The Book About a Boy Who Feels Nothing Made Me Feel Everything

Almonds are delicious—especially with chocolate. However, I'm not talking about those kinds of almonds. There's a special kind that holds a place dear in my heart: Almond, a novel by Won-Pyung Sohn. It’s my favorite book I’ve ever read.

A book whose reputation traveled internationally all the way from South Korea caught me by surprise—especially with how much I enjoyed reading it and how many tears I shed. Even though we always say, “don’t judge a book by its cover,” I couldn’t help but be pulled back to this one again and again—the soft, muted colors, the unique head-shaped design, and an almond tucked inside the brain. It was both strange and beautiful, and it sparked something curious in me before I had even turned a page.

I was completely hooked by the first line, which read: "But neither you nor I nor anyone can ever really know whether a story is happy or tragic." I tend to get stuck on predicting outcomes, but at the time I read this book, I really needed a reminder to stay grounded in the present moment and simply let a story unfold without controlling it. That line set the tone for a book that felt honest, introspective, and quietly powerful.

The story follows Yunjae, a boy with a condition called alexithymia, which makes it extremely difficult to identify and express emotions. For Yunjae, this stems from an underdeveloped amygdala—the part of the brain that processes fear and emotion. Interestingly, the word “amygdala” comes from the Greek word for almond. I love little Easter eggs in stories, and this detail felt like a meaningful connection between the title and Yunjae himself.

Watching Yunjae grow—both in age and emotional maturity—was deeply moving. The author manages to extract so much empathy from readers, even as Yunjae himself struggles to understand it. That contrast—his emotional detachment against the intense feelings of the people around him—was fascinating to experience.

A standout character for me was Yunjae’s mom. Her strength and unwavering love left me in awe. You can never underestimate a mother’s love, and she embodied that principle with quiet dignity. Yunjae’s friendship with Gon (a boy which brings a lot of conflict into Yunjae's life), which begins bitterly, is also close to my heart. Gon lives with his heart on his sleeve, while Yunjae barely has one. Watching them heal together—through silence, violence, and eventually trust—was raw and beautiful.

Despite everything Yunjae endures, the story ends warmly and with hope. The book reminded me that even in dark moments, there is always the possibility of light. Although it’s about a boy who can’t feel anything, Almond made me feel everything—and more. My next book review will be on The Midnight Library written by Matt Haig which is also excellent with similar themes! Stay tuned!

From, the Almond Jar