Your Neighbour’s Table is a really interesting little book about a communal living apartment block. We dip into each of the families individual stories, sometimes flicking between each family quite unexpectedly, and also have an overarching theme of the “communal”. There is each individual, but the collective is extremely important here. It’s a story about what it means to live with and coexist alongside others, it’s about the complications of relationships, and it’s about the way in which intimacy can be both comforting and suffocating (at different times, in unequal measures, to varying degrees).

I found the flitting back and forth between POVs quite difficult to keep track of, and it took me some time to work out who all the character were. I think for the number of POVs, a longer book would have allowed more time to get all the narrators straight. I read it as an ARC on e-reader as well which might impact how easy it was the follow the changing POVs - maybe (hopefully) that is clearer in finished (print) format.

The final scenes could have been developed further. I felt the interactions in the end were quite surface level and we didn’t go as deep into the issues between people as I had hoped we would.

Really, an interesting concept and thought provoking book but needed to be longer in my opinion to be able to be fully developed.

Glad I read it though and I’d definitely read something else from this author.

"The key point is that we've decided to collectively raise the kids communally, focusing on their growth and emotional state."

An experimental community, a government initiative to combat falling birth rates, and a dystopian uptopia. This novel had all the hallmarks of what should have been a hard-hitting and raw read but it fell flat for me. I don't know if this was because of the original text or the translation but it just didn't meet my hopes and expectations.

The formatting also felt off, there was a multitude of characters and POVs but there were no clear breaks or chapters making it difficult to set the book aside and continue reading later. Some pages were just large chunks of text with no separated paragraphs or dialogue to break things up.

I think it was maybe just too short, there wasn't enough time for anything significant to happen during the story other than a maybe-almost-affair and the development of an inadequate childcare system that is full of issues and never gets resolved through the story.

I did however enjoy that the people in the commune contained single parents, female bread-winners and stay-at-home dads, so that was a win in my eyes.

2.5/5

This book has a most interesting premise and is thought provoking. The book centres around couples living a communal building outside of Seoul a pilot project where they must have at least one child and sign a commitment that they will have at least three to be able remain able to reside there.
The focus of is predominantly on the women and the expectations put upon then to the perfect homemakers, mothers and in some couples the primary breadwinner and feelings they have when they perhaps don't quite live up the expectations placed upon them.
Even the oldest child at only six years old is expected to care for the other children and take on tasks beyond what should realistically be expected of a child.
I found the book very interesting to read and absorb. I throughly enjoyed it and found myself thinking about how women in particular in many places still have very high and unfair expectations placed upon them. The ending tied it all together very well.

A couple of small criticism are that I personally would have preferred it if there had been some breaks or chapters. And on the kindle version at least, whenever there is an F followed by an L there is a space or two when there shouldn't be.

Gu Byeong-Mo’s novel is set in a government funded apartment building, a pilot project aimed at addressing South Korea’s ever-dwindling birth rate. Applicants must have at least one child and be prepared to produce two more. When Yojin, Euno and six-year-old Siyul move in there are just three other families in residence, most of whom have turned out to meet their new neighbours sitting round the enormous table in the apartment’s yard. Over the next few months, group dynamics are increasingly strained, communal childcare becomes a competition and marriages are stretched to breaking point.
Written in understated prose, the narrative switches between characters with the emphasis on the women: Hyonae with her frantic attempts to meet her deadlines, Danhui, judgemental and bossy, and Yojin, faced with the advances of Danhui’s husband. This is a highly gendered, hierarchical society with strict expectations of behaviour. Social niceties are paramount. Men expect their wives to be the primary caregivers to their children even when, like Yojin, they’re the ones earning the money. Even six-year-old Siyul is expected to take the lead in looking after the younger children which made me want to put my head in my hands. I enjoyed this glimpse of a society I know little about albeit a somewhat depressing one.

This was such an interesting premise, but I really struggled with the plot and pacing. There were no breaks in the storytelling and it was told through such big chunks of text that it felt like I was reading a textbook. I did enjoy small sections of the book, but overall it felt like nothing but a wall of text.

I’m a childfree, introverted, and not super social person that needs quiet, so the idea of communal apartment living where occupants are forced to agree to have a quota of children is pretty much my idea of hell.

This claustrophobic and all-too-human story cuts right to the quick with expert commentary on capitalism, women’s identities, cultural expectations, motherhood and parenting, and more. The writing style is phenomenal, with some incredible quotes, and sucked me right into the world of this small, claustrophobic apartment and the raw, real people that circumstance who find themselves in this bizarre living arrangement.

My reflections while reading this book:
• The communal living arrangement was stifling and it would be utterly exhausting having to worry about what others think and filter everything you do and say. The clause about being forced to have three children or pay back the rent (or, show invasive and upsetting proof that you’d be unable to conceive) absolutely infuriated me! The book provides such a beautiful challenge about what ‘community’ is and how easily things can turn septic for folks who live in close proximity and don’t have boundaries (or are constantly having their boundaries violated).
• Reading this feels slightly voyeuristic. It’s like a big pileup on the highway, horrifying yet one struggles to look away.
• While excruciating to read, the commentary on capitalism and job culture didn’t hold back: it was honest, raw, timely, and was a strong theme throughout the story.
• Our story also features important commentary on culture and how expectations shape women’s ideas of themselves and each other, the internalized (and overt!) misogyny was heartbreaking and infuriating to read. I especially wanted to give Hyonae and Yojin a warm blanket, a hot drink, and a big hug!
• The men are horrible: entitled, rude, dismissive, clueless, and helpless.
• My heart broke for little Siyul and the caregiving roles that she was forced into as the eldest girl. Let her be a kid, the lass is six!
• For a very brief period, I participated in an online selling community. The bit about Gyowon using her kids as leverage to lowball and manipulate sellers was such a common complaint but I don’t really understand why she was dragged online for it. After all, you don’t ask, you don’t get! Plus, in the example provided, Gyowon was polite and respected the seller’s boundaries. In the UK, the seller would be more likely to be threatened and abused for having the temerity to refuse a lowball offer from an entitled parent.
• While this book might not be a horror in the typical sense of the genre, I felt such a creeping unease while reading it!
• The ending is just *chef’s kiss*

I honestly think that, no matter what your personal, financial, and life circumstances are, most people would take something away from this book. It’s a relatively short read at 220 pages and has many good reflection points on a variety of themes… stuff we really need to examine about ourselves, and the world we build collectively.

You know what make the best neighbours? Fences.

I was privileged to have my request to read this book accepted through NetGalley. Thank you so much, Headline!

"The goals of this apartment complex were clear in prioritizing reproduction, in contrast to other social welfare programs."

Your Neighbour's Table (2024) is Chi-Young Kim's translation of 네 이웃의 식탁 (2018) by 구병모 (Gu Byeong-mo). This is the second of the author's work in English after Old Woman with the Knife (2022), from 파과 (2013), and is the 12th translation by Chi-Young Kim I've read.

This is a novel centred around perhaps the greatest threat faced by the projected population of South Korea - not the North, but rather the demographic time-bomb from the extremely low, and still falling, fertility rate, the world's lowest.

Here, the authorities have set up a new housing project in the countryside outside Seoul, the 꿈미래공동실험주택 (Dream Future Pilot Communal Apartments), but one with a different approach and an unusual contract:

"The Dream Future Pilot Communal Apartments was a small, twelve-unit building way out in the tranquil mountains without any urban amenities, a good distance from the homes that had been halfway developed about a decade ago during a modest building boom. At first glance, it appeared to be a random inn built on a vacant lot, without even a creek nearby. Still, it was brand-new and had been built with care by the government; it was clean and the decently sized units had a good floor plan, and, most crucially, it was public rental housing. But the conditions of residency were strict and you had to handwrite a pledge as part of the twenty-odd documents required for your application.
[...]
—you were asked to promise to do your best to have at least three children, given that the purpose of these pilot communal apartments was to reverse the plummeting birth rate. Only those below the age of forty-two who already had at least one child were eligible to apply—in other words, heterosexual Korean couples who had proven their ability to reproduce.

Preference was given to couples with at least two children, in particular those with only one parent working outside the home. The goals of this apartment complex were clear in prioritizing reproduction, in contrast to other social welfare programs, which gave the greatest preference to grandparents raising grandchildren, followed by single parents, and only then dual-income families.

But human bodies being what they are, nobody knew whether anyone would be able to follow this mandate; couples could apply to be reimbursed for the cost of in vitro fertilization if that became necessary, and if they were unable to have three children (pregnancies included) within ten years of residence despite various efforts, they could simply move out. They wouldn’t need to pay anything back—neither for the benefits they’d reaped by having a reasonable lease nor for any normal wear and tear in the apartment. All they’d need to do was submit a doctor’s note confirming that they had faithfully sought medical assistance and tried their best to fulfil their end of the contract. Without such proof, their failure to bear three children would be considered an intentional breach of contract and they would have to reimburse the government for their use of the apartment according to the terms of the agreement."

The novel opens with the fourth couple arriving, Yojin and Euno, with their 6yo daughter Siyul. Their initial experience is positive - a warm communal welcome, and being treated as adults (rather than the usual 'Siyul's mother' appellation):

"Earlier, Jaegang had introduced Yojin and Euno to the other residents: “Calling someone So-and-so’s mom or So-and-so’s dad is no fun at all, don’t you think? Here we prefer to be called by our given names.” Now, reeling from the strangeness of hearing someone uttering her name outside of the doctor’s or a government office, Yojin murmured her own name like an immigrant savoring the rarely used pronunciation of her native language."

But as the novel progresses, we see the different compromises each family is having to make, dealing with being parents while finding work in an increasingly insecure world; societal expectations and gendered differences; the challenges of communal living; and sexual harrassment:

"Becoming an adult meant you became shameless, or, if you weren’t fully shameless, you became someone who covered that sense of shame with a shoddy lid or stitched it closed with a nylon thread. Any woman climbing onto the exam table at the obgyn’s office was forced to recognize that her body no longer reacted to any stimulation or insult; it was now an inanimate object, incapable of annoyance or sorrow. Those who followed what was often considered the normal route were inured to most physical contact. A relaxing numbness draped over you once you resigned yourself to not react—if you considered yourself an object, you couldn’t get exhausted.

산부인과의 검사대에 올라가는 여자라면 누구라도, 자신의 몸이 어떤 자극이나 모욕에도 반응하지 않는, 동요나 서글픔 따위를 제거한 무생물에 가까운 오브제라는 사실을 철저히 인식하지 않고 지나갈 수 없었다. 그 과정을 흔히 정상 내지는 보편이라고 간주되는 경로를 거쳐 통과한 이는, 타인과의 어지간한 신체적 접촉 정도로는 눈을 부라리지 않게 되는 것이었다. 일일이 그래 봤자 성격 까다롭다는 조소를 감당하고 비참함을 곱씹는 쪽은 자신이라는, 차라리 스스로를 오브제로 간주했을 때 피로의 역치가 그나마 높아진다는 사실을 몇 번이나 확인한 자로서의 체념, 그 끝에 마침내 일말의 안식처럼 찾아드는 무감각 같은 것이었다.

As she nursed Siyul, a thought tore through her that maybe ajummas—the universal embodiment of toughness and violence and shamelessness, middle-aged women who cut in line and shoved their way through a crowd and threw their bags across the aisle to claim a seat on public transit and elbowed their way loudly to the front to get a few extra samples at the store—had become that way after enduring an onslaught of inappropriate looks and touches"

This is a slightly different book to I expected from the blurb / set-up, which sounds almost dystopian. The authorities aren't involved at all, indeed it wasn't totally obvious to me what the housing project really offered/required other than subsidised housing. The drama here is much more domestic and low-key, which doesn't always make for a terribly compelling read, although in practice the causes behind Korea's problem do lie in the minutiae of the daily grind, and perhaps that the solutions may also lie there rather than in grandoise social engineering is perhaps the novel's key message.

I've seen some reviews questioning if the tone is due to the translation, but this is an accomplished translator and I think the prose style is, as said, key to the novel's message.

Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC

Your Neighbour’s Table follows a group of mothers who live in a government-run apartment complex in Seoul. Yojin moves into the apartment complex with her husband and daughter. She has agreed to have at least two more children as the apartments are designed to increase the national birth rate. Yojin feels uneasy about the community spirit and shared responsibility in the complex. This follows four women who live in the complex but have different life goals.

I’m giving this 3 stars, for the most part I enjoyed it but some parts were a bit too dull for me. Overall it was a quick read and I do love translated/Asian stories. I would recommend this for fans of translated fiction as well as introspective stories.