Today's Read Contributor Susan Choi, the acclaimed National Book Award–winning author of Trust Exercise (2019), returns with her sixth novel, Flashlight, released June 3, 2025 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux. This evocative literary mystery centers on a single, haunting event: a father-daughter walk along a Japanese beach that ends in disappearance and trauma. Through the fragmented memories of its characters, Choi weaves a story that is as psychologically intense as it is emotionally resonant.
The novel opens in 1978 with ten-year-old Louisa Kang and her father, Serk, taking a twilight stroll to gaze at the stars. Hours later, Louisa is rescued unconscious on the shore—hypothermic, disoriented, and speechless—while Serk, unable to swim, is missing and presumed drowned. This catastrophic evening becomes the narrative’s linchpin, propelling the plot across continents, decades, and individual perspectives.
Choi explores memory’s fragility by alternating among her three narrators: Louisa, her American mother Anne, and the missing father, Serk. Each voice offers glimpses into the void left by that fateful night. Louisa’s perspective, marked by lingering trauma and anger, reveals a girl who grows into a prickly and introspective young woman consumed with unspoken grief and resentment toward her parents. Anne, burdened by a secret son and later grappling with illness, must navigate a fractured household while mourning silently. Serk’s sections delve into his complex identity born from Korean, Japanese, and American experiences—raising questions about belonging, assimilation, and secrecy.
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Critics praise Flashlight for its seamless fusion of intimate family drama and broader geopolitical themes. Vulture’s Sam Worley describes the novel as “gorgeously prickly,” noting how Choi examines “what we know and what we don’t” in memory and family history. The Washington Post highlights Choi’s ambitious scope, noting how Flashlight moves beyond the claustrophobic dynamics of Trust Exercise to encompass “international thriller to coming‑of‑age” genres, while maintaining her penetrating character work. The Guardian emphasizes how the book’s title mirrors its narrative structure: a beam that briefly illuminates but leaves much in shadow, underlining themes of revelation and secrecy.
At the heart of Flashlight lies the question: What really happened that night? The novel resists offering a tidy resolution. Serk’s disappearance evolves from a plausible drowning to something far more complex—hinting at espionage, political kidnapping, and the tangled history of displacement among Korean communities in Japan. Choi gradually reveals that Serk was once known as Hiroshi, a Korean boy raised in postwar Japan, whose family chose to return to North Korea, leaving him stateless. His movement to the U.S. and subsequent reinvention as “Serk” is laden with secrecy and fear.
Choi’s measured structure—shifting timelines and shifting perspectives—mirrors the unreliable nature of memory and the piecemeal reconstruction of truth. Kirkus Reviews lauds the character-driven and plot-wielding narrative, noting Choi’s ability to maintain tension without veering toward melodrama. This narrative restraint invites readers to bear witness without being spoon‑fed, adding depth to the story’s emotional core.
In addition to its psychological intricacy, Flashlight examines generational trauma through cultural displacement. Serk’s perpetual outsider status—crossing between Korea, Japan, and America—creates a backdrop of political and personal tension. His deep fears—of identity erasure, of losing his place in any culture—are mirrored in his inability to connect fully with his wife and daughter. Anne, too, carries her own burden: a secret son, Tobias, born before her marriage, whose eventual return to the family amplifies questions of identity, belonging, and maternal guilt.
Every scene in Flashlight echoes with tension between knowing and unknowing. Tobias’s detective‑like investigations uncover layers of Serk’s past—and suggest that the fishing light seen that night may have been something far from benign. But even as answers emerge, the novel resists offering closure. As Kirkus notes: “Only so much can be said… without spoilers,” yet the emotional stakes remain deeply human and affecting.
Flashlight is also a triumph of prose. Choi’s language, praised as “precise,” “poetic,” and “iron‑confident,” weaves subtle clues amid evocative atmosphere. Its tempo gently builds, moving from quiet psychological study to revelatory drama, inviting readers to reflect on the fragile architecture of memory and family bonds.
This novel stands among 2025’s most compelling literary offerings. Vox included Flashlight in its list of the “9 Best Books of the Year So Far,” praising its exploration of “generational anger and grief”. Time also spotlighted Choi’s work in its summer reading guide, highlighting its multi‑perspective family mystery.
Flashlight confirms Susan Choi’s evolution into a master storyteller who understands how personal and historical wounds interlock. It’s a richly ambitious, emotionally layered novel that lingers like a faint beam in the dark—revealing just enough light amid vast shadows.
