Susan Choi's Flashlight: A Multigenerational Saga

Susan Choi’s Flashlight, published in 2025, stands as a landmark achievement for a National Book Award-winning novelist renowned for her incisive explorations of identity, memory, and historical wounds. Born in South Bend, Indiana, to Korean American parents, Choi has earned widespread praise for works like Trust Exercise and American Woman, each distinguished by its psychological depth and narrative boldness. Flashlight, which began as a short story, evolves into a sweeping multigenerational tale spanning post-war Japan, suburban America, and the elusive backdrop of North Korea’s regime.

The novel follows the Kang family’s fractured legacy, shaped by a father’s mysterious disappearance and the geopolitical tides that influence their lives. Its profound significance lies in its masterful integration of personal sorrow with the collective trauma of the Korean diaspora, particularly the abductions that disrupted countless families during and after the Korean War. This review asserts that Flashlight is vital reading for a global audience, as it reveals the intricate interplay between individual experiences and political histories, urging readers to confront the unspoken gaps that define identity and belonging. Its narrative intricacy, emotional depth, and historical clarity make it an essential text for understanding displacement and perseverance in a divided world.

Flashlight focuses on the Kang family, comprising Serk, Anne, and their daughter Louisa, whose lives unravel after a devastating event in 1978. Serk, a Korean émigré born in Japan, works as a professor in the United States and is married to Anne, a white American grappling with her troubled past. Their daughter, Louisa, is a bright yet troubled child. The novel opens with a poignant scene: “In one hand, he holds a flashlight, which is not necessary; in the other hand, he holds Louisa’s hand, which is also not necessary”. This night on a Japanese beach ends with Serk’s disappearance, presumed drowned, leaving Louisa hypothermic and memoryless. The story spans decades, tracing the family’s roots and repercussions, from Serk’s childhood as a Zainichi Korean in Japan to Anne’s struggle with chronic illness and Louisa’s quest for truth.

The novel delves into themes of absence, identity, and the weight of unvoiced histories. Serk’s divided self is captured in “He was known as Hiroshi to avoid discrimination, and later went as Serk as a student in the US”. Anne’s loneliness is clear: “Anne the odd white woman who had married the foreigner; Serk the odd foreigner who had married a white woman”. Louisa confronts her father’s absence: “The sum of things she knew about her father could fit inside the sum of things she’ll never know about him an infinite number of times”. The narrative weaves through different perspectives and time periods, illuminating how personal grief intersects with historical forces, such as North Korea’s abductions, which Serk’s family once embraced: “They believe the promise of paradise by the communist regime: an apartment with views of lush gardens”. Tobias, Anne’s estranged son, adds depth: “And then there is Tobias, Anne’s illegitimate son, whose reappearance in their lives will have astonishing consequences”. The novel explores how silence, described as “the silence so complete it swallows the past whole”, shapes familial ties and historical narratives, offering a profound reflection on loss and the search for meaning.

Flashlight exemplifies Susan Choi’s literary mastery, combining innovative storytelling, richly drawn characters, and a deep engagement with history’s unspoken truths. Its strengths, including its complex structure, emotional resonance, thematic depth, and elegant prose, position it as essential reading for global audiences, especially those interested in the Korean diaspora’s intricacies and the universal pursuit of belonging. However, its length, character dynamics, and occasional stylistic complexity present minor challenges, though they do not overshadow its brilliance.

Choi’s narrative structure is a standout feature, employing a non-linear, multi-perspective approach that shifts between Serk, Anne, Louisa, and Tobias across eras. This reflects the fragmented nature of trauma, as noted in “Time unspools in irregular ways”, building suspense while gradually revealing connections. Serk’s backstory, for example, underscores his distrust of propaganda: “I see a building,’ he tried to say kindly, ‘and all that tells me is one single building exists’”, contrasting with his family’s naivety. This non-chronological storytelling encourages readers to actively piece together the narrative, creating an intellectually engaging experience.

The characters are portrayed with striking nuance, blending empathy with sharp irony. Serk’s solitude is vivid in “A constant wretched privacy had radiated from him, more powerful and more wretched the nearer you got”, evoking his inner isolation. Anne, battling what is later revealed as multiple sclerosis, finds momentary joy: “She is genuinely uplifted by sunlight in her apartment and by a sighting of a circus elephant”. Louisa’s early defiance, seen in “I’m too smart for compliments”, transforms into a determined search for truth, making her a captivating protagonist. Tobias’s return, noted as “His reappearance in their lives will have astonishing consequences”, introduces moral complexity, fostering empathy for those on society’s fringes. These layered portraits resonate universally, prompting reflection on alienation and strength.

Thematically, Flashlight shines by linking personal sorrow with geopolitical turmoil, particularly the Zainichi Korean experience and North Korea’s abductions. Its exploration of identity, as in “She felt Japanese… as if she’d stepped into a movie and was doing so well in her role”, speaks to diasporic struggles, while its critique of secrecy, captured in “Secrecy feels instinctively like their safest strategy, but again and again their instinct to blur their nationality… only exacerbates their isolation”, highlights the toll of silence. This blend of psychological and historical insight captivates, offering a framework for understanding global migration and identity conflicts. Choi’s prose, marked by poetic clarity, as in “The flashlight he carried falling ‘almost noiselessly in sand’”, eschews sentimentality, balancing accessibility with depth to appeal to varied readers.

Yet, Flashlight has its drawbacks. Its 464-page length can feel cumbersome, particularly in the opening sections, where domestic details slow the narrative. While this mirrors memory’s unevenness, it may disappoint readers expecting a faster pace; condensing repetitive passages, such as Louisa’s childhood antics, could enhance focus. The Kangs’ prickly personalities also pose challenges. Louisa’s defiance, as in “What bad result came when you stole, apart from people just making a fuss?”, though authentic, can feel intense, and Serk and Anne’s aloofness may hinder emotional connection, despite Choi’s ironic finesse. Additionally, the prose, while precise, occasionally becomes dense, as seen in “The sinuous thread of Christiane’s cigarette smoke”, which may challenge readers new to literary fiction, though it rewards careful engagement.

The novel’s universal themes of loss and identity make it a must-read. Its critique of prejudice, as in “The casual racism and cultural ignorance that character’s encounter feel historically accurate”, resonates with global struggles against bias. The academic settings engage scholars, while the emotional core draws in general readers, sparking conversations about ethics and belonging. Flashlight invites readers to examine their own unspoken histories, cementing its place as a vital literary work.

Relevance to Diverse Readers

Flashlight captivates global audiences with its poignant exploration of loss, identity, and resilience, holding special significance for Indian readers navigating their own multifaceted histories. Serk’s statelessness as a Zainichi Korean parallel the upheaval faced by India’s partition survivors and migrant workers, whose lives were transformed by historical disruptions. Louisa’s quest to uncover her father’s hidden past mirrors the familial secrets found in Indian literature, such as Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things, where buried truths fracture bonds. The novel’s critique of prejudice, as in “The casual racism and cultural ignorance that character’s encounter feel historically accurate”, aligns with India’s struggles against caste oppression and communal divisions, where systemic biases marginalize communities. Serk’s navigation of multiple identities reflects India’s rich linguistic and regional diversity, where individuals often balance cultural affiliations. The Kang family’s intergenerational pain echoes the enduring impact of India’s colonial history and economic migrations, which weigh heavily on families. Anne’s alienation within her marriage resonates with the challenges faced by women in India’s patriarchal frameworks, where societal expectations often limit personal freedom. The novel’s academic settings inspire intellectual discourse among India’s scholars, fostering reflection on diaspora and morality, while its heartfelt narrative engages wider audiences, evoking the endurance found in Indian tales of survival. By addressing universal themes through a diasporic lens, Flashlight encourages readers to bridge societal divides, offering deep insights into reconciliation in a nation grappling with inequities.

Flashlight by Susan Choi is a luminous exploration of absence, identity, and history, affirming her stature as a literary giant. Its intricate narrative, vivid characters, and historical depth surpass its minor issues of pacing and prose complexity, making it essential for global readers. By illuminating the silences that shape families and nations, it fosters introspection and empathy. I recommend Flashlight to scholars, diasporic communities, and those seeking a profound narrative. Its cross-cultural resonance ensures its enduring legacy as a literary classic.