The Symmetry of Fish

July 1, 2022

In The Symmetry of Fish (Penguin Poets, Oct.), South Korean--born, Indiana-raised Cho wrestles with coming-of-age and cultural identity as she makes family stories her own. In Extinction Theory (Univ. of Georgia, Oct.), Kundiman fellow Lam uses sharp, bristly language as he examines family, language, and cultural repression to conclude that "Life is a series/ of extinctions." In Harbinger (Ecco, Oct.), Puhak vividly addresses artistic creation and the weight of memory. In Relinquenda (Beacon, Oct.), CantoMundo fellow Regalado writes of pain and uncertainty while stranded in the United States by pandemic and separated from her family in El Salvador. In Ask the Brindled (Milkweek, Oct.), queer, Indigenous Hawaiian Revilla addresses self, family, community, and love in rich new ways.

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November 28, 2022
The vivid, folkloric debut from Cho recounts her experience growing up in a Korean immigrant family in Indiana. Advice from her mother is stamped with striking imagery, as in the opening lines of the title poem: “The head of the fish thuds/ into the kitchen sink// with a splash of lettuced water./ She says, Not this. Don’t// marry the head or anyone/ too cunning.” In “Hello, My Parents Don’t Speak English Well, How Can I Help You,” Cho captures the complexity of being an immigrant child, feeling both ashamed and angry about that shame: “Once I called her stupid for/ Packing my field trip lunch with/ Quick sesame rice balls even though that’s what I/ Requested.... The truth is, I hated my friends/ Upset over the sesame smell.” The lessons and culinary efforts of women—mothers, grandmothers, ancestors—is a running theme, taking on a surreal tone in “A Little Cheonyeo Gwishin Appears in My Kitchen,” in which Cho cooks with a chaotic spirit from Korean lore: “She opens/ the tofu, smashes/ the watery curd with her/ foot, and soaks// a package of dried kelp/ in the trash.” Infused with bittersweet nostalgia, Cho’s arresting work captures the full emotional spectrum in poems that are sometimes charming, sometimes haunting, but always memorable.

Starred review from November 1, 2022

Cho debuts with a "National Poetry" series winner that paints vivid scenes from the Midwest (where she was raised) and New York while examining language, tradition, family, and relationships. It's a collection abundant with emotion and a wonderful tenderness, giving readers the opportunity to hear the stories of her Korean ancestors and her experiences as a child of immigrant parents. Motifs of fish, fruit, and ghosts are interwoven throughout the poems: "If you can't peel the skin/ of a pear in a thin spiral with a fruit knife/ you can't get married. You can have/ nothing if you can't offer a man fruit." This is one example of a phrase that is repeated in multiple poems, as the speaker recalls advice given by maternal figures. There are often elements of humor here, as in "Ode to Putting in the Window AC Unit": "We open the screenless window and bat our arms/ to clear the buffet of lake gnats, flies, and knots/ of insect carcasses beaded on the spiderweb/ that has been growing for over a year." VERDICT These resonant poems of heritage and self are recommended for all collections.--Sarah Michaelis

Copyright 2022 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.