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Immediate Hall of Fame Entry

This just entered my Top 10 books of all time.

Not my Top 10 of the year. Not my Top 10 recent reads. My tiny, sacred, extremely difficult-to-enter pile of the best books I have ever read.

How This Book Found Me

Roie Oknin sent me an email inviting me to read his book.

He had me at ramen.

Seriously. Ramen. Existential crises. A tiny restaurant. A character who is one module away from finishing a degree while apparently being completely incapable of crisis-managing his own life?

Fine. Give me the book.

Full Review

When I read the first two pages, I knew immediately that this wasn’t a book to be read quickly.

No.

This is one of those books you need to read slowly, with some ambient music playing softly in the background, curled up under a fluffy duvet with a cup of tea. A book you don’t simply read. You stay with it. You let it speak to you.

And now I genuinely don’t know how to describe what this book did to me.

What I do know is that Ramen, Existential Crises is one of the best books I have ever read.

Roie Oknin is a poet. A soul whisperer.

I saw and felt every emotion he wrote. I could smell the broth. I could hear the spring onions being chopped. I could hear the door opening and the little bell above it ringing. I saw the restaurant. I saw the rain outside. I heard the rain.

I felt the rain.

Meet Koji

Koji is twenty-seven and one module away from completing his degree in Politics and Government. The module still standing between him and that degree is Crisis Management.

Crisis Management.

Considering Koji is simultaneously going through a pretty severe existential crisis of his own, I don’t think the universe could have chosen a more appropriate final module.

For six years he has worked in a tiny ramen restaurant with eleven seats, one dish and a broth whose flame has not gone out in thirty-two years. The noodles cook for exactly eighty-five seconds.

Then the timer fails. A stranger hands Koji a business card. Someone from his past walks into the restaurant. Around him, people make decisions and continue with their lives.

Koji knows what he should do.

Doing it is another matter.

Then I Became a Selfish Reader

I wanted Koji to get out of his existential crisis.

Of course I did. I wanted him to do the things he was supposed to do. Finish the module. Get the degree. Make decisions. Figure out what came next.

Except… I also didn’t.

Because Koji’s everyday existence is written with such beauty that I became an incredibly selfish reader.

Yes, Koji. You should absolutely deal with your existential crisis. You should finish your degree. You should figure out what comes next.

But could you maybe not do it yet?

Could you stay in the ramen restaurant a little longer?

Could you tell me what happens tomorrow?

Could I watch another bowl of ramen being prepared? Could someone open the door again so I can hear that little bell? Could it rain outside one more time?

Because somehow his stagnation becomes beautiful to observe.

Not because his crisis isn’t painful. It is. Not because I wanted him to remain unhappy. I absolutely didn’t.

But because the ordinary rhythms surrounding Koji are so poetic that I wanted him to escape his existential crisis while simultaneously wanting the world created around that crisis to remain exactly as it was.

Closed, Yet Somehow Completely Open

Koji is closed.

Painfully, frustratingly closed at times.

And yet somehow, little by little, he opens himself to you.

The book is written in third person, which makes the intimacy it creates even more remarkable. Koji isn’t speaking directly to us. He isn’t confessing everything through a diary. There is always a little distance between him and the reader.

But that distance made me watch him more carefully.

His routines mattered. His silences mattered. The things he didn’t say mattered.

I saw Koji. I felt him. I understood him.

And most of all, I respected him and his journey.

There were moments when I genuinely felt as though I were standing quietly in the corner of the restaurant, just watching and listening. Not reading about these people, but somehow being allowed to exist beside them for a little while.

And Then This Book Showed Me Love

At first, some of the conversations between the characters seemed almost rude and careless.

Then something magical happened.

The book showed me love.

Not the loud, invasive kind of care we are so used to seeing. The kind that asks too many questions, demands explanations and sometimes becomes more about the person offering help than the person who actually needs it.

This was something quieter.

The love and care between these coworkers existed at a distance. It was silent. It didn’t demand anything.

I care about you, but I respect you.

And that made me cry.

Because there is something incredibly beautiful about caring for someone while still allowing them to belong to themselves.

I’m crying again while writing this review.

There is so much silence in this book.

But the silence is never empty.

And Then I Reached the End

And now I have a problem.

I need to know what happens next.

I need to know.

By the final pages, it wasn’t enough for me to simply close the book and imagine that Koji and everyone else continued existing somewhere beyond them.

I need more days in that restaurant. I need to know what happens tomorrow. And the day after that.

I want to know where Koji’s life takes him. I want to know what happens to the people around him. I want to know what changes and what stays exactly the same.

I spent the entire book wanting Koji to move forward. Then I reached the end and realised I was the one who didn’t want to move.

I wasn’t ready to leave him.

I wasn’t ready to leave that restaurant.

I wasn’t ready to stop hearing the rain.

I wasn’t ready for the little bell above the door to ring for the last time.

Can a Person Fall in Love With a Book?

This book changed something in me.

This is going onto that very small, very special pile of books I love enough to reread once a year. I’ve already told my friends and family that they need to read it.

Because Roie Oknin doesn’t simply write characters.

He writes souls.

And that is something so incredibly difficult to come across nowadays.

Can a person fall in love with a book?

Can you fall in love with words so beautifully put together that somewhere along the way they stop feeling like sentences and transform themselves into a melody for your soul?

The answer is yes.
I did.

Thank you for Koji. For the restaurant, the rain, the conversations, the silence, the ramen and all the things that were said without ever needing to be spoken.

Read it slowly.

Let it stay with you.

Your soul is going to thank you.

Reader Damage Report

Reading Slump Emergency Recommendation

If you’ve forgotten why you love reading, try this.

If you’re stuck in a reading slump, blocked, bored by everything on your TBR or picking up books only to put them down again, this is one I would reach for. It reminded me what it feels like when words stop being something you’re processing and become somewhere you’re living.

My Completely Unsubtle Recommendation

Run. Read the book.

Ramen, Existential Crises is available on Amazon and is currently available through Kindle Unlimited.

Just so we’re completely clear: this is not an affiliate link. I receive no percentage, commission or payment if you buy or read the book. I just desperately need other people to read it so I have people to talk to about Koji.

Find It on Amazon

Imperfect Rebel Podcast

And yes, I invited Roie Oknin onto the podcast.

Because after finishing this book I have approximately one googlezillion questions about Koji, the restaurant, the silences, the writing and everything that went into creating this story. I would happily talk about Ramen, Existential Crises forever.

Permanent Shelf Status

Must-read-once-a-year stack.

There are books I enjoy, books I love and then there are the very few books I want to return to every year because I suspect I’ll find something different in them depending on who I am when I come back. This is one of those books.

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Tell Me What You Think

Have you ever wanted a character to move forward while secretly wishing they would stay exactly where they were?

If you read Ramen, Existential Crises, come back and talk to me about Koji. Seriously. I am not finished talking about this book.

And if you know another quiet, beautiful, character-driven book that made an ordinary place feel like somewhere you had actually lived, I want to know about it.

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