Exploring the Layers of Flashlight by Susan Choi
As a book blogger, I often find myself drawn to novels that tackle complex family dynamics and rich historical backdrops. Flashlight by Susan Choi piqued my interest not just for its sprawling narrative, but also for the intricacies it promises—navigating relationships against the vivid backdrop of post-WWII Japan, New England, and beyond. But did it live up to the hype? Let’s dive in.
Flashlight unfolds around powerful themes of love, belonging, and the invisible scars left by familial relationships. At its heart, the novel introduces us to several characters who grapple with their identities and relationships amidst a historically tumultuous time. One striking element is how Choi portrays the mother-daughter relationship between Anne and Louisa. Louisa’s struggles to fit in and her fraught relationship with her mother are painted with stark realism. I couldn’t help but resonate with Louisa’s sentiments: “When Louisa hated her mother, it was because the thought of her caused so much pain.” This sentiment, though painful, captures a universal truth that often gets buried beneath familial tensions.
However, there were moments in the narrative where I felt Choi leaned heavily on exposition. Often, it sometimes seemed like she was instructing the reader on how to feel about events rather than allowing the story to unfold organically. I appreciate a descriptive prose, but here it occasionally felt burdensome, making the pacing uneven. For example, the detailed explanation of Korean BBQ, while intriguing, felt like an unnecessary diversion when contrasted with other immersive scenes. It’s almost as if Choi loves her characters so deeply that she forgot to let their journeys progress at the right pace. Comparatively, books like Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow manage to portray eccentric characters while keeping a gripping pace that keeps you invested.
A poignant section involves Louisa’s culture shock moving to Japan, where she felt more like a ‘stranger’ than ever before. Choi’s illustrative storytelling shines here, capturing the essence of feeling alien in a familiar family backdrop. Yet, at times, I questioned the realism of some elements, particularly in the way illness and trauma were depicted. While I appreciated the thematic exploration of being an outsider, the novel sometimes felt like a series of vignettes rather than a cohesive narrative.
Despite its length—over 400 pages—some chapters left me puzzled. The introduction of seemingly random characters felt convoluted and scattered, diluting Louisa’s arc rather than enhancing it. The book’s draw seems to lie more in its moodscape than in a tightly woven plot, leading to the feeling that character development sometimes faltered.
The ending, poignant yet not as impactful as I had hoped, reflects on wasted potential—both in the characters’ lives and in the narrative itself. In many ways, I felt Flashlight mirrors the potential for something extraordinary, yet it gets caught up in its own expanse.
I would recommend Flashlight to readers who appreciate literary fiction that digs deep into family dynamics and historical contexts, but those looking for a fast-paced plot might find it a stretch. While the book has moments of beauty, it also serves as a reminder of the complexities and sometimes the disappointments that come with both literature and life.
In closing, reading Flashlight was an experience filled with highs and lows. While I may not have connected deeply with every character, Choi’s exploration of the times, and her characters’ sometimes painful journeys, lingered in my mind long after I turned the final page. I’d love to hear your thoughts if you decide to pick it up!
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