"The plantation house was no longer recognizable. But it was the people in the photograph who seemed far more different, the style of their clothes and something else he could not articulate. Their postures, their stillness. Or perhaps it was knowing that they were no longer of the age when the photographs were taken. That the moment had already gone by the time their images were captured. That people aged, second by second, leaving themselves behind." (106) ( )

Soft, gentle writing that tells a life story. There is warmth in Paul Yoon’s writing ( )

As a teenager I heard an interview with filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami about what he likes in films that resonated so intensely with me, I later transcribed it from a home VHS tape. Ever since I have thought to myself on occasion, "this is a film Kiarostami would like." So: this is a book I think Kiarostami would like. It is subtle and poetic, equally simple and complex, and somehow manages to convey quiet through language, in a beautifully active, present, and haunting way. I don't know that it's for everyone, but it's very much for some of us. ( )

Paul Yoon's novella Snow Hunters deals with a survivor of the Korean War who makes a new life in Brazil. Yohan moves to a small Brazilian town to live and work with an elderly Japanese tailor.

This book is quiet and reflective; not a lot happens overtly. Yoon uses flashback to fill in Yohan's war experiences and the tragedy surrounding his best friend. Otherwise Yohan's new life gently unfolds, both to him and the reader, as he establishes himself in his new surroundings. There are some clever touches with objects such as an umbrella and a bicycle that take on added significance as the story progresses.

Yoon writes beautifully and this book will appeal to readers seeking refuge in a thoughtful and calm telling of what is under the surface quite disturbing and wrenching subject matter. ( )

Poignant story about a man who relocates from Korea to Brazil after being captured and spending over a year in a prison camp. There are only a handful of characters. Yohan is taken in by a tailor and becomes his apprentice. He meets a pair of orphaned children. He makes a friend of the groundskeeper at the local church.

This is a sparse poetic story of a man trying to find his way back from the trauma he experienced during the Korean War to form a life in a new country. He has trouble connecting with people, we assume due to suffering from PTSD (though this is not stated). It is beautifully and atmospherically written. We learn Yohan’s backstory via (minimal) flashbacks.

Yoon’s writing appeals to me. It is elegant and expressive. In only a few words, he can draw scenes that become vivid in the mind’s eye: “But there were also times when he was unable to move, unable to look at her, afraid he had been imagining this and that she wouldn’t be there. It seemed possible. And when he considered this an emptiness overwhelmed him, as if he were no longer here, that there was just his shell of a body bent over a table. And even as he continued to hear her behind him he felt a sadness, though for what he could not say.”

It is a quiet, meditative story. This book is not for anyone looking for plot or action. It is a delicately drawn character study. I found it a well-crafted piece of writing that packs a great deal of emotional content into relatively few pages.

“In this way the days passed. Those days became years. Those years a life.” ( )