The Eyes Are the Best Part definitely kept me reading, mostly because it is extremely disturbing and gross. There is something strangely fascinating about a book where you can’t really empathize with the protagonist. At the same time, you can understand her anger. The situations that fuel it feel painfully close to reality, and because of that, you can actually follow where her impulses come from. You can understand the emotional build-up and even catch yourself thinking, I get why she feels this way - only to be completely horrified by what she actually does with those feelings. That contrast was probably the most fascinating part of the book for me. However, it was ultimately a little too disturbing for my personal taste. I also felt like the story was missing a clearer sense of what it ultimately wanted to say. Other than how all the small and big racist and sexist experiences lead to one going crazy - which is another sexist tale - I kept waiting for the different threads to come together into some kind of overarching message or moral.

Ich habe Weird Girl Fiction erwartet und das war es auf jeden Fall! 
Die Grundidee der Geschichte fand ich super spannend, die Figurenkonstellation ist auch wirklich nicht schlecht, aber so ganz konnte mich die Geschichte nicht abholen und ich fand sie den überwiegenden Teil sehr mittelmäßig. Die Charaktere fand ich eigentlich alle sehr unsympathisch und das auf eine Weise, die sie für mich nicht interessant gemacht haben, sondern eher dafür gesorgt hat, dass mich die Charaktere nerven. 
Trotzdem ist das Buch an sich auf keinen Fall schlecht, es trifft nur einfach nicht meinen Geschmack. Ich habe einige Dinge auch nicht kommen sehen und fand die Idee auch so gut, dass ich das Buch trotzdem empfehlen würde, wenn man Lust auf Weird Girl Fiction hat.

"The Eyes Are the Best Part" by Monika Kim is a dark, at times Kafkaesque novel about female rage, feminist revenge, manipulation, and self-empowerment. The book is an entertaining read and develops a pull that keeps you hooked despite (or perhaps because of) its disturbing moments. At the same time, the story repeatedly creates an almost physical discomfort: at some points, I wanted to shake the protagonist—and her mother—and ask them what the hell was wrong with them. However, this deliberately exaggerated emotional friction is not accidental, but underlines how consistently Kim plays with moral gray areas, repression, and inner radicalization. I found it particularly successful that, beyond the psychological horror, the novel also offers insights into the reality of life for Korean immigrant families in the US. The flashbacks to the life stories of the parents and grandparents in Korea lend the text additional depth and make it palpable how much origin, trauma, and pressure to perform affect the present. However, I found the ending too abrupt and, in parts, somewhat contrived, as if the novel wanted to conclude its own escalation more quickly than the carefully built-up tension deserved. Nevertheless, the bottom line is that it remains an intense, unusual reading experience. If you enjoy dark, Kafkaesque literature and want to embark on a disturbing yet poignant exploration of anger and self-assertion, I would definitely recommend "The Eyes Are the Best Part."

I really liked this book! It wasn’t what I expected at all tbh, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t mindblowing. I loved the fact that it was so fast paced, every chapter was only a few pages, which kept me motivated to keep going. The plot itself focused on a range of different topics, like racism against Asians, fetishization and intense cravings. You could really follow one thing leading to another, which was tragic at some points. I would recommend this book someone who is looking for a quick read, it wasn’t too graphic as well.

This is one of those books that doesn’t rush you. At first, it sits at a distance. The opening feels deliberate, almost careful, like it’s watching you before deciding whether to let you in. I wasn’t immediately hooked—but I didn’t put it down either. And then, roughly a third of the way through, something shifts. The story stops hovering and snaps into focus. From that moment on, it had me. What follows is unsettling in a quiet, intimate way. Monika Kim doesn’t rely on spectacle; she lets discomfort seep in slowly. The tension isn’t loud, it’s invasive. Thoughts spiral. Desire turns sharp. Control becomes slippery. The horror here feels psychological before it ever feels physical, which makes it land harder. Once the book finds its rhythm, it becomes compulsive. Not fast, not flashy—just impossible to look away from. The imagery lingers in strange places, the kind you notice later when you’re doing something completely unrelated. It’s the sort of story that doesn’t ask to be liked, only witnessed. This is a novel that rewards patience and trust. If you let it move at its own pace, it takes you somewhere dark, precise, and uncomfortably human—and it doesn’t let go easily.