PRELUDE

Hej from Copenhagen!

I hope everybody is staying warm and cozy. I’m patiently waiting for Spring to arrive (soon hopefully) as I dredge my bike through the slushy snow on the streets this week. Today I wanted to share some thoughts I had on one of my favorite American artists: James Turrell. His new installation is coming soon to Aarhus in Denmark which I’m really, really excited about.

There isn’t too much else to say today other than I hope you enjoy today’s post and have a fantastic day!

TABLE CHAT

If you’ve ever had the chance to visit an installation created by James Turrell, I would consider you very lucky.

I remember the first time I experienced one of his works. I was in high school, and we took a trip to MASS MoCA–a bit of a journey from where I went to school in upstate rural Connecticut, the kind of museum visit that already feels momentous just being on its sprawling site. At the museum they had some of Turrell’s older career-retrospective pieces (mostly his smaller sculptures of light) but there was also a reservation to enter Perfectly Clear (Ganzfeld), an immersive installation.

I can’t even begin to describe how much this work changed my life. It was one of those rare events that completely altered my perception of everyday space, and just totally my way of seeing the world. The way the colors blended into the edges until all corners disappeared. It felt like I was floating in color, bathed in light until there was nothing left in the room but me and these soft, slowly shifting hues. The sensory experience of the space was absolutely incredible.

James Turrell’s works are called sculptures, which makes sense.

The Latin word sculpere means to carve or to engrave–most sculptures historically made of wood, stone, or marble. To “sculpt” was to chisel at, chip at, or carve something into or away from. In a sense, Turrell is also making a mark in a given space, but with light–twisting and turning it, manipulating in ways that viscerally heighten our senses.

“Shaping the light” is a phrase that comes up often when I think about his work, and it feels accurate. He’s not just illuminating space, he’s constructing it.

Many of his other pieces are experiences that ask for presence in nature, enclosed spaces that frame the sky. They ask us to hold emotional space, or time, with the sky especially–either surrounded by landscape or enclosed within architecture that frames a small portion of it. In that way, I’m reminded of Richard Serra and his work The Gate in The Gorge at Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Denmark. One of my favorite things about both artists is how they engage with the environments their art exists in.

Aftershock at Copenhagen Contemporary and Perfectly Clear (Ganzfeld) at MASS MoCA are essentially the same installation. Huge containers of light where the edges bleed away and you’re exposed to pure color. Your senses are given over entirely to it–expanded, overwhelmed, and ultimately dissolved. This play of expansion and exposure of light feels essential to Turrell’s work.

Turrell’s new work in Aarhus, Denmark, opening this summer at ARoS Aarhus Art Museum, will be the artist’s largest Skyspace in a museum context. The project has been under development for more than ten years, and I cannot wait to go see it this summer.

I’m glad Turrell’s work feels like it’s becoming popular — or mainstream — again. Copenhagen Contemporary is a great space (a little far, but worth it), and somewhere I recommend to everyone visiting Copenhagen. Even Kendall Jenner showed off her $750,000 James Turrell sculpture on the cover of Architectural Digest in 2020.

We live in a time where everything has to be new and cutting edge, where technology is constantly trying to outdo itself, one AI company competing with another, innovation measured in speed and novelty. But what feels so special about art is that it takes what already exists and creates an entirely new internal experience of witnessing it. We take the everyday, for example, the sky, and frame it. Suddenly, we see it differently.

Turrell has said that we seldom look at light itself, as we more often look at what object the light is revealing or illuminating. His works confront us with the source itself. I think about this often, and it reminds me of a line from the 2025 film Sentimental Value, which similarly asks us to reflect on the structure of a home, belonging, and family. Within the confined space of memory, the fictional filmmaker Gustav Borg, carrying a harrowing, tragic family past, is described by the narrator as someone who liked to say, “Nothing is more beautiful than shadows.”

We begin to consider the mundane, the everyday existence of life.

For me, shadows and light are the same in that sense. One cannot exist without the other. Shadows created from light, light contrasted against the shadow of structure. It’s structure and softness, hardness and shape, color and diffusion, and all the gentle things in between. And somewhere inside that in-between space is where calmness lives.

That’s all for today!

Skylar <3

PRELUDE

Happy New Year from Seoul! I hope everyone is gently settling into 2026.

Thank you so much for the love on my most recent post. If you enjoyed it, please don’t forget to like, comment, or share! I’ve had people reach out and send sweet messages about it, so thank you again <3

Lately, I’ve been studying Danish purely for fun. I’ve always loved learning languages in my free time, and right now I’m focusing more intensively on French and Danish through Preply (my Preply discount code is available here!). Italian and Spanish have sidelined for the time being. As I move away from Romance languages, I’ve realized how much watching films have helped me navigate Danish. Focusing on cultural context and deeply engaging stories–finding media I genuinely enjoy–has made my learning process feel more intuitive, natural, and rewarding for studying new languages.

I’m also moving to Copenhagen soon, which feels fitting. If you ever find yourself there, I can’t recommend the Danish Film Institute enough. It’s in a beautiful location and has one of the best cinema gift shops and workspace areas I’ve come across, not to mention a rooftop where they host outdoor screenings.

Today, I want to introduce five films that are a great entry point into Danish cinema. Denmark has a long and incredibly rich cinematic history, and this list barely scratches the surface. In future posts, I hope to explore and have more of a deep dive into the history of cinema in different parts of the world.

There are, of course, some notable omissions from this list, like The Hunt, and Lars von Trier’s work, and much more I have not had the time to watch yet. Next up in my queue is Pusher II, which centers on Mads Mikkelsen’s character from the first Pusher films.

If you’re looking for a Danish TV show, I’d also recommend The Chestnut Man, a Danish crime thriller and Nordic Noir series. The thriller and noir genre is especially popular domestically; someone in the local industry once described it to me as their country’s version of a highly successful and money-making “four-quadrant” genre (meaning it appeals to all four major demographics: males and females, both under and over the age of 25) which is highly unusual anywhere else.

That said, if you’re curious where to begin, these are a few films I’d personally recommend starting with!

I write more about cinema and filmmaking here at [banchan]

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THE LIST

1. Babette’s Feast (1987)

A French refugee prepares an extraordinary meal for a quiet religious community in rural Denmark, slowly transforming everyone gathered at the table. The first Danish film to ever win an Oscar, this film centers around community, generosity, and the quiet radicalism of care. If you like cinema that unfolds slowly and lingers long after it ends, this is a perfect place to start.

2. Pusher (1996)

A small-time Copenhagen drug dealer spirals over the course of one disastrous week after a deal goes wrong. Raw, chaotic, and relentlessly tense, this Safdie Brothers-esque film feels almost documentary-like in its realism. You’d enjoy this if you’re interested in gritty underground stories and seeing the early versions of modern Danish crime and thriller genres in film.

3. The Celebration (1998)

A family birthday dinner explodes when long-buried secrets are publicly revealed over speeches and glasses of champagne. Shot in an intentionally stripped-down documentary style, this memorable film is uncomfortable, darkly funny, and emotionally devastating. It features an incredible cast of characters that come together brilliantly.

4. Another Round (2020)

Four high school teachers experiment with maintaining a constant low level of intoxication to improve their lives and teaching. The film is warm, funny, and quietly devastating in ways that feel very human rather than moralistic. You’ll enjoy this if you like films that are a perfect balance of dark comedy while asking deep questions about happiness and adulthood.

5. Sauna (2025)

Set in modern-day Copenhagen, this 2025 Sundance debut feature film uses a male sauna as a site where tension, identity, and masculinity begin to unravel. Sparse and atmospheric, it leans heavily towards mood than exposition. This one is for viewers drawn to slow-burn Nordic cinema, new queer stories that challenge convention, and stories that trust silence as much as dialogue.

Thanks for reading! Hej hej!

Sky <3

PRELUDE

(This is a SPOILER-FREE conversation about Joachim Trier’s filmography!)

One of the highlights of my film school years was getting to ask Joachim Trier and Renate Reinsve a question during a The Worst Person in the World screening and Q&A at the Angelika Film Center on Houston. (No, I will not shut up about this. And thank you again, Juyeon, for the tickets.)

I remember nervously stuttering for far too long–mercifully edited out of the recorded video–trying to get through something like: I’m a filmmaking student here at NYU, my friends and I love making movies, thank you so much for being here.

What I was really trying to ask was simpler: could you talk about how you build trust with actors, and what the rehearsal process was like?

I’d recommend watching the video and interview for yourself. But his response included lessons I’ve carried with me every time I start a new project. He talked about starting rehearsals by asking actors what they’re afraid of, on a personal level but also what concerns they’re holding onto about shooting the film. About slowly separating the boundary between the character and the actor’s own life throughout the process of making the film. About building trust by having open, honest conversations.

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But what stayed with me most was how he talked about a director’s responsibility. When you’re filming long emotional takes, he explained, there are moments of real, raw vulnerability on set–moments where the director’s job is to protect that space and guide the actor without outside intrusion. And, additionally, that idea extends to the entire filmmaking process. As a director, insisting on final cut, and with that comes a real responsibility on behalf of and involving the actors for their opinion: how emotional and sensitive material is handled, and whether it’s being treated with the care and intention it deserves.

I think I love films for the same way that I love books. Sometimes when I watch a movie, I can hear the filmmaker’s voice speak to me through the film–the way people pray in silence to feel a private connection to God. Doesn’t mater if it’s an NYU Tisch Sight & Sound film or a Palm d’Or winner.

And I think I love writing for the same reasons I love making films. When I write, I feel like I can converse with the novel or the writer that inspired me. I can create my own exchange of dialogue–which in turn that writing becomes what is known to others as new, original material.

Trier’s response to my question came rushing back to me while watching his latest film Sentimental Value, especially in its exploration of what it means to be an actor and a director–what we mean to each other, what we owe each other, and how trust is built over time. The film centers on family, of learning to trust the people closest to you, of the filmmaking process mirroring the responsibilities of parent and child, and of what a safe home really means. As a third generation artist in my family, it all hits me so hard. All of it comes together masterfully in this beautiful, intimate masterpiece.

In the days leading up to the digital release of Sentimental Value, I decided to rewatch Joachim Trier’s Oslo Trilogy. Rewatching the trilogy leading up to Sentimental Value is, I think, absolutely worth it. Many of the themes and ideas Trier explores in his earlier films feel sharper, deeper, and more fully realized in his latest work. These familiar themes, locations, conflicts are present throughout his films.

But what is the Oslo Trilogy?

I write more about cinema and filmmaking here at [banchan]

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The Oslo Trilogy

The Oslo Trilogy isn’t really a trilogy in the traditional sense, but more of a long, ongoing deep conversation with yourself that happens to take place in Oslo. The films all share the same thematic feeling: that uneasy space between who you thought you’d be and who you’re becoming. Across Reprise, Oslo, August 31st, and The Worst Person in the World, Trier keeps returning to the same ideas: ambition, personal and artistic purpose, regret, love, time, and what it means to feel both deeply alive and disappointingly behind at the same time. Watched in succession, the films feel less like a neat arc and more like check-ins at different points in adulthood, each one catching its characters (and maybe the viewer too?) in these moments of doubt, longing, and shaky self-understanding.

Across all three films, the trilogy functions as both a portrait of people questioning their place in the world and a documentation of a city in flux. Time–another central theme of these films–makes itself felt not just narratively, but visually, as Oslo modernizes over the fifteen years during which the films were made. Trier’s work reflects on what it means to fulfill, or fail to live up to, one’s promise, even as time keeps moving forward regardless.

The city itself becomes a space for self-discovery–for growth, for retreat, for seemingly small moments that make a massive impact in one’s life.

Oslo comes alive as its own character not through large spectacle and action, but through passing conversations, quiet and still shots, debates about art, and brief encounters with strangers that linger longer than expected. In Oslo, August 31st, entire sequences are built from fragments of other people’s conversations and documentary style footage of the city’s busy streets, reminding us how much of life is happening just outside ourselves (if we dare to look). Trier’s characters feel inseparable from the city they inhabit; their dreams and desires exist alongside it, shaped by its rhythms. Again and again, the search for meaning runs through art–whether it be through the art of writing, music, and making images–as if making something is the path to understand where you stand in the world and declare something you want to say.

Trier also feels keenly aware of himself as the storyteller. His repeated use of narration and montage feels like an attempt to hold onto memory–to collect, cement, and recount moments before they slip away forever. History and the past hang over these films; most of his characters are either trying to move on from something or figure out how to recover after things didn’t turn out the way they hoped. Montage becomes a quiet way of assembling a life in pieces. There’s a clear love in how Trier returns to Oslo over time, filming the same city as it changes over the years. The quote from Lady Bird keeps coming to mind: “Don’t you think maybe they are the same thing? Love and attention?”

What’s striking is how restrained or almost simple the films feel. Simple camera movements, small, subtle shifts in perspective. Nothing feels forced. There’s an understanding that life already exists within a scene, and that you don’t need to overcomplicate it to make it feel alive. Trier knows how to build meaning across tiny moments rather than quick successive cuts or building up dramatic moments. The way he manipulates time feels seamless, almost invisible, which makes the emotional impact even stronger.

There’s also a naturalistic, almost documentary quality to the films–the natural lighting, the camera movements, the way characters move through space, the way conversations unfold. Trier has spoken about documentary style filmmaking often when discussing how he works with actors, especially the difference between observing people and watching actors who feel overly aware of being seen. That influence is felt throughout. Quiet moments with the characters take on new meaning. Solitude and emptiness transforms familiar spaces. Escapism and absence runs through the trilogy too–the tension between running from the past and being present in the world as it is. The films keep asking what’s happening inside someone when life feels like it’s falling apart, or moving on without them.

That sense of being out of sync–or moving at your own pace–in the world shows up again and again. In The Worst Person in the World, time literally freezes as Julie runs through the city toward the person she loves. In Reprise, the story of two best friends who are both writers, the film explores different paths and what-if scenarios that reveal those stinging moments when one friend’s success might come at the expense or timing of another’s most difficult time in their lives. This mismatched timing and unclear, convoluted career path is at the heart of the movie, quite literally starting out with a montage of their ideal career paths where they “save the world” with the promise and excitement for their future careers (except that’s not how life decides to play out for them…).

In Oslo, August 31st, which takes place over the course of a day, there’s a small but painful momentarily in the film when the protagonist reconnects with a friend, only for his friend’s wife to point out that the friend isn’t really listening to or understanding of his experiences in rehab. Ultimately, the film is built on (small but meaningful) interactions, portraying that missing connection between former male friends and how much time has passed, but also how life has moved on for everyone else while struggling with his addictions. Trier captures that feeling of being present but not fully there, of missing something important even when you’re close to it.

Sound also does a lot of quiet heavy lifting work in these films. In Oslo, August 31st, there’s a scene where a character listens closely to the conversations around him in a restaurant and he imagines the daily routines of strangers. The city comes alive through sound–through snippets of dialogue, ambient noise, and the rhythm of everyday life. Oslo isn’t just seen; it’s heard. Movement through the city is felt as much through sound as through image. (I also discovered while writing this that his dad is also a musician and sound designer and editor like my dad!)

At the center are relationships. Even when characters aren’t in love–or are no longer in love–the search for “real” connection is always present. Trier’s films especially allow for male vulnerability in a way that still feels rare: desire, ambition, tenderness, and insecurity are shown without being flattened or punished. Love appears in many forms beyond just romantic or platonic binaries–between siblings, friends, families, former partners, and, in his latest film, even co-workers. Even characters who could easily be reduced to antagonists are treated with care, as people who matter and leave an impression.

In a Scandinavian cinematic world often associated with bleakness and nihilism–of Lars von Triers and Thomas Vinterbergs–being a Joachim Trier feels like its own quiet but firm stance. His films insist on engagement and connection: with art, with people, with the world as it is. They’re about caring, paying attention, and showing up, even when it’s so, so, so difficult. In the end, that might be what stays with me most about the Oslo Trilogy–not despair, but its choice to be present. Not detachment, but the choice to show up despite it all.

Hej hej!

Skylar <3

As the year winds down, I’ve been looking back on the books that kept me company. These are the stories that challenged me, surprised me, and truly stayed with me after I closed the book. This is just a quick recap of my favorite books I read this year–standout titles I would recommend. If you’re hunting for your next great read, consider this your curated starting point!

Honestly, I’ve also been intrigued by celebrity book clubs lately. More on that in a future post… But a few book clubs I’ve actually really enjoyed so far (or at least their book selections) are by Dua Lipa, Jack Edwards, and Laufey. Also more on that in a future post!

My Favorite Books of 2025

(In no particular order)

Brightly Shining by Ingvild H. Rishøi

This short novel is a modern-day Norwegian Christmas tale and (somewhat of a) retelling of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson. Set in central Oslo, the book is centered around two sisters who attempt to make ends meet with their father who struggles to find a job due to his alcoholism. Despite it all, the younger sister dreams of owning a Christmas tree and the holiday joy that comes with it.

The story’s strength lies in its emotional subtlety as seen through a child’s perspective, and its ability to make the ordinary moments of kindness from others feel profound. I finished this book in only 2 days! The perfect book to read in December for the cozy winter vibes. Discovered through Dua Lipa’s book club Service95!

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

A group of Classics students at an elite college fall under the spell of an enigmatic professor, drawing them into a world of intellectual obsession and moral unraveling. As their bond deepens, so do the secrets they keep from the outside world and from each other. Tartt builds an intense, intoxicating atmosphere that explores guilt, beauty, and the consequences of transgression.

I will confess that I am actually still reading this book. But for the beautifully written world of the novel alone (which reminds me a lot of my boarding school), I am in love with Donna Tartt.

I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman

This incredible, haunting novel follows a young woman raised in captivity with no memory of life before confinement. When an unexpected event frees the group of entirely women, they emerge into a barren world (that some suspect is an alien planet) that forces them to confront their survival, the mysterious, unknown reason for decades of captivity, and the meaning of life in a implausible world. Harpman’s writing is so distinct and devastating, creating an unforgettable meditation on belonging and existence.

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri

I’ve always been a big fan of Jhumpa Lahiri’s short stories, and I’ve written about her extensively before. I found a copy of this book secondhand while I was at a film festival in Seattle, and I finally had the time to sit down and read the whole collection.

Her collection of short stories depicts mostly Indian and Indian-American characters navigating identity, cultural tensions, and quiet fractures within relationships. Lahiri writes with such clarity and deep empathy for her characters, revealing how small moments and interactions carry so much emotional weight. Each story stands alone but together they paint a portrait of longing, displacement, and hope. I also love how many of her stories are set in Boston where I was born!

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Set against the backdrop of political upheaval in Czechoslovakia, this novel intertwines the lives of characters grappling with love, sex, politics, and the tension between “lightness” and “weight.” Kundera blends his philosophy with intimate storytelling, exploring the meaning behind our life decisions and how personal choices shape (and are shaped by) history. It’s a reflective, layered book that lingers long after reading.

Greek Lessons by Han Kang

A woman who loses her ability to speak enrolls in a Greek language class, where she forms a connection with her teacher, who is losing his eyesight. Through the intersecting of their struggles, the novel explores language, identity, and intimacy in the quiet moments of life. Kang’s poetic prose is extremely lyrical and contemplative, gently unraveling what communication and vulnerability can mean for two lost individuals.

honorable mentions 🏆

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

Didion’s memoir chronicles the year following her husband’s sudden death. She captures the surreal, disorienting landscape of grief, and the ways memory both anchors and destabilizes us. It’s a profound, intimate examination of loss, resilience, and love. It’s one of the most recommended and loved books for a reason. More on my love for Joan here.

Normal People by Sally Rooney

This novel follows two characters Marianne and Connell as their relationship evolves through high school into adulthood, exploring how class, communication, and self-worth affect their connection. Rooney is so good at capturing quiet emotional shifts and the push-and-pull of a modern-day relationship that feels inevitable yet fragile. It’s intimate, sharp, and deeply attuned to today.

This actually signals that I have officially read all of Sally Rooney’s short stories which I have been tracking on [banchan] for a while–available to read here: (1) (2) (3) (4).

When McKinsey Comes to Town by Walt Bogdanich & Michael Forsythe

A journalistic investigation into the global influence of consulting giant McKinsey & Company, the book reveals how their advice has shaped corporations, governments, and institutions–often resulting in troubling consequences. Through case studies, the authors examine the firm’s role in issues ranging from marketing the opioid crisis to propping up authoritarian regimes. It’s an eye-opening, critical look at power, accountability, and the hidden motivations behind major world events.

thanks for reading!

sky <3

안녕 from Seoul!

First off, I have to mention that Charlie XCX is on Substack now!!! I’m so excited to see how she uses the platform especially with the release of her new album. But I don’t know I just really feel like the era of blogging and curating your Tumblr page is SO BACK! Speaking of how reading is cool again…

My best friend Georgia (hi George!) and I have been discussing a lot about upcoming book-to-movie adaptations and literary connections to films lately. It started with Guillermo del Toro’s new Frankenstein adaptation, and then into Chloé Zhao’s upcoming Hamnet (which is based on a fiction novel about how the tragic young death of William Shakespeare’s son Hamnet inspires him to write the play Hamlet), and even the literary connections between Ari Aster’s Eddington and the novel American Pastoral.

Hollywood taking existing IP (or “taking inspiration from the book”) and turning it into a movie is obviously nothing new, but I was honestly so struck by how much more accessible it has become to engage with (classic) literature. Frankenstein is FREE on Apple Books! I’ve seen so many book clubs handing out physical Penguin edition copies like it’s free candy. Georgia is listening to the audiobook of Hamlet! And you can listen to the critics at The New Yorker talk about Eddington/American Pastoral for FREE online at any time!

Inspired by some of these conversations: today I want to make the case that Shakespeare is a medium meant to be both READ on the page and EXPERIENCED on screen or stage, even in a day and age where the possibilities of consuming media are seemingly endless.

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What about me?

Before diving into that argument, it feels only fair to share a bit of my Shakespeare background – ranked from mildly academic to fully unhinged (shoutout to my manipulative English/Theatre teacher who made sure I was scholastic enough for his standards and was recently fired last year).

I followed the classic American high-school English curriculum, reading Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, Othello, and Julius Caesar. In my senior year, I took a class called Shakespeare and the Bible, and Friday nights often meant gathering with friends in the library to read plays and sonnets aloud just for fun.

At one point, I even memorized every single Shakespeare play. Two of my friends and I won a Shakespeare scene competition at sixteen (my name still lives on a plaque at my school) and my senior yearbook quote was “What’s past is prologue.”

Over the years, I’ve read a long list of his works, including As You Like It, Much Ado About Nothing, The Tempest, Richard II, Henry IV, Part II, Titus Andronicus, Hamlet, King Lear, Antony and Cleopatra, Othello, Julius Caesar, and Romeo and Juliet. 13/36. Which I think is kind of weak, personally, but not too bad.

Nerdy? Absolutely. But it’s that era of my life that convinced me Shakespeare is meant to be both studied and performed, and that experiencing his work through multiple mediums unlocks the full magic of his work.

A Literary Treasure Hunt.

I recently came across a clip of an interview with the author M.L. Rio, in which she discusses where teachers often go wrong when teaching Shakespeare. She argues that teachers tend to focus too heavily on plot rather than on teaching students how to read and appreciate the language itself. As she points out, it’s easy to overlook the textures of the writing (feminine endings, forms of address, rhyme schemes, alliteration, double entendres, and so much more) that together create what she calls a “literary treasure hunt.”

I find her reasoning dead on. I don’t think that plot is something to be neglected. I’ve seen lots of stories that fall through because it’s very difficult to come up with a narrative and construct a sequence of consequential events that lead to what we would consider “a good story.” But often times the how is equally as important.

@periarrowsmithAuthor M.L. Rio on teaching students how to read and enjoy Shakespeare 🎭 #mlrio #authorinterview #williamshakespeare #shakespeare #authorsoftiktok @Waterstones Nottingham

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When we look at Shakespeare’s works in an English classroom, it’s important to consider that these are also instructions on how a performance should be given on a stage. In the Elizabethan era, most people experienced his plays by watching them, not reading them, since a significant portion of the population was illiterate. Literacy increased later due to factors like the spread of Renaissance ideas, the Protestant Reformation, and the growing availability of printed materials, but Shakespeare was still writing primarily for an audience that consumed stories through performance.

To summarize very quickly a whole bunch of historical facts, Shakespeare was writing for a wide audience of people (of all different social and economic classes) to enjoy. In Shakespeare’s plays, there are many references to the bible, which for many people at that time, is the only form of storytelling widely available when you went to church on Sunday to listen to the pastor’s sermons (re: no one can read). This ain’t Florence, so you don’t have your Michelangelos hanging in the church and much of the art isn’t accessible to the masses, save for the upper class.

All of that to say, I believe that simply watching Shakespeare’s plays can be a deeply enjoyable experience, because honestly, the concept of reading his plays is quite a new experience and concept. No prior reading is required. At the same time, the written texts hold clues about how each moment is meant to be performed (which the actors and directors are already looking at), along with countless literary “easter eggs” that enrich the meaning. There’s an additional layer of depth and complexity on the page that actively invites discovery.

When teachers prioritize only plot or surface-level comprehension, they miss an opportunity to help students develop critical thinking and interpretive skills. Analyzing artistic decisions, imagining directorial choices, and finding textual evidence to support those interpretations can be incredibly empowering for young students, especially today. (I’ll talk soon about HOW this kind of engagement can happen for YOU outside an English classroom.)

Studying (any artistic) craft is so integral. The desire to create is so innately human. You don’t have to become a painter or a writer, but understanding why artistic choices are made profoundly shapes the way we engage with the media we encounter every day.

Cause I get it, why read Shakespeare when life is hard enough already! But when is it not hard!!!

@iristrggi LOVED this saying as a kid; lotus was my favorite flower for a while 🪷 #lotus #lotusflower #asianculture #lifephilosophy

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Iris, another creator on TikTok, shares a poem she teaches her students: “May you live like a lotus flower, at ease in muddy water.” She begins with this poem because it shows children that beauty can emerge from “ugly” conditions and “difficult” environments – a metaphor I also find deeply moving for what it says about strength and resilience.

This idea resonates strongly with the world of Shakespeare. In an era that prioritizes hard skills and greater efficiency, there is still immense value in slowing down – writing, reading, creating art, and embracing the pursuits that are challenging and time-consuming. These are the places where meaning and beauty often reveal themselves. When did everything become about completing an achievement, finishing a project, or hitting a goal? When did we forget what it means to simply be alive?

My favorite adaptations to study!

To conclude, I believe the most meaningful way to engage with Shakespeare is by both reading and watching his work – they truly complement each other. For anyone interested in going a step further, comparing different performances and adaptations can be especially illuminating. It helps reveal (1) why his plays continue to resonate across time, thanks to their adaptability to new contexts and interpretations, and (2) what specific changes directors or creators make, and why. What new themes are they surfacing or choosing to emphasize?

With that in mind, here’s my list of recommended adaptations!

• First off, Kenneth Branagh’s filmography is really interesting. A Shakespearean actor himself, he’s done so many interesting and fun adaptations of Shakespeare’s works like a film remake of As You Like It set in a late 19th-century European colony in Japan! His version of Much Ado About Nothing is also lots of fun (with a familiar cast of people…)!

• Rom-coms like 10 Things I Hate About You or Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet bring really unique and rich interpretations to the original material.

  

• If you’re looking for something a little more cinematic, I would also highly recommend The Tragedy of Macbeth by Joel Coen which is available on Apple TV!

• Recordings of on-stage performances can be hard to find but The National Theatre subscription offers high-quality recordings of their shows! They do some fantastic shows. This production of Romeo & Juliet, which came out during the pandemic (and used to be free but not anymore!!!!!!!). Starring Josh O’Connor and Jessie Buckley in a very stripped down version of the play, this version is also so much fun!

• Any Doctor Who fans….? David Tennant and Catherine Tate starred in a 2011 production of Much Ado About Nothing at the Wyndham’s Theatre in London, where they played Benedick and Beatrice. The critically acclaimed production was recorded and is available for viewing through Digital Theatre! I used to have a Digital Theatre + Subscription through my high school but they also have some really fantastic performances on their site. Also just look at them! Name a more iconic duo…

That’s all for today :)

Thanks for reading!

Sky xx

Maybe it’s the nostalgia. Maybe it’s the good vibes. Maybe I just need unrealistic fantasy to be my reality right now. Here are my favorite comfort rom coms that are the equivalent of a warm hug or chicken soup for the soul, when everything is unraveling quicker than you can say “just play the damn movie.”

You can read the first part here!

Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001)

Bridget, a single, thirty-something Londoner, tries to reinvent herself through New Year’s resolutions, work mishaps, and relationships two very different men. It’s funny, messy, insecure, and hopelessly relatable.

Music and Lyrics (2007)

Once part of a famous ’80s pop duo, Alex now plays nostalgia gigs in malls until he’s asked to write a comeback song for a rising star. When Sophie, his eccentric plant-sitter with a secret talent for lyrics, unexpectedly helps him, their creative partnership (and romance, of course) grows in the space between melody and words. It’s a love story about starting over.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003)

A magazine writer bets she can make any man dump her in ten days, unaware that her target is a suave, charming ad exec trying to make a woman fall in love with him for a bet with his co-workers. What begins as a battle of manipulation turns into something neither of them can control: the accidental honesty of actually liking each other.

Mamma Mia (2008)

On a Greek island beaming with sunlight and ABBA songs, a young woman invites the three men who might be her father to her wedding, throwing her mother into a whirlwind of old flames and unfinished love.

10 Things I Hate About You (1999)

Set against a backdrop of late-’90s angst and based on the Shakespearean play Taming of the Shrew – when a rebellious teen is bribed to date the most intimidating girl at school, he doesn’t expect to fall for her.

Here’s more on film from [banchan]: italian cinema and the migrant experience: visconti’s rocco and his brothers | my favorite comfort movies | “colors and light” by sally rooney, secrets and lies by mike leigh | the films that made me apply to film school | babyratu: threesomes and the female gaze are so back

Thanks for reading!

Skylar xx

PRELUDE

Happy October!

Just in time for the spooky season, I wanted to share what’s been scaring me lately: America’s falling literacy rates. With headline after headline on AI taking over, less and less college students being able to read beyond maybe 5 pages, and doom scrolling taking over our lives, a lot has been on my mind.

Literature has always been a very big part of my life. My family had always been very supportive of my education and I was always praised since I was a child for carrying a book with me wherever I went. My grandparents even started giving me a small allowance every time I’d visit them, calling it “my book fund.” Even now, I can’t leave the house without my emotional support book.

Although, I wanted to pursue theatre and film for most of high school and college, I started to really miss reading. Halfway through college, I made the decision to minor in English Literature – and honestly, it was the best decision I ever made. I signed up for classes that studied manifestos of the Women’s Liberation Movement, Korean Sci-Fi in film and literature, and Writing New York from the perspective of different writers. I felt like I returned to a space I needed to delve into understanding stories, organize my thoughts and opinions into essays, and talk about them with my peers in class.

I now finally had what I had been missing: time. Dedicated, required time.

But after I graduated this Spring, I felt I had lost this whole safety net and routine of reading. Once again, there was no more teacher, syllabus, or the (helpful, gentle) peer pressure of keeping up. I let go of my reading goals and I just wasn’t really engaging with any sort of media deeply or thoughtfully at all (aka I was doom-scrolling). On top of that, the headlines on the falling literacy rates were making me feel anxious about myself and what the future holds – what repercussions will there be for a world where nothing is thoughtfully and critically analyzed, we are unable to deeply engage with and question what is actually being said, and the messaging of everything we consume is already being decided for us?

What do you mean people aren’t reading anymore? I’m not even reading anymore.

What helped me fall out of this pit was deciding for myself that (1) even if “everyone else” wasn’t reading, I could make a positive, concrete change for myself on an individual level, and that (2) I could research the problem to deeply understand the issue beyond the flashy headlines.

So today I wanted to talk about defining what a literacy rate is, how we’re actually reading MORE, interesting sources + articles I’ve found, some of my opinions, and reading advice + tips!

Table of Contents:

• So, what even is a literacy rate?

• How bad is the situation?

• The truth is… we are actually reading more?

• Ways to read more (and think more critically while doing so)

Hey there avid reader! This post may be too long for email. For an improved reading experience, consider reading on the Substack app or on the [banchan] website www.banchan.substack.com!

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TABLE CHAT

So, what even is a literacy rate?

There are many ways to define what “literacy” actually is.

At its most basic level, literacy is the ability to read and write. Often times it’s considered “basic knowledge” needed to navigate life and society. There are many benefits to a country’s higher literacy rate: better employment and higher wages, improving access public health information, reducing crime rates, promoting political and social engagement in communities, and much more.

What makes establishing a certain base-line of literacy very difficult to define is that there are a variety of factors to consider:

• What if someone is able to read and sound out letters without the knowledge of what they are actually saying?

• How much can one person write something down out of sheer memorization without any understanding of what they are writing?

• At what reading level do we choose and consider “basic knowledge”? Who gets to decide that?

• What about videos, media, and other visual mediums? Some may say we engage with these kinds of mediums more often in our daily lives.

The answer (at least the one you’re getting from me) is that there is no real answer. Or they will be in flux for the time being – there will be no exact, hard-set definition. But a few organizations have already created definitions for us that point to a key aspect of literacy: comprehension and expansion.

Based off the definitions provided (and for the sake of this post): literacy is a term used to describe the ability to understand texts and different forms of media, but also the ability to apply and build upon that information. (In this post, I’ll be talking more about literacy within the context of American society, more closely towards high school and college students.)

How bad is the situation?

In my personal experience, most of the kids I went to private school with wanted to become computer engineers or consultants or some other STEM field, not interested at all in a full-fledged career in the humanities or anything related to success in “traditional academia”. Even outside of my cushy private school, many people I’ve talked to in the U.S. point to money or financial stability as a key reason for why they seek out more traditional, so-called practical jobs (i.e. electrician, carpentry, skills-based work). In the context of discussing literacy, however, being able to communicate with others, write effectively and clearly, and convey or absorb underlying messaging is ALSO a valuable skill set that applies to nearly every job, but also every single interpersonal relationship in one’s life.

It all made me wonder when a country begins to value wealth and worship having more money (than others) above all else, how will literacy be impacted and shaped in that kind of society? Especially since literacy has the power to affect a lot of the different areas of daily life.

There are no shortage of articles that discuss specifically the new high school and college experience in the age of AI. From everything ranging from generally just how professors are discussing the fact that students enter universities never having read an entire book to how it’s beginning to become an emotional crutch in the everyday lives of young people.

There is no clear cut answer for how this happened in the U.S. Some teachers point to a lack of early introduction to reading bulkier literature in public schools, to the rise of tech, the pandemic, or initiatives and organizations that push for standardized tests and informational texts to be the reading standard. Some researchers suggest “some possible explanations, including increased use of social media and other technology, or more time spent at work because of economic pressure” but because of a lack of further studies and large, comprehensive data, it’s hard to say.

The truth is… we are actually reading more?

There is a shocking truth to all of this, however, is that technically people are reading more than ever… online.

The truth is reading has just… shifted. Audiobooks and podcasts are more popular than ever, and more accessible than ever. People are using e-readers or news apps on their phones anywhere you go. We read notifications and texts every day on our screens. Furthermore, social media websites are actually chock full of text. Whether you are on Youtube and TikTok, there is a constant barrage of flashy headlines and text boxes engineered to grab your attention. Not to mention that almost half of the U.S. population use subtitles when watching Youtube, film, or TV shows. Likewise, most short form content like Reels or Tik Toks come with automated captioning.

These kinds of short, quick, digestible texts are designed to keep our attention constantly and improve the site’s retention rates (not necessarily our brain’s retention rates), so that we keep coming back for more content.

We now have a much deeper and more general understanding of the ways social media shapes behavior, relationships, and society at large, an understanding that was far less developed during the initial wave of technological breakthroughs. I personally have found difficulty with: being unable to focus on longer forms of media (films, novels, etc.), generally being unable to focus on a task for a longer time, irritability and fatigue from constantly being on my phone, spending less social time in person with the people around me, feelings of anxiety and jealousy and being self-critical towards myself and the world around me.

I recognized all the impacts of social media, but the huge mind fuck was that I am reading. A lot, in fact.

Just not the things I am actively choosing to read.

Choosing to pick up reading through physical media again (instead of on the internet) was not giving up anything or accepting the way of the world as it is, but was a way to actively engage with myself, my un-curated self-developed interests, and deeper, thoughtful, unique texts over a longer stretch of time.

This is also all part of the reason why I even started my Substack. I wanted to write about literature, art, and film, because I wanted to push myself to engage with things more critically, write it down even if it was messy and imperfect, and share it with people I care about.

Ways to read more (and think more critically while doing so)

So here are a few tips and advice – all that helped me get back into reading myself or at least made it a whole lot easier.

• Make reading fun again: Read what you’re interested in. Find short form articles or thought pieces on subjects you’re interested in. Read things you already liked in the past. Revisiting things after time has passed, and you’ve grown as a person makes a huge difference in your reading experience! Re-read your favorite childhood books and YA novels! There is no pressure to read classic literature right off the bat or “prestige books” only…

• Let yourself give up: This goes back to making reading fun! If the book is not living up to your expectations or it’s just something you’re not interested in right now, you have permission to put it down. I used to give myself so much pressure to start and finish a book no matter what, but I realized life is too short…

  

• Read short books or short stories: Especially, if you’re not used to reading longer works again, what helped me immensely was finding short stories on places like The New Yorker, Substack of course, or even a collection of short stories by a writer I like. Building my page count up instead of starting off too ambitiously helped me a lot!

• Search for good recs, don’t expect good recs: There are so many books. It’s hard to find what is the best fit FOR YOU. There will always be bookstores that have staff picks, books that your friends are reading, books recommended based on your interests, your age, your background, etc. Many recommendations with the rise of BookTok are now sponsored. There’s a lot of recommendations to sort through. Exploration is encouraged here. Try different ways of finding new books, try new genres and time periods, ask strangers, search the libraries, join new book clubs IRL or online. Find unexpected and new ways to discover new books!

  

• Annotating, or simply write down your thoughts: I personally think that annotating is NOT a mandatory thing. It’s kind of its own art form. I don’t think that everything necessarily needs to be annotated in a kind of perfectly curated Pinterest kind of way. There are 3 ways of annotating I try to rotate between, depending on A) what I’m reading, B) what I’m reading it for, C) how deeply I know I want to engage with the text given the time frame I have.

  • Traditional annotation: Using a sticky note and pencil – write whatever is interesting or mark interesting themes on where they appear.

  • “Index” annotating: A professor taught me to write emerging themes, concepts, ideas in the back of the book – and then write page numbers where those ideas and supporting evidence/quotes appear. It’s a more organized way that saves you the sticky notes. As an example: I would write themes like MIGRATION and ISOLATION on the back or front pages of the book. Every time I came across a quote that fell under those themes I would list out MIGRATION pg. 2, pg. 5, pg. 10, etc. and so on.

  • Reading journals & notebooks: Lately though, I’ll have a separate notebook that I can just jot down my notes and write my long-winded opinions more freely. Benefits are having more space and freedom to write what I want outside of the small margins.

• It really is that damn phone: Put it away.

• Tracking my goals for real: I’ve been using GoodReads since the 3rd grade, but surrounding the recent discourse of its ownership… ahem… I’ve been exploring other platforms. So far, Fable has been my favorite.

• Find a reading buddy or an accountability buddy: My boyfriend and I have been working really hard to keep each other accountable. We’ll try to get some reading time in bed together, and I know I can count on him to shame me (nicely) if I’m scrolling on social media (and vice versa).

• Even more reading tips from the judges of the Booker Prize Award!

If you have a reading tip you want to share or a personal experience, please let us know in the comments!

Leave a comment

Here’s more on literature from [banchan]: “my favorite short stories” | “what makes joan didion’s writing so haunting?” | “Mr Salary” by Sally Rooney | “Concord 34” and “At The Clinic” by Sally Rooney | “Even if you Beat Me” by Sally Roney | “Interpreter of Maladies” by Jhumpa Lahiri | Romance in Marseille by Claude McKay | “Araby” by James Joyce | “james baldwin, korean avant garde, and nyc” | “andy warhol, patti smith, and iconization”

Thanks for reading!

Sky xx

PRELUDE

Hej from Copenhagen!

During a summer study abroad semester in Florence, I had the chance to take an Italian cinema history course with Professor Andrea Gelardi, whose insight and enthusiasm opened up a new way of seeing film. Among the many works we studied, Visconti’s Rocco and His Brothers (1960) left a lasting impression on me. The film’s blending of the Italian melodrama genre with the social realities of post-war migration continues to shape how I think about Italian cinema and its historical context.

There are some spoilers in this post! (But it’s a tragedy so I think you can kind of figure out what happens…)

Hopefully, I’ll continue to expand on a Italian cinema history series on [banchan] in the near future, but in the meantime I can’t wait to tell you all about my favorite Italian film :)

Hey there avid reader! This post may be too long for email. For an improved reading experience, consider reading on the Substack app or on the [banchan] website www.banchan.substack.com!

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TABLE CHAT

Luchino Visconti’s Rocco and His Brothers (1960) is an essential film in post-war Italian cinema, both for its storytelling ambitions and for its sociopolitical resonance. The film follows the story of the Padroni family, who migrate from the rural South to the city Milan in pursuit of economic opportunity during Italy’s “economic miracle” which lasted between 1958-1963. While the family hopes to secure a better future, their new life in the North instead exposes them to economic exploitation, social prejudice, and violent destruction.

Through the intersecting lives of the five Padroni brothers who turn to boxing in order to financially support their family–most notably brothers Rocco and Simone–Visconti dramatizes the personal and collective tolls of migration. Things between them take a more complicated turn once a love triangle begins to form with a prostitute named Nadia.

Migration and the Costs of Labor

At the center of the narrative lies the metaphor of labor and its physical (and emotional) demands. The Padroni brothers turn to boxing as a means of sustaining their family, yet this choice causes major bodily and psychological effects. The sport becomes emblematic of the sacrifices demanded by integration into the industrial North, where survival is secured only through bodily endurance, physical violence, and corporeal self-destruction. The characters’ journeys illustrate the dehumanizing effects of a modern economy that reduces migrant labor to bodily exploitation.

Visconti thus locates migration and societal change not in a historical epic or sociological observation (like preceding Italian films: Rome Open City 1945 or La Terra Trema 1948) but in the material body. Boxing injuries, military service, and the physical violence enacted upon the central characters situate the migrant experience in the corporeal realm. This emphasis underscores the brutal costs of survival, as the body becomes the site upon which the tensions of modernity and tradition are imposed.

Melodrama as Form

While Italian neorealism had dominated the industry, Visconti turned instead to melodrama, a genre deeply rooted in national popular culture. Unlike neorealism’s documentary or naturalistic style, Visconti embraces excess–emotional intensity, bold confrontations, and heightened symbolism–to penetrate the psychological mindset of his characters. Melodrama allows the family to function as the dramatic focal point where social realities and individual desires are in conflict with each other. Visconti’s decision to cast professional actors, rather than the non-professionals favored by neorealism, additionally shows his embrace of this genre’s form.

The love triangle between Rocco, Simone, and Nadia epitomizes this approach. Nadia, a prostitute in Milan, mirrors the brothers’ own precarious existence, her labor equally marked by constant exploitation and violence. Simone’s obsession with her culminates in Nadia’s brutal murder, a moment that fuses melodramatic excess with social critique. Here, the interpersonal drama does not solely serve narrative intrigue but reveals the fractures of identity and belonging.

Sacrifice and Catholic Symbolism

The murder of Nadia is among the film’s most resonant sequences, not only for its narrative impact but for its symbolic weight. In her final moments, Nadia is framed with her arms outstretched, her body evoking Christ on the cross. This image places her death within the context of Italy’s Catholic history, transforming her into a sacrificial figure whose suffering reveals the violent undercurrents of both patriarchal and societal structures.

By aligning the fate of a marginalized woman with religious iconography, Visconti critiques the cultural and moral codes that reinforce cycles of violence, particularly against women and migrants.

Tradition versus Modernity

Rocco and His Brothers transcended the boundaries of Italian cinema at the time to emerge as a critical take on migration, identity, and modernity in post-war Italy. The film illuminates the bodily and emotional costs of assimilation, the prejudice directed at migrants from the south, and the struggles of reconciling tradition with the isolation of industrial urban life. Visconti’s use of melodrama as a lens for sociopolitical critique situates the film as both a deeply intimate family saga and a national allegory of Italy in transition.

Here’s more on film from [banchan]: “my favorite comfort movies” | “colors and light” by sally rooney, secrets and lies by mike leigh, and more on how capitalistic expectations are ruining your relationships” | “the films that made me apply to film school” | “babyratu: threesomes and the female gaze are so back”

Ciao bella!

Skylar xx

PRELUDE

Hello from New York City!

I’ve gathered a few short stories that have stayed with me – some I stumbled across on my own, others I read in my literature classes. I’ve found links to most of them so you can dive right in, and the ones that aren’t available online, the titles are definitely worth looking up!

WORDS

“Coming Home Again” by Chang-rae Lee (link here)

A Korean son reflects on his dying mother through the meals she once prepared, connecting food, memory, and grief. In retracing her recipes, he confronts the love, loss, and regrets they share.

“Mr Salary” by Sally Rooney (link here)

A young woman grapples with her complicated feelings for an older family friend who has long supported her, as desire, dependency, and intimacy blur the boundaries of their relationship.

I also write about it here:

“The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (link here)

A woman confined to a room as a “rest cure” begins obsessing over its yellow wallpaper in her journal entries, her descent into madness mirroring the suffocating control of patriarchal authority and gendered expectations.

“Interpreter of Maladies” by Jhumpa Lahiri (link here)

During an Indian-American family’s vacation to India, a tour guide misinterprets the mother’s confession as intimacy, only to realize it reflects her isolation and his own unfulfilled longing. Their inability to deeply connect exposes unspoken loneliness and cultural dissonance between them.

I also write about it here:

“The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson (link here)

In a small town’s annual lottery, tradition masks horror as the community blindly sacrifices one of its own in a ritual of collective violence.

I would also highly recommend the short film version as well!

Here’s more on literature from [banchan]: “what makes joan didion's writing so haunting?” | “Mr Salary” by Sally Rooney | “Concord 34” and “At The Clinic” by Sally Rooney | “Even if you Beat Me” by Sally Roney | “Interpreter of Maladies” by Jhumpa Lahiri | Romance in Marseille by Claude McKay | “Araby” by James Joyce | “james baldwin, korean avant garde, and nyc” | “andy warhol, patti smith, and iconization”

Thanks for reading!

Skylar xx

PRELUDE

A little over a year ago, I found out that my mother had cancer again.

This news came at a pretty difficult time when my mom was looking after my grandmother who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer 6 months prior. Which my grandmother had developed while she was looking after my grandfather, who had a stroke that left him nonverbal and disabled.

Not fun shit.

As many of my closest friends were starting grad school or starting their new cushy jobs, I felt abandoned and completely alone – if I wasn’t already shutting off my phone and ignoring everyone else, other than my boyfriend who was the only person I’d call every single waking moment. While everyone was starting their new chapter of life in the city, mine was completely crumbling in Korea.

I spent most of my 3-week trip trying to sleep through it (like My Year of Rest and Relaxation-core, which is a very cursed thing to say) with the help of some drowsy allergy medication. My childhood-haunting eczema had come back in full force, leaving me red, itchy, inflamed, and this time with a never-ending stream of sticky gunk coming out of my eyes. (Cute.)

I didn’t want to die myself per se, but I’d try to ease the emotional and physical pain of everything by sleeping 10-12 hours a day, if I was lucky. With no cigs (I’d quit six months before), no alcohol (I don’t like the taste so much on my own), no drugs (super inaccessible in Korea), I found sleep was the easiest solution. If I wasn’t unconscious, I’d cry in my mother’s arms asking “why is everyone around me dying?”

Really not fun shit.

I went back to New York City afterwards. Two months later, my mother underwent an operation, and she was alright again. My grandmother passed away shortly after. This month, my parents are moving in to live with my grandfather.

These are the facts.

These are facts that even just a couple months ago, I struggled to verbalize or write down in words. I needed a moment to think about that. Which is probably why you haven’t heard from me since my last post.

As you can tell, I had good reason to avoid The Year of Magical Thinking like the motherfucking plague. Notoriously it’s a novel often recommended to others experiencing loss. It actually might have actually been beneficial for me to read, but at the time I couldn’t fathom the thought of even trying to add more fuel to the pain.

It’s been almost a year since then. I find that everything around me has changed (with more crazy life updates coming soon…). The only certain thing in my life now is uncertainty. And I recently found the strength, with just enough bravery, to finally pick up THE book.

Initially, it was very difficult to read the first few chapters. The visceral moments where Joan Didion discovers her husband has collapsed in their dining room, the moments rushing to the hospital, and navigating how to deliver news to her daughter who was also hospitalized at that time.

But as the novel progressed, watching Didion process her grief and lay out the facts of what had happened - backtracking, moving between histories, searching through literature and medical texts, and obsessively repeating these scenes in her head - I found that this is what makes Joan Didion’s work so compelling and hauntingly beautiful. What makes her so relatable and remarkable as a writer is understanding how we process these complicated feelings, and the world around us.

I wanted to take the time to look closely at her novels Democracy and The Year of Magical Thinking to talk further about how spot on she is when it comes to capturing the way we are haunted by the past, and how that might change our memories over time (and also just generally how much I fucking love her writing).

(A HUGE REMINDER again that this is a spoiler-free reflection of both novels!)

Read more

PRELUDE

Hej from Copenhagen!

Today, we’re talking about the David Hockney exhibit currently happening at the Fondation Louis Vuitton which is closing at the end of the month. I just came back from spending a few days in Paris with my boyfriend and his family. Some of my favorite places I visited include: @folderol, @lesarlots, and @lechardonnay.comptoir!

While I’m in Copenhagen, I’ve been working on a short documentary I’ve been working on about Yunguna Brewery, a Korean-Danish sool company than specializes in Korean rice-wine drinks. But more information on that coming soon… Without further ado, enjoy!

WORDS

The David Hockney 25 “Do remember they can’t cancel the spring” exhibition is less of a retrospective than it is an open invitation into Hockney’s world. Once you’re in, you don’t quite want to leave. What struck me most was his innate curiosity–the way he moves through the world and how he engages with environment. He doesn’t just observe the world, but he studies, he converses, he plays.

Hey there avid reader! This post may be too long for email. For an improved reading experience, consider reading on the Substack app or on the [banchan] website www.banchan.substack.com!

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Hockney is an artist who utilizes a dizzying variety of mediums: oil and acrylic paintings, delicate ink and charcoal paintings, photographic experiments, iPad landscapes, and even immersive video installations. Every new technological tool is a new language in his world, and Hockey is effortlessly multilingual. There are many parallels to draw as he engages with the renowned and loved artists of history: he creates echoes of Van Gogh’s swirling skies, Cézanne’s forms, Matisse’s wild colors steeped in his unique perspective of the world.

Nature is everywhere–Hockney’s paintings depict all aspects of nature and its transformations. Before this exhibit, I only knew his LA works (bright blue skies and swimming pools) but here I was transported to Normandy and the English countryside that suddenly felt like the peaceful comforts of home. His depictions of familiar and repeating landscapes slow down time and capture the inevitable, sometimes grand change in seasons.

Whimsy and joy also never cease to exist in Hockney’s world, even when the medium shifts. In his immersive opera installation, you get the same energetic feeling from seeing his dynamic, vivid brushstrokes that seem to glow on his canvases. The entire exhibit is not merely an evolution of his works but showcases his way of living and seeing. The show is steeped in his perspective, rooted in his creative obsessions: space, color, memory, and new technology.

You leave the exhibit with the sense of an artist in constant dialogue: with the past, with the present, with his own insistent need to create.

If you like what I’m talking about, you might want to check out my other articles on artists like Yoshitomo Nara, Artemisia Gentileschi, Andy Warhol, or an under-the-radar 70’s experimental avant garde artist from Korea. Or maybe you’re even interested in Korean celadon ceramic ware?

That’s all for today! Have a good one :)

Skylar xx

PRELUDE

Hello from Korea!

I hope everyone is doing well under sweltering heat, if that’s the kind of place you’ve chosen to live. Korea is particularly horrid. It’s so incredibly humid, going outside feels like stepping into a steamy sauna. But today, I wanted to share some thoughts on the short story “Colors and Light” by Sally Rooney and the film Secrets and Lies (1996) by Mike Leigh. I’ll try not to give away too much and spoil the endings. BUT if you wanted to follow along, they are available to read on The New Yorker and to watch on Mubi.

If you would like me to send you a 2-day FREE online link to watch the film through my Mubi membership, feel free to send me an email or a message on Substack! I just learned about this free movie-gifting feature on Mubi and I’m really excited about the prospect of email spamming my friends in more fun ways now :)

Sally Rooney’s “Colors and Light” is a quiet, introspective short story that follows Aidan, a quiet hotel worker who is grieving the death of his recently deceased mother, and Pauline, a bold screenwriter newly arrived in his small Irish town. As their paths cross over a few brief but emotionally complex encounters, the story explores themes of searching for intimacy and emotional disconnection. Despite a mutual curiosity, their relationship remains marked by silence, miscommunication, and unresolved tension. I read this short story as part of my current Sally Rooney series before I see her at the Louisiana Literature Festival next month in August!

Secrets and Lies is a phenomenal film recommended to me by one of my film school professors. First off, the performances are astounding–it’s pretty clear why this film won the Palme d’Or in 1996. The film is about a black optometrist seeking out her birth mother, only to discover she's a white, working-class woman. As they reconnect, their growing bond and history complicates her birth mother’s fragile family dynamics. It’s an incredible film, I can’t recommended it enough.

I happened to watch this film before I read the short story, but was struck by the overlap in themes and emotional centers. In particular, I wanted to discuss how both of these works are engaging with societal expectations, as well as relationships that are centered around money in some way. Additionally, I wanted to grapple with some of the themes and ideas presented in this incredible MUBI Notebook Feature on Mike Leigh written by Sam Bodrojan (who also has her own Substack!!!).

So let’s dig in!

Here’s more on Literature from [banchan]: “Mr Salary” by Sally Rooney | “Concord 34” and “At The Clinic” by Sally Rooney | What I’m Reading Now | “Even if you Beat Me” by Sally Roney | “Interpreter of Maladies” by Jhumpa Lahiri | Romance in Marseille by Claude McKay | “Araby” by James Joyce | “james baldwin, korean avant garde, and nyc” | “andy warhol, patti smith, and iconization”

TABLE CHAT

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In “Colors and Light” by Sally Rooney, Aidan’s encounters with Pauline highlight the tension between seeing and being seen – how we perceive others, how we hope to be perceived, and how those perceptions are shaped by societal and institutional norms.

One thing that becomes immediately clear is the almost explosive presence Pauline holds in Aidan’s mind. Though their actual interactions are brief and awkward, she lingers in his thoughts with a firework-like intensity. Even the story’s title “Color and Light” suggests this vivid, fleeting impression she leaves on him. Pauline’s presence draws up some unknown feelings and desires that Aidan is unable to clearly identify or bring himself to say out loud. During one memorable moment when they are watching the fireworks together (which is beautifully written and one of my favorite parts in the story), Aidan directly thinks that if Pauline didn’t enjoy the experience that “not only will he no longer like her but he will no longer have enjoyed them either, in retrospect, and something good will be dead. He says nothing.” This idea of being unable to speak or face a closer inner revelation continues throughout the story.

Rooney excels at showing how people can talk around their deepest desires without ever directly addressing them. Though Aidan and Pauline can discuss sex with surprising openness, they remain emotionally closed off, unable to express or even understand their own real feelings deeply. Rooney draws a compelling contrast between Aidan and Pauline’s ways of seeking intimacy. Aidan yearns for connection and external validation, while Pauline appears to crave solitude and detachment. Yet both are ultimately searching for love: just in different ways.

Pauline’s work and association to the “cool film world” versus Aidan’s job at the hotel is also highlighted quite a bit throughout the story. When Pauline asks him if he’s ever slept with a guest at the hotel, it’s another example of the way in which work (a means of getting money) is deeply and messily intertwined with “love” and in this way of pseudo, surface-level intimacy. This is also reflected in Pauline’s own relationships with the people she surrounds herself with. Aidan is guessing whether these people are her colleagues or her friends, but she states later when asked that they are just people she knows and that “People only act like that when they want something from you.” Thus transforming small gestures–like the tips Pauline leaves behind as a patron of the hotel–and loading with meaning. They’re not just monetary transactions; they become symbols of giving, taking, expectations, and the imbalance in their relationship dynamic.

In Secrets and Lies, a similar emotional landscape unfolds. We watch as characters are unable to escape their environment and systemic socioeconomic conditions they face, and as Bodrojan describes Leigh’s work “how the world wears down our capacity to care for one another.” Initially, the film doesn’t present itself as being about money. Instead, it burrows into the quiet devastations of family life and history. But then money becomes the final catalyst for its emotional climax–the origins of the photography studio, the birthday gift of money to his niece–all culminating in a raw, explosive confrontation. Like in “Color and Light”, the characters in Secrets and Lies are all yearning for something they can’t articulate or bring to say out loud. They are weighed down by pain, yet unable to share it with one another. The result is silence, repression, and a final, unavoidable (and honestly justified) emotional crash.

Both “Color and Light” and Secrets and Lies share a quiet, documentary-like feel, offering grounded, slice-of-life glimpses into people’s most vulnerable conversations. There's a striking realism in how miscommunication and unspoken expectations create emotional chasms, despite the creation of new connections.

In Rooney’s story, Aidan’s confusion about where he stands with Pauline stems from this lack of clarity–expectations are projected onto each other without being voiced. As she calls him “innocent” and he calls her “nice,” even when those labels don't seem to align with their actions, desires, or own self-projections of who they are. This calls back to an earlier moment on the beach where Pauline tells Aidan, “I suppose I just wonder, why do we do things that we don’t really want to do? And I thought you might have an answer, but it’s O.K. if you don’t. I don’t either,” underscoring Rooney’s fascination with uncertainty and emotional ambiguity–even though she might be saying that people tend to push away and like to distinguish from those lack of boundaries. While many of her stories explore characters who struggle to express their feelings, “Color and Light” feels different. There’s a familiar kind of yearning here that’s less about the failure to communicate and more about the impossibility of intimacy under the weight of societal and capitalist expectations. This tension–between genuine emotional need and the roles we are expected to perform–forms the aching center of the story.

That’s all for today <3

See you next week!

I’m just kidding! The following are the films that I watched in high school that changed the course of my life.

I came back to the U.S. for high school from South Korea in 2016, because I wanted to continue studying theatre and acting. Unexpectedly, the media and film I was watching with my friends had a life-changing and profound impact on me. These films were able to touch something so imperceivable and deep inside of me, that had never surfaced before. They also exposed me to different kinds of stories, ones that I felt more aligned with the ones I wanted to share and actually create. These films revealed some new aspect of the medium to me as a teenager in 2015-2019: emotional resonance, composition in film, conveying aesthetic, world-building, etc. At the time, I didn’t fully understand why they moved me so much. I just knew that I wanted to be a part of whatever magic was behind the camera.

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Share with me too!: What are some of the films that changed you? What are the films that inspired you to create something too?

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Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)

In the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War, a young girl discovers a mysterious labyrinth and is drawn into a mythical world where she must complete a series of tasks to reclaim her destiny, while enduring a harsh reality under her tyrannical stepfather’s rule. This movie was introduced by a friend of mine in a high school summer program who loved movies. I in turn introduced her to the K-pop band BIG BANG. I really have not met anyone who loved movies as much as her since.

The Fall (2006)

In a 1920s Los Angeles hospital, a paralyzed stuntman spins an epic tale for a curious young girl, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality, as both stories unravel with heartbreaking consequence. I watched this because I loved Lee Pace but the level of dedication to the film in its entirety is so admirable: from the acting, locations, and overall artistic vision. There will never be a movie like this again.

Columbus (2017)

When his estranged father falls into a coma, a cynical son forms an unexpected bond with a young architecture enthusiast, as they both confront the quiet ruins of their stalled lives in a small Midwestern city, famed for its modernist buildings and emotional distance. This film showed me that films can be quiet and still pack a punch. This film has beautiful compositions and a genuine love of art, architecture, and film.

Gook (2017)

During the 1992 LA riots, two Korean-American brothers and a young Black girl forge a fragile friendship, exploring friendship, violence, and survival on the streets of South Central. I used this film in my AP US History final exam where we got to analyze the historical context of the film and determine its “accuracy.” This was a great choice since it’s based on Justin Chon’s own upbringing in Koreatown LA and his perspective on the riots as an adult. The film does a great job of focusing on the characters and relationship dynamics to talk about larger, important themes.

Children of Men (2006)

In a bleak future where humans have become infertile and society is on the brink of collapse, a disillusioned bureaucrat must protect the first pregnant woman in nearly two decades. Watching in this in film class blew my mind.

Call Me By Your Name (2017)

During a sun-drenched summer in 1980s Italy, a teenager embarks on a life-altering romance with his father’s charismatic research assistant, awakening desire, vulnerability, and heartbreak. My friend and I saw this in the Millerton movie theatre and sobbed for 3 hours straight. We cried all the way to the ice cream shop and didn’t even get any ice cream. We just cried more. Straight, constant crying throughout.

The Graduate (1967)

Lost after college, a disillusioned young man is seduced by an older woman, only to fall in love with her daughter, igniting a tangled, iconic coming-of-age crisis. Also saw this film in film class. I loved seeing the theatre-style directing with the combination of filmmaking techniques; I felt I saw this most clearly in this film when I was younger.

Mudbound (2017)

In the racially divided American South during and after World War II, two families (one Black, one white) struggle with land, legacy, and the weight of unspoken trauma. I don’t remember the reason why I watched this film but it must have been recently out on Netflix. I love Carey Mulligan’s performance. I also love the overall theme and the important story it was telling. Not to mention the incredible cinematography…

I, Tonya (2017)

Based on true events, this darkly comedic biopic traces the rise and scandalous fall of figure skater Tonya Harding, whose ambition and abuse-fueled upbringing collided with one of the biggest controversies in sports history. Coming from a professional ice hockey background… this was life-changing. I loved the documentary/breaking the 4th wall style. I just loved this as someone who was always acting “too tough” for a girl.

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)

Eccentric oceanographer Steve Zissou sets sail on a revenge quest to kill the mythical shark that devoured his best friend, assembling a misfit crew for a surreal, self-reflective adventure (set to Portuguese covers of the BEST Bowie songs).

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2016)

In a fictional European country between wars, a legendary concierge and his loyal lobby boy become embroiled in a murder mystery involving a stolen painting, a family feud, and the fading grandeur of a bygone era. Just incredible. I don’t have anything else to say about this.

Saving Face (2004)

A closeted Chinese-American surgeon juggles a budding romance with a dancer and navigating her relationship with her unwed, pregnant mother who is moving in. When everything comes crashing in, she and her mother are forced to confront love, shame, and tradition in Queens, New York. One of the earliest queer Asian films I’d ever seen. This film showed me that portraying and telling stories about queer Asian Americans in a fully complex and wholesome way is possible!

Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)

A young witch-in-training sets out on her own in a seaside town and starts a delivery service, navigating independence, self-doubt, and the quiet magic growing up. My favorite movie growing up <3

It’s been really nice to reminisce, reflect on the end of my time in film school, and remember what were the impactful moments that drew me to film in the first place.

That’s all for today ⭐️

Skylar xx

If you like what I’m talking about, you might want to check out my other posts on artists like Yoshitomo Nara, Artemisia Gentileschi, Andy Warhol, or an under-the-radar 70’s experimental avant garde artist from Korea. Or maybe you’re even interested in Korean celadon ceramic ware?

Have you ever wanted to eat a cup? Saucer plate and all?

One of the most exciting collaboration announcements I’ve heard in a while: this July, IKEA revealed it will launch a new collection later this year in partnership with Swedish designers Gustaf Westman and Evelina Kroon.

I must confess that Evelina is a new designer for me, I have not heard of her before. But her work is very much influenced by the Scandinavian nostalgic design that is cozy and comforting, yet still uses a vibrant youthful color palette that I can really see why she was paired with Westman’s work. They complement each other completely, while resonating with and becoming more accessible to a younger audience of future furniture buyers.

This brings us to Gustaf Westman: whose iconic chunky bubble mug cup and plates are instantly recognizable from Instagram, and seen with high-profile celebrities like Tyler the Creator, Emma Chamberlain, and Olivia Rodrigo. Starting in 2020, his studio creates made-to-order furniture, ceramics, and glassware with a playful twist that is sure to cause a stir. His fresh take on mirrors, lamps, tables with built-in wine glass holders, room dividers, have exploded on the internet. (Currently, he almost has half a million followers on Instagram.)

His aesthetic is definitely not for everyone (I’m also surrounded by Japandi lovers). But it is certainly unique and his aesthetic style obviously a major hit, with almost every item always sold out online. The IKEA announcement honestly reminded me to look into Gustaf Westman: who he is, what kind of aesthetic he’s created coming out a mostly clinically minimal Swedish environment, and what that means for the future direction of Scandinavian design…

COMING UP:

• Who is Gustaf Westman?

• Gustaf Westman’s influences

• Pieces I’m Eyeing…

• Final Thoughts

You can also listen along to his work playlist on Spotify while reading, made for a blog post by Massproductions, a Stockholm based production company.

Who is Gustaf Westman?

Gustaf Westman is a Swedish furniture designer whose playful, curvy creations have helped redefine the aesthetic language of contemporary Scandinavian design. Trained in architecture and art history at Chalmers University in Gothenburg, Westman initially set out to work in architecture but quickly realized his passion lay more in forms, materials, and colors than in building codes and blueprints. From ceramics and glassware to larger furniture like the beloved Curvy Mirror or Blob Table, his work is grounded in a clear visual idea: fun, tactile, and instantly understandable. Each design begins with a single spark – sometimes literally sketched in the dirt during a trail run – and is refined down to its most essential, expressive form.

Though he didn’t grow up in a creative household in southern Sweden, Westman was always a sketchbook kid, drawing out his own designs wherever he went. That spirit of playful self-direction has remained central to his practice. He launched his studio not with a business plan but through trial and connection, starting with a single commission to redesign a PR firm’s office in Stockholm. It wasn’t long before people began asking to buy the custom pieces he made for those spaces, leading to the organic launch of his namesake brand.

Today, Westman operates a small-scale studio focused on made-to-order and limited-run pieces that blend approachability with strong visual identity. He dreams of making good design accessible without chasing luxury, and says he designs for people like himself: those who are a little more interested in design, color, and character. Even as his pieces go viral on TikTok and his mirrors become DIY sensations, Westman embraces that accessibility, knowing that people can partake in his design and style without buying it. I love that emphasis on the personal and sustainable, giving back to your community and nature – the true antithesis of overconsumption and isolation plaguing us today. For him, design isn’t about status, but rather about joy, surprise, and creating objects that feel alive. As Scandinavian design continues to evolve, Westman is leading the way with a vision that’s bright, bold, and unmistakably his.

Gustaf Westman’s Influences

• Architecture: Westman has said in interviews that he likes to think of his objects as small buildings. His work is builds on his background in art history and architecture – in particular building techniques, shapes, materials and environmental thinking (more on that below).

• The Nostalgia of the Past: Gustaf Westman often draws inspiration from different historical design periods. He frequently references the bold colors and playful spirit of the 1980s Memphis Group, an Italian design and architecture group founded by Ettore Sottsass, and modernist designers of the 1920s and 1930s like Jean Royère. Westman sees these previous design eras as less anxious and less trend-driven – times when designers were bolder, more original, and willing to experiment. He contrasts this with today’s mainstream Scandinavian design, which he views as more restrained, template-based, and limited in its color palette.

• Danish Design and Scandinavian Principles: Westman cites Denmark as a major influence on his creative upbringing. While his current aesthetic draws heavily from the Memphis Group’s playful style, his foundational influences are rooted in Danish masters like Hans Wegner, Arne Jacobsen, and Poul Kjærholm.

• Fashion Brands: Fashion is one of Westman’s deepest creative influences. He often turns to it not just for aesthetics, but for its ability to reflect cultural moods in real time. He cites designers like Jonathan Anderson at Loewe, Jacquemus, and Cecilie Bahnsen as current inspirations, and admits that if he weren’t designing objects, he’d likely be working with clothes. While he continues to focus on furniture for now, fashion is a field he hopes to one day step into more directly.

Side note: He’s also mentioned The Art Museum in Bregenz, Stockholm’s Public Library, Farnsworth House, Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, and the Aalto House as his top 5 favorite constructions and buildings ever.

Pieces I’m Eyeing…

• Blob Sofa in Cobalt Blue

• Transparent Chunky Vase

• Wine Table in Pink

• Curvy Sideboard in Light Blue

Final Thoughts

It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but let’s face it: Scandinavian design is shifting, and Gustaf Westman is helping lead that change with a playful, boundary-pushing aesthetic. Westman’s work flips the script with curves, gloss, and color palettes. He draws as much from fashion and architecture as he does from furniture. Whether he's designing a mirror that breaks the internet or glassware that feels both childlike and sculptural, Westman is not afraid to blur the lines between disciplines. His approach may stray from the minimalist approach we’ve come to expect from Scandinavian design, but that’s exactly the point – he’s making space for something warmer, bolder, and more emotionally intuitive. The future of design, in Westman’s world, is still functional – but it’s also fun.

That’s all for today! <3

I’m sorry I didn’t cite all my pictures, this was very research heavy and I will go back and add them when I get a chance :<

Skylar xx

Hi everybody! Let’s dig in… shall we?

Graduation was a few weeks ago, which meant I finally had an excuse (and my mom’s wallet) to splurge on two restaurants NARO and ACRU. I went in excited to try out these two spots, only to be immediately hit with disappointment. Not exactly the post-grad celebration meals I had in mind, and a devastating blow since I’ve always been a fan of Atoboy – another restaurant under NA:EUN.

First off, let’s talk about what NA:EUN Hospitality is: the organization behind every new, hot Korean restaurant in NYC these days. Before I have to say what I have to say: what they have been able to achieve is undeniably incredible.

NA:EUN Hospitality was founded in 2022 by a husband and wife team: Chef JP and Ellia. They combined their love of food and hospitality, launched NA:EUN, and now they manage infamous restaurants: Atoboy, Atomix, NARO, ACRU, and Seoul Salon. Widely credited for brining Korean cuisine to the forefront of fine dining, they continue to open new, boundary-pushing restaurants while collecting Michelin Stars and James Beard awards. They are an integral part of a NYC food culture legacy for many years to come – there is no doubt about it.

Their name “naeun” translates to “better” in Korean (나은). According to their website: “this reflects the hospitality group's mission to provide a better cuisine, a better service, and a better culture for the world.” And honestly, don’t we kind of look alike? A little resemblance? And we’re both food themed?

Before we get into their restaurants (and other NYC Korean restaurants), I would also highly recommend checking out my friend Dajung’s post first:

sooda

Why (some) Korean restaurants in NYC trigger me

It was during the late fall of 2024. I was walking through Flatiron with a friend when I noticed the exterior of a familiar restaurant among the fancy interior design showrooms of Park Ave. Turquoise tile wall engraved with funky white Korean fonts- it was the exact replica of a once notoriously trendy gastropub in my neighborhood in Seoul…

Read more

a year ago · 4 likes · 3 comments · SOODA

She and I both grew up in Korea before we met in a boarding school in Connecticut, years later. She accurately verbalizes the frustration many Koreans have felt in recent years, in response to the rise in popularity of Korean cuisine.

TABLE CHAT

There was a moment, not too long ago, when NYC’s Korean fine dining scene felt like a shift. Atoboy opened and actually meant something. It was inventive, precise, and still recognizably Korean. And it was just so cool. Banchan reimagined with technique (apple kimchi still blows my mind to this day, and something I’ve been dying to make at home). It didn’t feel like it was pandering – it just was. And that was enough.

But now? It feels like a lot of these places are performing Korean-ness more than living it or bringing it authentically to the table.

Take NARO. The food is good, sure. But lately it feels like Korean flavors are being treated like design elements – ingredients used not because they belong, but because they’re unexpected, and thrown in simply because they exist within the umbrella of Korean ingredients.

My mom had the popular Oyster Mushroom Rice Bowl at NARO with hidden garlic root in the rice that’s usually a banchan – a side dish seen on its own in Korea. Here, it’s buried under rice and truffle and a whole lot of other stuff, like a forgettable vegetable that didn’t know why it was there. Not elevated. Just astray.

Seoul Salon is another case study. It’s a night-out spot for people who’ve never actually gone out in Seoul. The vibes are curated, the food is good but forgettable, and the prices are... funny. It feels like it’s designed to catch the drunk Midtown weekend crowd on their way home from somewhere else.

The mission of “elevating” Korean food is a phrase that always makes me flinch. What are we elevating it from? Korean food is peasant, farmer food. Why do you think we have so many vegetables and obscure roots? Why do you think most (I know this is debatable) home-cooked Korean food is tossed in the same three ingredients (sesame oil, soy sauce, scallions)? Most Korean dishes come from struggle, not splendor. They’re fermented, preserved, stretched out to last. They were survival tactics before they were pretty shareable Instagram pictures. Turning them into a luxury meal might be technically impressive, but it erases the reason they existed in the first place.

This maybe would be less upsetting under different timing or economical circumstances: investing in luxury Korean fine dining when mom-and-pop shops in New York and New Jersey are going out of business, really makes me think sometimes. So does messing with the affordability scale. When was Gammeeok, once a staple in K-town that brought in generations of Korean-Americans, and jet-lagged weary Koreans straight off their flight from JFK, worth taking a loan out for?

Kisa is pretty. Social media loves it. But authenticity isn’t just a set design choice. If you’re swapping out raw shrimp for raw salmon to appease diners who flinch at anything too foreign, then who is this food actually for?

Look, I’ll still go. My boyfriend and his family LOVE this place. And I like it a lot too. But if you’re not Korean, JUST KNOW: any actual self-respecting Korean taxi driver would run away, cussing them out in that classic ajusshi-way cause an actual meal at this type of establishment in Korea would cost them about $6-8 USD – for more. And free refills. Any Korean restaurant who charges me extra for a bowl of rice, needs to fight me in Foley Square ASAP. Like yesterday. And as I previously mentioned, many of these taxi driver restaurants in Korea have gone out of business and no longer exist, speaking to the lack of affordable meals to workers who are essential in Korea.

Even the collaborations I still like – Cote x Sweetgreen’s Korean KBBQ Steak Bowl – are teetering the line. It tastes good (usually just means sweeter, and my god do Koreans have a sweet tooth). But they also dilute. They make Korean food “safe,” which often just means... familiar to white diners.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’ve gotten so obsessed with proving that Korean cuisine deserves a seat at the fine dining table that we’ve lost sight of what made it so powerful and unique in the first place. The goal was to stand next to Japanese cuisine on the world stage and maybe even be better. But to who? Somewhere along the way, we started imitating its essence instead of embracing our mess. Our flavors. Our roots.

You can’t sanitize. You can’t tweezer-plate a culture that grew from scarcity. And you definitely can’t pretend this is evolution when it feels more like just really good marketing.

Maybe the food still tastes good. But it doesn’t feel like ours anymore.

That’s all for today! And the death of any future Korean restaurant sponsorships I was probably (never) going to have.

Skylar xx

PRELUDE

Hi everyone! Today, I’m sharing some thoughts on “Mr Salary,” a short story written by Sally Rooney. If you want to follow along, you can read it here first.

If you haven’t heard already, my hope is to read all of Sally Rooney’s short stories and maybe 1-2 of her novels before seeing her in-person at the Louisiana Literature festival at the Louisiana Art Museum in Denmark!

If you like discussions about literature like this one you can check out my post on Sally Rooney’s other short stories “Concord 34” and “At The Clinic”. And also my post on Sally Rooney’s essay “Even if you beat me”. Additionally, you can check out my post on James Joyce’s short story “Araby” or Jhumpa Lahiri’s short story “Interpreter of Maladies.” For more on literature, I’ve written about Romance in Marseille by Claude McKay, Another Country by James Baldwin, and Just Kids by Patti Smith.

TABLE CHAT

“Mr Salary” by Sally Rooney follows Sukie, a young woman returning home to Dublin to visit her dying father. She stays with Nathan, an older family friend who has helped support her financially since she was a teenager. As the story unfolds over the course of this brief visit, it explores the tension, emotional ambiguity, and unspoken sexual desires that define Sukie and Nathan’s complicated relationship.

“Mr Salary” is a great short story to read if you want a compelling introduction to Sally Rooney’s exploration modern relationships and emotional intricacies. Complex and subtle, I think this is actually my favorite Sally Rooney short story so far. The short story format didn’t hinder its depth, but really enhanced the story, intensifying the tension between Sukie and Nathan. The more I read of her bibliography, the more aware I am of how much she can reveal with so little. This is also seen in the dialogue between the characters, the brevity of their conversations (or the snippets we see) mirror a restraint and emotional suppression. The tiniest details and quick exchanges pack the largest punch in Sally Rooney’s, quietly building out a deep emotional inner world.

For me, this story is about so many things. It’s about control and male authority figures, as much as it is examining the brink of love and death. Sally Rooney effortlessly weaves through the subtleties of desire and emotional dependence, and as usual doesn’t leave us with any easy answers or resolution. A recurring aspect in her short stories seem to be characters returning home – they have been removed and left from a place and end up coming back again, usually for troubled reasons or an event out of their control. A lot of her characters (like in “Concord 34” and Sukie in this story) don’t seem to really understand how to navigate a theoretical “new them” in the “same-old, familiar place.” This raises a lot of questions as to how the return has affected them, what is gained, and what is lost. Does a temporary distance change anything within them? Her characters exist in liminal and transitional spaces: much like Sukie and Nathan’s relationship, but also Frank who doesn’t seem to be lucid, in-between being truly alive and on the verge of imminent death.

Sukie is a difficult character for me to talk about. She reminds me a lot of being a young girl and navigating the intricacies and fine lines of the patriarchy, and trying to understand male relationships and roles, especially men who are older than you. Sukie is obviously in a much more severe position: having lost her mother and basically left in the care of her non-biological step-father who is emotionally abusive and manipulative. But on top of that, many of her conversations with the people in her life are centered around her abandonment. Usually it’s Frank reminding her of her mother’s abandonment, as well as their enigmatic conversation where Frank describes a mysterious “he” will be leaving Sukie for someone else (it’s never clear Nathan is who he is referring to… unless anyone has any other thoughts on this?) Sukie is constantly living with reminders of her abandonment and rejection in this story, or at least pulled back into it time and time again.

I think this story is about control and power in that sense, because of Nathan’s actions throughout the story. There are obviously many moments where their relationship is blurred: flirtatious remarks he or his friends will make, or make sexual advances only to never properly address it again and spin it into playful jokes. Their conversations are often elliptical, emotionally charged, and deliberately evasive. What’s left unsaid is as important as what’s spoken. His avoidance of direct confrontation speak to the lack of clarity in their relationship and complicate Sukie’s agency, as a young girl and also someone who’s under his care unofficially. On top of that, Nathan’s financial support of Sukie is central but barely discussed outright. This opens a discussion about how money becomes entangled with affection, control, and guilt in Sukie’s relationship with the male figures in her life. How much of Sukie’s indebtedness is financial, and how much is emotional? Rooney begins to blur the line between caretaker and romantic figure.

I loved the ending of this piece, which leaves us in this moment of tension again: a space of clarity and confusion. Sukie’s confessing in a twisted way that she wants to sleep with him, but it also ruptures this dynamic of “unspoken-ness” between them. Are the cells disintegrating or transforming? The idea Frank’s imminent death and Nathan’s role in her life kind of converge in this complex way, all in relation to her growth and “maturing” over the years.

That’s all for today!

Skylar xx

In Tokyo, I fell in love… with a painting.

During a quick three-day trip to Tokyo with my family in 2023, my family and I arrived at the Mori Art Museum in Roppongi. We were there for STARS: Six Contemporary Artists from Japan to the World, a great exhibition spotlighting some of the country’s most influential artists. And there she was, in a dimly lit corner of the gallery, that I first saw Miss Moonlight by Yoshitomo Nara. I have to admit: I was a little starstruck.

Nara’s piece stood in striking contrast to much of the other artworks in the show, which my mom (a graphic designer) and I both agreed leaned into the more cerebral and abstract. Contemporary art, at times, can feel like a puzzle: the joy is in the work of uncovering and feeling the emotions that arise when witnessing something. The puzzles don’t always necessarily require an art history degree to appreciate, but often asks viewers to slow down and dig deep… and ruminate for a long time. So after encountering more conceptual and complex installations (like a film of a donut suspended in the forest or an all-white canvas) it felt so relaxing and serene to turn a corner and be met with the quiet glow of Miss Moonlight.

That moment felt like a breath.

That isn’t to say Nara’s work isn’t complex or interesting, but it’s evident that the reaction and feelings evoked by the piece are very intentional, drawing a lot of parallels to artists like Mark Rothko. Both artists usually play with large canvases and thoughtful swaths of color to evoke that still, calm feeling. Many describe Nara’s work as “serene,” and that’s certainly true of Miss Moonlight. But as I’ll explore in this post, serenity is just one facet of Nara’s artistic inner world, rather one that’s just as much about vulnerability, rebellion, and memory as it is about searching for peace.

COMING UP:

• Yoshitomo Nara’s background

• Subject matter and main influences in Nara’s artwork

• Pieces by him I’m looking forward to seeing IRL

If you like what I’m talking about, you might want to check out my other articles on artists like Artemisia Gentileschi, Andy Warhol, or an under-the-radar 70’s experimental avant garde artist from Korea. Or maybe you’re even interested in Korean celadon ceramic ware?

SIDE NOTE: During my research, I found this playlist he made for Museo Guggenheim Bilbao! (This museum has put Bilbao on the number one spot on my travel list, because I also love Richard Serra’s work.)

Who is Yoshitomo Nara?

Yoshitomo Nara (born 1959 in Aomori, Japan) is one of the most beloved and singular voices in contemporary art. Raised as a “latchkey child” on the northern island of Honshu, Nara found early solace in music, tuning into American radio stations playing 60s folk and 70s punk, and in drawing while wandering abandoned sites alone. These formative experiences etched themselves into the emotional fabric of his work.

After completing his MFA at Aichi University of the Arts in 1987, Nara moved to Germany in 1988 to study at the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf, living in Cologne until his return to Japan in 2000. Some important moments in his life include when he first moved to Germany and dealt with the loneliness of being a foreigner and navigating the language barrier.

While often associated with the aesthetics of kawaii and American twee (think indie pop of 2000s and 2010s, the indie aesthetic, A-line babydoll dresses, Zooey Deschanel, you know what I mean), his work stands apart from the Japanese Neo-Pop contemporaries of his era (such as Takashi Murakami), forging a deeply introspective and humanistic visual language while staying true to his own distinct style and building his own aesthetic. He’s also talked about the devastating impact of the 2011 earthquake and tsunami in Japan, which led to him to seek out more illuminating and emotional aspects of his work (like we see with Miss Moonlight).

Across drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, and installation, some of Nara’s figures (usually big-headed girls with fierce eyes, often holding “scary” objects like saws or matches) are tender yet defiant, evoking both innocence and rebellion. It is evident that these figures have resonated with and captured the hearts of so many people across the world. Whether it be young girls, animals, or hybrid figures, they’ve been described as self-portraits and stand-ins for the weak, the honest, the overlooked in society.

Nara’s art draws from a lifetime of cultural cross-pollination: his memories of childhood, his time in Germany, his deep love of music and literature, and his travels across Asia and Europe. The result is a body of work that quietly stirs the viewer’s imagination, occupying a space between worlds, between play and pain, child and adult, Japan and the West.

Ultimately, Nara is an incredibly unique artist who is influenced by all these different parts of his life. They all come together in a truly beautiful way and it’s amazing to see him engage with his own memory and nostalgia.

Yoshitomo Nara’s Main Influences

• Post-War Japanese Culture and Isolation: Growing up in a remote town with few peers and a single-parent household, Nara developed a rich interior life. His childhood sense of loneliness and alienation remains a key theme in his work. Additionally, he’s influenced by large societal events like the 2011 earthquake in Japan and global wars.

• Western Rock and Punk Music: Music plays a vital role in Nara’s creative process. He often listens to Western rock and punk bands (like Ramones, Nirvana, and The Beatles) while working, and their spirit of rebellion and emotional intensity can be seen in the defiant postures and punkish aesthetics of his figures.

• German Neo-Expressionism: His time in Germany studying under artist A.R. Penck exposed him to Neo-Expressionist styles (and who encouraged him to “paint on the canvas as if he is drawing”), which gave his work a raw emotional charge and introduced more painterly, textured approaches to his canvases.

• Children’s Picture Books and Folk Art: Nara has cited his love for Western children’s book illustrations and traditional Japanese folk art, blending innocence with a subtle rebelliousness and dangerousness that defines his visual paradoxes.

What I Want to See IRL

• Los Angeles County Museum of Art (Los Angeles, United States), "Miss Forest (LACMA Version)." One of his sculptural pieces and a permanent installation at LACMA, I don’t know how I missed it last time I was there in 2021… But it’s been a part of the museum since 2020.

• Hayward Gallery’s (London, UK) upcoming exhibition on Yoshitomo Nara. A touring exhibition that is an expanded version of the one that was from Guggenheim, Bilbao, and Museum Frieder Burda, Baden-Baden. This exhibit includes additional work, including earlier sculptures AND new paintings. Happening June 10-August 31, 2025.

Final Thoughts

It’s clear to me that Yoshitomo Nara is for the girls who collect things: memories, ticket stubs, gift wrap, scraps of lace, the soft things that hold quiet meaning. For the ones who curate their inner world with care because the outer one and society just never quite fit. His work speaks to those who built their own universe from fragments, who found beauty in the overlooked and created a language all their own. Nara’s art isn’t just something you see but rather it’s something you recognize in yourself.

That’s all for today! Have a good one :)

Skylar xx

Hi everybody!

Today, I’m discussing two Sally Rooney short stories “Concord 34” and “At The Clinic”. My hope is to read all her short stories and maybe 1-2 of her novels before seeing her at a literature festival this August, which is held in Denmark at the Louisiana Art Museum (literally my favorite place on earth).

I was initially more excited to read “At The Clinic” because I heard the short story serves as a kind of character sketch for the main characters of “Normal People.” However, “Concord 34” really connected with me for that post-graduation existential crisis living at home for a bit vibe (me) and general emotional disconnection that the characters experience (which both stories actually share).

If you like discussions like this one about literature you can check out my other post about Sally Rooney’s essay. Additionally, you can check out my post on James Joyce’s short story “Araby” or Jhumpa Lahiri’s short story “Interpreter of Maladies.” For even more literature, I have posts about Romance in Marseille by Claude McKay, Another Country by James Baldwin, and Just Kids by Patti Smith.

TABLE CHAT

INTIMATE REALISM 🫧

Sally Rooney’s short stories are imbued with her signature style of intimate realism: characterized by her iconic quotation-less dialogue, a fluidity of time and progression of events, and emotionally deep and complex characters who feel like they’re sitting right across from you. Rooney’s work interrogates the space between what we often imagine in our heads (dreams, desires, etc.) and the stark reality of life in the context of romantic relationships. Ultimately, she forces us to confront the isolation of love and the forms of disconnection we nowadays face in a hyperconnected, globalizing world.

Rooney’s characters aren’t just plot devices who advance the story through any sort of dramatic action, but they breathe, contradict themselves, and exist in a continual state of self-awareness and self-doubt. When it comes down to it, no one is truly ever evil or wrong… it’s just complicated… Both of the stories are rather scandalous, centering on characters who are in unusual age gap situations or really sus situationships? But again, they aren’t some steeped in some overblown dramatic conflict. The characters are in a state of quiet desperation: searching for meaning or connection in small, emotionally loaded exchanges. For Rooney, it’s the small, quiet intimate moments that speak the loudest.

CONCORD 34 🚐

In "Concord 34", Miriam, a 25-year-old woman returning to her hometown, becomes entangled with Evan, a teenager who looks up to her. Some readers might misinterpret this as Rooney romanticizing a crazy inappropriate relationship, but to me, it reads as a quiet but brutal critique. Miriam, who once endured an unhealthy relationship with an older man, now repeats that same harmful dynamic with Evan. Rooney doesn’t frame Miriam as a hero or villain, instead she’s painfully self-aware, yet unable (or unwilling) to break the cycle. Evan, meanwhile, is portrayed not as a love interest but as a vulnerable figure being subtly manipulated, due to the fact that he looks up to her and searches for her advice on everything. The story captures a strong sense of loneliness and emotional disengagement (one really stark moment for me where no one could hear Miriam in the pool), contrasting sharply with more escapist fiction I’ve been reading lately (I’m literally re-reading Harry Potter). Rooney’s characters are complicated, sometimes even come across as slightly pathetic or at least their thoughts and narration strongly suggest a strong sense of dislike of themselves and what they’re doing, and that's exactly what makes them feel so real.

AT THE CLINIC 🦷

In "At the Clinic", Rooney begins to introduce us to her characters Connell and Marianne, as she paints a portrait of painful love. I found it interesting how Rooney captures the weight of things unsaid. Connell struggles with vulnerability and emotional presence, caught between shame and a need for dominance. His current girlfriend, Lauren, feels like a minor character in his life, especially when contrasted with the lasting emotional imprint Marianne leaves. I thought Rooney effectively portrayed (a lack of) male intimacy and numbness, notably through his inability to feel things. One small detail I loved was how Skype, which once felt so cutting-edge, now feels strangely outdated: to me, highlighting how fast technology changes the way we connect and disconnect these days. Also, the way Rooney contrasts Marianne’s satisfaction when a doctor validates her pain versus Connell’s emotional numbness speaks volumes about gender, validation, and communication.

Ultimately, both stories left me thinking about how Rooney portrays relationships not as sources of easy happiness, but as battlegrounds of longing, shame, validation, and silence. Her characters are often searching for connection in ways that are painfully imperfect, but deeply human.

QUESTIONS FOR THE CLASS

• How do you interpret Miriam’s actions in "Concord 34"? Is she sympathetic, or does Rooney intend us to be critical of her?

• In "At the Clinic", why do you think Rooney emphasizes Connell’s emotional distance so much more than Marianne’s?

• Do you think Rooney’s style (no quotation marks, fluid movement between thought and speech) makes her characters feel more real, or more removed?

Leave a comment

That’s it for today! Have a good day :)

Skylar xx

Hi everybody! It’s been a minute so here’s a quick catch-up:

PUBLISHED!

If you haven’t heard my writing is featured in a magazine created by Produce Parties. You can read my piece on my Substack or you can order the physical copy on their website. It’s so rewarding to see my words in print and I hope you can check out the amazing work the community put into it!

SCREENINGS!

In other amazing news, I’m so thrilled to be a part of two amazing projects screening at the National Film Festival for Talented Youth in Seattle, WA this year: DEARBORN (as a director) and VISA (as a producer).

👽 DEARBORN – A young woman, expelled from college and forced to return home to her tight-knit Arab community, tries to restore her reputation. However, complications arise when she becomes entangled in an alien conspiracy. An NYU Advanced TV Production, selected for a $10,000 NYU Tisch grant and fiscally sponsored by the Arab Film and Media Institute.

🚨 VISA – A timely drama thriller exploring the hate-crime visa and the U.S. immigration system.

🎥 More screening info and tickets can be found on the festival’s website: http://nffty.org/nffty-2025

All around, it’s been really amazing to celebrate some creative wins as we head into spring! A lot of my time recently has been focused on recuperating, traveling, and catching up on some good ol’ fashioned reading. So without any further ado, here’s what I’m reading lately.

TABLE CHAT

Greek Lessons by Han Kang

I love Han Kang. Reading The Vegetarian in high school was honestly life changing and I was so happy when she was announced as the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature 2024.

I think the Korean language is naturally so poetic and beautiful - especially our expressions and the sounds and our manner of talking. Han Kang really exemplifies this perfectly. Every word is so thoughtful and beautifully written. Greek Lessons really examines a certain kind of intimacy that can’t just be easily replicated. I was especially driven to this novel because I love learning about languages and the study of the languages (the book concerns a mute woman and her Greek lesson teacher). I really poured over this novel with so much care and love, every sentence just felt so rich and deep.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami

I’ve started running again and I picked up this book because I really enjoyed reading Kafka on the Shore a couple months ago. I liked learning more about the author and his personal experiences running, although I would say this book is subtly more about discipline and building an artistic process. It was the kind of thing that I really needed to read after graduating college. I especially enjoyed the connection to my birthtown Boston which is featured quite a bit in the book. Overall, I really enjoyed the personal anecdotes and fun stories around running that he shares. An easy, fun read that doesn’t really require heavy thinking!

Harry Potter (Books #1-3) by She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named

I’m re-reading the Harry Potter series! And I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would! This is all in an effort to start up a Harry Potter film marathon with my friends and I’m genuinely looking forward to it. Revisiting it as an adult, I definitely feel that the story and themes are much darker than I remember.

Othello by William Shakespeare

Speaking of re-reading things, this was my second time reading Othello in 9 years! It felt a lot easier to wrap around the text as I was really wanting to challenge myself to read something different. It was nice to have to really deeply analyze a text and try to understand the complexities of a verse instead of being able to just skim over things (which I feel we do constantly with social media, Tik Tok, etc.) I read this play before I took a really great Shakespeare-focused English class in high school, so I felt better equipped to take on this play again!

A few things I noticed this time around… 1) it is very sexual. Like very sexual. They do not shy away from talking about promiscuous activities. The play is very concerned with sex and power and talking about each other’s sex lives, etc. 2) There is a huge focus on rank and repution for almost every single character. They are talking about it constantly. 3) Iago’s two-faced nature is noticeable in the structure of his dialogue and the way it’s written. I’ve been able to see it so much clearly this time around unlike the last time I read it. 4) The “monster-fication” of jealousy. There are so many descriptions of jealousy as a beast or monstrous animal. 5) Othello’s blackness. I was actually so surprised how constantly the characters in the play associated “evil” with blackness and darkness. There’s additionally a sense of vilifying “otherness” and foreign intruders, using these terms and expressions to humiliate and attack another person’s character. Overall, it’s a very charged play about the exploration of jealousy and deception.

Short stories by Sally Rooney

If you haven’t heard, I’m trying to work my way through Rooney’s bibliography. I’m starting with her personal essays and short stories to work my way up to Normal People. I share some thoughts on how that’s going, starting with “Even if you beat me.” Recently, I read “Concord 34” and almost finished with “At the Clinic.” Overall, I’m really struck by how succinctly and clearly she’s able to write. I feel a genuine connection to the people and places that she’s writing about. It never feels over the top or fake.

DICKENS VS. ANDERSEN by Henry Oscar Thaler

One of my goals this year (on top of generally just reading more) was to read more screenplays. It’s been a hot minute since my film development internship where I was cranking through scripts. Luckily for me many of the un-produced scripts can be found here thanks to the annual Blacklist script competition!

I selected this script because I wanted to learn more about Hans Christian Anderson and see if the script was set in Copenhagen by any chance (it was not). But the script was really different from what I was initially expecting. I thought it would be a serious drama about the rivalry between the two authors, but ended up being a zany, quirky comedy about fanboy Anderson overstaying his welcome with the Dickens family home that takes a lot of historical (but fun) liberties. Honestly, a really fun read!

Butter by Asako Yuzuki

I was really excited to read this novel (I mean what a delicious cover…), but unfortunately this one of my hardest reads and honesty the story fell flat a little bit for me. I think my main problem was with the way the book was translated - while I do respect and commend the translator for taking on such a large task of having to not just translate the words, but a lot of the cultural ideas and practices in Japan, which is an Asian country I still felt a little bit disappointed. I think the book was a little bit difficult to read at times or a little bit awkward aside from that. I think the book had a tendency to drag on even though they were interesting ideas and larger concepts that were sometimes slightly forced.

Hope you have an amazing day!

Skylar xx

I’ve never read a Sally Rooney novel. I haven’t even watched Normal People streaming now on Hulu! Or Conversations with Friends starring Alison Oliver, Sasha Lane, Joe Alwyn, and Jemima Kirke also streaming now on Hulu!

It seems like everyone has hopped on the Sally Rooney train and I’ve simply chosen not to get on. Quite frankly, I wasn’t quite ready to feel emotionally devastated by Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar Jones. However, I’ve always been intrigued about her writing and rewatched this interview religiously of her talking about capitalism and how it impacts our modern day relationships with people, which honestly served me really well in college. Her ideas and the way she speaks about the topic really became the starting ground and basis of a lot of my essays, especially for my English lit classes. Thinking about how interpersonal relationships and characters are affected (or ultimately destroyed) by capitalism was totally my jam.

The other day I finally picked up a copy of Normal People and became really curious about how she got her start as a writer. I was really excited to hear that she got her Master’s in American Lit and started submitting essays and short stories online! (Which often means that I can find her essays and short stories online for free without spending more dough on books that will sit on my shelf for ages.) Thus I’ve decided that I’m going to be reading her essays, short stories, and poems before taking on the infamous Normal People.

“Even if You Beat Me” is an essay I’ve actually heard a lot about online. I didn’t know she was a competitive debater but knowing her perspective on Marxism, I was really curious to see how it would relate to her personal experiences or if it even would at all. This essay definitely did relate, and I was actually quite surprised how much I connected it to the story based on my personal experiences growing up in South Korea’s super toxic academic culture as well. More on that coming up…

These are the essays and short stories on my list (the ones I’ve been able to find online): “Even if You Beat Me,” “Concord 34,” “At the Clinic,” “An App to Cure My Fainting Spells,” “Robbie Brady’s astonishing late goal takes its place in our personal histories,” “Mr Salary,” “Color and Light,” and “Unread Messages.”

If you want to read the essay before reading this post you can check it out here on the Dublin Review!

I also write more on literature, art, and cinema on my newsletter!

WORDS

Sally Rooney’s essay “Even if You Beat Me” reflects on her experiences as a competitive college debater. The story begins with a recounting of a bus accident in Chennai, India, where Rooney was attending the World Universities Debating Championship. The accident introduces us and leads us to her introspection on the insular and privileged world of international debating competitions.

Rooney describes her initial fascination with the debating community during her time in university, portraying a rigid environment where success equated to popularity. The older students at championships captivate her in their movements, presence, and manner of speech. However, as she climbed the ranks to become to number one college debater in Europe, she begins to grapple with the realization that her successes mean very little outside of the competitive debating sphere. Furthermore, she comes to terms with her own desperation to be liked and seen by others through “academic success” at any means necessary.

What struck me by the story was this “any means by necessary” mentality that reminded me of my time in a Korean international school and short stint on my Speech & Debate Team. Firstly, there is the sense of isolation. Not only is there a physical isolation due to the nature of competitions being so international and worldwide, but also the privileged bubble that is built for these debaters to not have to actually actively engage with the communities of the competition’s settings, such as the debaters’ disgust at the disillusionment that is presented by the bus breaking down in Chennai. But there’s a secondary distance between the debaters and the content of which they are discussing. She recounts a time where she wins a debate using information she knew was incorrect about Bosnia in front of a group of Serbian students. Rooney reckons with this immoral nature of the “game” that allows her to rely on her excellence in composure and stature to win by any means (even if it isn’t true). I felt this rang very true for my time in Debate where despite the overwhelming amount of information, data, resources, finding the truth or an effective, possible solution was not the answer so to speak. The way to win was to create a clear argument despite what you believed in and compose yourself in a certain manner.

Then, Rooney speaks to the unspoken sexism that lurks in debate. She notes how women are criticized for their tone and manner of speech much more than the men who instead are marked on the content of their arguments. In the world of competitive debate being able to deny any sort of vulnerability and maintaining control was rewarded. This begins to affect her on a personal level where she describes being unable to take any credit for her own wins and hard work, instead thanking her co-debaters or coaches for their help. Despite feeling uncomfortable by this kind of affirmation, she searches for a kind of validation and avoids this emptiness, choosing to continually join these competitions as a judge for a while before leaving it all behind for good.

Success doesn’t come from within; it’s given to you by other people, and other people can take it away. In part, this is why I stopped competing. I didn’t want to give up the feeling of flow, that perfect, self-eliminating focus, but I didn’t want to perform it for points any more. Academic life had presented me with much the same problem: I thought about things only as hard and as thoroughly as my grades required. Maybe I stopped debating to see if I could still think of things to say when there weren’t any prizes. To a greater or lesser extent, I am still working on that.

“Even if You Beat Me” explores the conflict between the allure of success and the search for genuine purpose and meaning. At a certain point she makes these amazing points that 1) participation in any kind of game gives you a new way of perceiving others (a method of ranking others and placing your own self-worth against others in a disingenuous way) and that 2) success doesn’t come from within its given to you by others and thus it can be given away at any point. What was it all for? Rooney recounts a time she won a small cash prize and a bottle of absinthe at a competition, feeling like the richest and most popular person in the world at that moment. Highlighting how in life popularity and wealth are assigned to trivial accolades and attached to arbitrary objects.

I was a little thrown off and confused by the end at first but Rooney ultimately emphasizes how it was her - her abilities, her skills, her commitment to the sport - that deserved to be recognized and didn’t have to give away the credit of her work or shy away from compliments. Although a small part of her started debating in search for validation, along the way she had to learn how to reclaim her own sense of self. I read this as a personal proclamation that this was all her own doing - to debate and to win - but also her own decision to ending this chapter of her life as well.

But I’m not nineteen anymore; I don’t need to make people feel comfortable. In the end, it was me. It may not mean anything to anyone else, but it doesn’t have to – that’s the point. I was number one. Like Fast Eddie, I’m the best there is. And even if you beat me, I’m still the best.

Other essays you might like…

Hope you enjoyed this article!

Have a lovely week 🌷

Skylar xx