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Please Look After Mom by Kyung-Sook Shin Buy the Audiobook Download: . Shin's storytelling and her gift for detail make Please Look After Mom a book. Editorial Reviews. Review. Amazon Best Books of the Month, April There is Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. Buy a Kindle Kindle eBooks Kindle Unlimited Prime Reading Best Sellers & More Kindle Book Deals Free Reading Apps Kindle Singles Newsstand . Please Look After Mom (Korean Edition) [Kyung-Sook Shin] on * FREE* Get your Kindle here, or download a FREE Kindle Reading App.

When sixty-nine-year-old So-nyo is separated from her husband among the crowds of the Seoul subway station, her family begins a desperate search to find her. Yet as long-held secrets and private sorrows begin to reveal themselves, they are forced to wonder: Told through the piercing voices and urgent perspectives of a daughter, son, husband, and mother, Please Look After Mom is at once an authentic picture of contemporary life in Korea and a universal story of family love. Enter your mobile number or email address below and we'll send you a link to download the free Kindle App. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required.

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Nicole Lundrigan. I Liked My Life. Abby Fabiaschi. The Barking Dog. Some saw an old woman sitting in the station for a long time, then getting on an arriv- ing subway. There are signs all over the place.

Mother knows how to make a simple phone call. She could have called from a phone booth. Something had happened to Mom. That was the view of someone who wanted to think of Mom as the old mom. But your family knew what Mom was like these days. Hyong-chol sent her letters written in large type. The mailman came around eleven in the morning with a large bag hanging from his bicycle. He reported that he was eating well, that he had found a place to sleep as he had started staying overnight at work, and asked her not to worry about him.

Hyong-chol also wrote that he felt he could do anything in the city, and that there were many things he wanted to do. He even revealed his ambition to become a success and give Mom a better life. Twenty-year-old Hyong-chol gallantly added, So, Mother, do not worry about me, and please take care of your health.

That is the only thing your mother wishes from you. The last words from your mom were always the same: Every morning at dawn after Hyong-chol left, Mom would clean the surface of the glazed clay sauce-jars on the ledge in the back yard. Because the well was in the front yard, it was cumbersome to bring water to the back, but she washed each and every jar.

She took off all the lids and wiped them clean, inside and out, until they shone. Your mom sang quietly. Ramen was the best thing back then! When this new delicacy called ramen entered your lives, it overwhelmed every dish Mom had ever made. Mom would buy ramen and hide it in an empty jar in the row of clay jars, wanting to save it for Hyong-chol. But even late at night, the smell of boiling ramen would nudge you and your siblings awake.

Feel- ing sorry, he would offer each of you a bite. Even then, you had no idea that she had never once set foot in the world of letters. You took her request as just another chore, similar to heading out to the garden to pick some mallow or going to buy some kerosene.

Mom must not have given that task to anyone else after you left home, because you never received a letter from her.

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It was probably because of the phone. Every morning, the villagers heard the village head testing the mike then announcing that so and so should come over to answer a call from Seoul. Your brothers started to call the public phone. After the phone was installed,. Either a mother and daughter know each other very well, or they are strangers. Until last fall, you thought you knew your mom well— what Mom liked, what you had to do to appease her when she was angry, what she wanted to hear.

If someone asked you what Mom was doing, you could answer in ten seconds: But last fall, your belief that you knew her was shattered.

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You went for a visit without announcing it beforehand, and you discovered that you had become a guest. Mom was continually embarrassed about the messy yard or the dirty blankets. She took a look at what she had in the fridge, and even though you tried to stop her, she went to the market. After you left home, your mom never scolded you. Before, Mom would reprimand you harshly if you did something even remotely wrong. From when you. But some- times she would become worried and look closely into your face.

When Mom scolded you freely, you more frequently called her Mom. Please look after me. You never stopped calling her Mom. That Mom is strong.

That Mom is the person you want to call whenever you despair about something in this city. You were in Pohang at the time. Chongup from Pohang than from Seoul. The front door was open, too. You had a lunch date with Yu- bin back in the city the next day, so you were going to return home on the night train.

Even though you were born there, the village had become an unfamiliar place. The only things left from your childhood were the three nettle trees, now mature, near the creek. If you kept going that way, it would lead you straight to the back gate of your childhood home. A long time ago, there was a communal well right outside the back gate. You tapped the sturdy cement with your foot, precisely where that abundant well used to be. You were overwhelmed with nostalgia. What would the well be doing in the darkness under the street, the well that had supplied water to all the people in the alley and still sloshed about?

One day you went back for a visit and the well was gone, just a cement road where it had been. The house was a mess. A water bottle stood open on the table, and a cup was perched on the edge of the sink.

The late-afternoon sun was illuminating the empty space.

You put on your shoes and walked toward the shed. From there you could look over the yard. A long time ago, Mom had brewed malt in the shed. It was a useful space, espe- cially after it was expanded into the adjacent pigsty. She piled old, unused kitchen supplies on the shelves she had mounted on a wall, and underneath there were glass jars of things she had pickled and preserved.

It was Mom who had moved the wooden platform into the shed. The doghouse next to the shed was vacant, the dog chain lying on the ground. She must have been cutting zucchini to dry in the sun. A chopping board, a knife, and zucchini were pushed to the side, and small slices of zucchini were cradled in a worn bamboo basket. Mom had a hand clutching her head, and she was struggling with all her might.

Her lips were parted, and she was frowning so intently that her face was gnarled with deep wrinkles. They were bloodshot, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead.