Grass, as published by Reservoir Books and translated by Joo Hasun, sits high on many 2022 best comics lists thanks to a powerful narrative about the abuse and humiliation endured by women, including the women who endured coercive roles during wartime. The new title, La Espera, also from Reservoir Books and translated by Joo Hasun, examines the wounds of history through the lens of Korea’s partition, told through the story of an elderly woman. A simple shared plot outline would miss the mark; Gendry-Kim’s skill lies in unpacking a truth of historical weight while centering a young girl named Gwija who speaks for a generation facing a brutal rupture. Pain again emerges from fear, this time as a force that takes away a husband and the eldest son. The author’s craft shines in weaving micro-stories into a wider tapestry, paying close attention to small details that create a dense emotional texture, cut with the precision of a scalpel. The vast geographic distance between cultures dissolves through memory, pain, and a promise that the world remains fundamentally the same, crossing borders and nations. The reader is drawn into the daily life of the elder woman, inviting reflection on mothers and grandmothers everywhere. The struggles described after the war resonate across cultures because oppression, hunger, and suffering are universal, and Gendry-Kim handles this universality with clarity. The storyline is lean, yet it strikes with a sharp edge that reveals deep emotion.
The accompanying image caption speaks to the enduring pain of memory.
The artwork does not rely on obvious melodrama or easy sentiment. The drawings refrain from overt moments designed to provoke tears and instead capture the essence of a scene when silence speaks louder than words. The power lies in those silent spaces that invite readers to imagine what lies beyond the frame, making the reader feel the old woman’s loneliness and the cold distance she experiences from her children. The body’s decline and the sense that time is running out are rendered with quiet force. The memory of a lost son is etched as a throbbing ache that lingers in the mind, while forgetfulness and confusion creep in as the past presses against the present. The past leaves little room for a hopeful future, yet fleeting moments of happiness appear, offering a thread of resilience. Reading this work may be challenging, but it also demonstrates the daily labor of memory—the effort to keep memory alive so life does not become a mere monument to pain, and so the future can still hold the possibility of discovery.
This is a work of undeniable importance. It offers a careful meditation on how memory shapes identity and how historical traumas continue to echo in the present. The narrative invites readers to consider how memory is maintained, revived, and reconstructed, and it suggests that memory, though fragile, can be a source of endurance rather than a barrier to living fully.
The book stands as a testament to the power of graphic storytelling to illuminate social history and personal loss with restraint and honesty. It challenges readers to face difficult truths about a past that still informs contemporary life and to recognize the shared humanity that binds us across generations and cultures. The result is a work that remains at once intimate and expansive, a call to remember and to imagine a future in which memory does not paralyze but rather anchors and inspires.
A profoundly necessary piece for any collection seeking to understand how history, memory, and female experience intersect in poignant, visually compelling form. It is a work that lingers in the mind long after the final page is turned.