who have been silenced; I urge everyone to listen.
This is a gentle and ruminative look at how much our mood/mental health can be affected by the changing seasons. The text itself is relatively simple, though it does have an air of prose poetry to it. So while it may not discuss any particularly unique experiences or offer up any ground-breaking insights, it is likely to resonate widely.
I’ve been an admirer of Giordano’s work ever since I took up embroidery myself. Specialising in characterful, hyper-realistic woodland animals, her pieces are brought to life in her own distinct style of thread painting. In this book, she breaks down her creative process – in general terms, and on a piece-by-piece basis. It’s definitely easy to draw inspiration from her work, and though most of us will never come close to her standard, it is a joy to pore over such high-quality reproductions of her designs – the book itself having been produced to a wonderful standard.
This memoir explores Belc’s experiences as a transmasculine nonbinary parent, with a particular focus on the shifting nature of identity, and the language we use to define ourselves.
I picked this up knowing very little about it (due in part to a deliberately vague blurb), and there was definitely an element of my expectations not matching what the book actually set out to offer. I was anticipating something gothic and unsettling that flirted with magical realism, akin to Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House. Instead, I got a middle grade-leaning fantastical story with a campy-horror vibe, more akin to The Addams Family.
Performance poet, musician, and novelist Kae Tempest has written an extended essay that explores the role of creativity in fostering connections throughout society.
This collection is definitely at its strongest when Francisco tackles the topics of systemic racism and police brutality against Black people. In these pieces, there are some excellent, gut-punch lines that cut right to the quick.
I feel very conflicted about this one, and am pained to not be writing a more positive review. It’s a case of a book that I hugely admire and recommend for its intention, but which I found frustrating in its execution.
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Tom’s wit, warmth, and honesty shine through in this charming yet poignant memoir. It centres around the idea of shame, with Tom sharing formative moments from throughout his life in which he was either cowed by the shame inflicted upon him by society, or when he actively defied it by embracing his own path.
This is Johnson’s memoir, reflecting on his experiences as a young Black gay man growing up in America. The book encompasses many big themes, including queerness, family, identity, racism, abuse, and masculinity.
This full-length narrative poem weaves in and out of the homes of seven people who all live on the same street in London, as they lie awake at 4am. They are strangers to each other, but through a series of snapshots into their lives, Tempest captures the universal anxieties of modern life, despite their different circumstances.
The Rib Joint is a memoir of sorts, comprised of a collection of personal essays. These essays explore Koets’ experiences growing up as a closeted queer woman in a conservative, religious community in the American South. In particular, she explores the pain of navigating the murky intersection between friendship and love, desire and self-loathing, and freedom and suppression when she and her female best friend fall for each other.
