of widely acclaimed , gives us a gorgeous, deeply sensory, and multilingual memoir of life and loss in (North Atlantic Books). Page for page, Han’s story is lucid and clear even as it wanders, resisting linear time, waxing into and waning out of poetry, lists, personal notes, prose, refusing to articulate what is untranslatable, unspeakable, and unknowable—especially, though not only, in spaces of grief. She brings us from a monastery in Taiwan to oncology wards in California, from bedsides of the dying, through childhood memories, and to her own desk, where she muses on what it means to be a Buddhist, chaplain, friend, and daughter. The work is a playful and solemn experiment in form, yet Han’s sincerity and searching spirit remain totally vulnerable and genuine.
