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delphi✓ kingstoken's 2026 Book Bingo: An Author's Debut/First Book
Oxford Soju Club by Jinwoo Park is a 2025 spy novel about six people forced to examine their loyalties and choices over the course of an eventful 24 hours or so in Oxford. Several of the principal characters have more than one moniker, but at a high level they include a North Korean spy, his mentor, their handler, a Korean-American spy, and the owner and cook at a Korean restaurant that finds itself the site of a post-assassination rendezvous.
The story starts with a bang, with the killing of a veteran spy who falls victim to the foreseen "clean-up" of a regime change, and while it very much keeps its forward momentum throughout, its focus is more on identity than espionage. It plays with the overlap between the tropes of being a spy and the experience of being an immigrant, drilling into what it means to be an individual, a citizen, a member of an ethnicity, or a member of a family.
I found this a highly satisfying and engaging read, and while I can see why it didn't make the Canada Reads shortlist this year (there being no connection to Canada in the book, only through the author), I'm very glad the longlist put this on my radar. This is a great debut, and I hope it's one of many novels for Park if he's so inclined.
kingstoken's 2026 Book Bingo: An Author's Debut/First Book Oxford Soju Club by Jinwoo Park is a 2025 spy novel about six people forced to examine their loyalties and choices over the course of an eventful 24 hours or so in Oxford. Several of the principal characters have more than one moniker, but at a high level they include a North Korean spy, his mentor, their handler, a Korean-American spy, and the owner and cook at a Korean restaurant that finds itself the site of a post-assassination rendezvous.
The story starts with a bang, with the killing of a veteran spy who falls victim to the foreseen "clean-up" of a regime change, and while it very much keeps its forward momentum throughout, its focus is more on identity than espionage. It plays with the overlap between the tropes of being a spy and the experience of being an immigrant, drilling into what it means to be an individual, a citizen, a member of an ethnicity, or a member of a family.
I found this a highly satisfying and engaging read, and while I can see why it didn't make the Canada Reads shortlist this year (there being no connection to Canada in the book, only through the author), I'm very glad the longlist put this on my radar. This is a great debut, and I hope it's one of many novels for Park if he's so inclined.
"There is no hurry," the man says. "I'm not going to run from this."
Yohan hears thumps from above; someone is stomping around upstairs. He can clearly make out a woman talking in the unit next to them. She sounds angry, like she is accusing someone.
"It's a bit noisy here. I thought it'd be nice and quiet in Norway. Turns out people are people everywhere."
Yohan leans back and, with steady eyes, observes the man.
"I suppose this is as expected," the man says, looking out the window. "I don't know what I wanted to find. I suppose that's why I haven't left, though I should've."
The kettle whistles. Yohan readies himself, expecting the other man to hurl boiling water at him while he makes a break for it. But he does not. Instead, he serves tea in slow, relaxed movements.
"How is he doing? Our Commander Doha," he asks Yohan, his hands wrapped around his mug.
Yohan does not answer but instead glances around the room, vigilant for an unseen threat or surprise.
“Please, dongmu. Do spare your comrade some companionship in his last moments. Have some tea. It was very expensive. Here, everything is.”
Yohan sniffs first, then presses the edge of the cup to his lips. Once he confirms that it does not taste off, he takes a fuller sip.
“Is it good?” The target grins expectantly.
Yohan tips his head a bit, not to give an answer but to simply respond.
“Ah, I was hoping for more of a reaction. I suppose money doesn’t exactly buy better tea. Capitalist lies and whatnot." He shakes his head, takes a sip from his cup, and then puts the mug down on the small table next to him and leans in with his hands pressed together. "Tea from home was much better. All these different tastes, all these different choices, yet nothing compares to the little we had. I miss it dearly. do you not miss home?" he asks Yohan.
After a pause the man chuckles. “Right, maybe not as much as I do. I have my omani back home, you see. When they sent us out here, they sent us out here with nothing. Not even a picture." The man drifts off for a while, setting his gaze on a place beyond the room. "Do you know what that’s like? To forget your own omani’s face? It started with not remembering what her ears looked like. Soon after, parts of her face started disappearing from my memory. It spread to her mouth. I forgot how her lips formed when she would speak. How her smile curled up to her cheeks. She had this endless smile for me. The way her face would fold in a thousand different places. And before I realized what was happening, I lost her nose one day. And then her cheeks. And then her eyes. Her face became a blank canvas. Like those egg ghosts you heard from folk tales, yeah? Their faces just erased, a flat, smooth surface with nothing on them."
The comrade rubs his eyes, sighing, the story taking a toll on him. “Then I saw her one night. I dreamed of her. She was wearing this white jeogori and chima. She was telling me that she was waiting for me. I asked her where she was waiting and she wouldn’t say. Why would she come to me then? After all that time? I had to think something was wrong."
With a quick glance, Yohan checks his watch. He hopes he won't have to cut the comrade short. It is the last courtesy he wants to show him.
“So I asked the commander. I asked him if he could send her a message for me and he told me he couldn’t. I asked whether she was living in an apartment in Kaesong like he told me. He refused to answer and said that it was classified. Why would that be classified? I just wanted to know that she was okay, that she was provided for like the Dear Leader promised. That was all I wanted to know. But the commander told me I didn’t need to know anything. Only to accept what I’ve been told. Because his word was the word of the Leader. But I knew that something was off because the dreams never stopped. She kept appearing, telling me that she was sorry. I kept asking her why she was sorry, but she simply kept crying. I knew something had happened to her. They said my omani would be taken care of, yet she could be in the camps for all I know.”
Yohan recognizes a familiar look in the comrade's face. It is the face of silent desperation that he has only seen in other children at the orphanage. The kind that creeps over when the situation is life or death, yet there is nothing that can be done. When hunger can't be helped because there simply is no food or when pain from wounds can't be relieved because no one cares for you.
The man flashes Yohan a bitter grin. “In a way, you are the fortunate one, my dongmu. You have nothing you're tethered to. You’re a floater. You know nothing about what it means to have someone who depends on you, who is connected to you. You've never been someone to anyone."
Yohan holds his silence. His grip on his cup tightens slightly. He says nothing back because there is no need to respond. Doha instructed him not to say anything and simply carry out the task.
“You must see it. We are all dead already. The moment we stepped on this foreign soil to do our duty, we all became empty husks. I really thought this would be the best for all of us. I thought I was doing something for my omani back home. So I left with hope in my heart. But all I want now is to taste my omani's stew."
The man sighs, and it looks as if he has finally made a decision he has put off for a long time. He finishes his tea in one gulp and puts his mug in the sink. "Well, how will we do this?"
