A spoonful of the sea

A child learns about the history of miyeok-guk and haenyeo in a delicately rendered tale that honors both Korean matriarchal traditions. As the book opens, its young narrator expresses dissatisfaction that--instead of desired strawberry cake or chocolate cupcakes--"Mom makes me birthday soup." Prepared with miyeok, it "tastes like the sea" and it is eaten while Mom offers up a story. The parent explains that "You had this soup every birthday when you were four, three, two, and one years old.// And I had it every day for a month after you were born"--just like previous generations' mothers, each shown cradling infants on successive pages. The tender, time-spanning narrative next turns to the family history of haenyeo, one of whom, "many mothers ago," saw a whale eating seaweed after birthing young. Soft, signature-style illustrations from Yum (Toto) build to a moving spread of a whale and generations of haenyeo swimming in the bowl of soup, lovingly linking mothers across species and decades. An author's note concludes. Ages 4--8. Agent: Sean McCarthy, Sean McCarthy Literary. (Sept.)

On her birthday, a little Korean girl sulks when her mother serves miyeok-guk, or seaweed soup, instead of cake. But as her mother tells the story behind the dish -- how mothers eat it for a month after every birth, how each generation of women makes it "just like her mother did," and how a haenyeo ("sea woman," or a Korean woman diver) once saw a whale who had just given birth eating seaweed -- the soup transforms from something "slippery" and "smelling briny" into a living link to her ancestors and the sea that sustained them. Through sensory detail and rhythmic repetition, Yum's tactile, tender language turns an ordinary meal into a story that threads through grandmothers and great-grandmothers, generations of sea women who dove unaided for "abalones, clams, octopus, and seaweed." Blending colored pencil, gouache, and watercolor, the soft, textured illustrations radiate tranquil warmth, capturing the quiet intimacy between mother and child. By the end, when the girl finally takes a spoonful, readers feel the same warmth rising from the bowl -- soup that "smells like grandma's town" and "tastes like a birthday." An author's note enriches the story by connecting it to real Korean traditions, explaining the lives of haenyeo and the cultural meaning of miyeok-guk. Weileen WangJanuary/February 2026 p.65 (c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

A young Korean girl overcomes her initial resistance to a long-standing birthday custom. An unnamed child sits at the table, clearly disappointed by her mother's offering of miyeok-guk, or seaweed soup. It's "not the strawberry cake, not the chocolate cupcakes I want," she pouts. But Mom explains that eating miyeok-guk is a tradition that goes back generations. "I had it every day for a month after you were born," Mom notes. Grandmother prepared it for her as she recovered from childbirth--as did her mother, and the child's great-great-grandma, who was a haenyeo, or freediver. Yum deftly sheds light on the legacy of freediving; women often brought their daughters along on dives and even dove while pregnant. A haenyeo who observed a whale eating seaweed after giving birth inspired the tradition of the soup. Now fully appreciating its significance, the girl savors her soup, much to the delight of her mother. Her bowl transforms into a seascape filled with women divers as she observes, "My birthday soup is miyeok-guk. It smells like grandma's town. It tastes like my birthday." Visible pencil marks and soft splashes of color give Yum's illustrations a tender intimacy and a coziness befitting her gently told tribute to the ties that bind. An author's note offers more information on the women who have dived for octopuses, seaweed, shellfish, and more for hundreds of years near Korea's Jeju Island. A tale of familial warmth and strength, steeped in generations of tradition.(Picture book. 5-8) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.