baek se hee The passing of Baek Se-hee has renewed attention on her defining work I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki, which defied genre boundaries to become a literary and cultural phenomenon.
From Crowdfunded Project to Worldwide Bestseller
Originally self-published in 2018 via a South Korean crowdfunding platform, the memoir began as a modest project to share Baek’s inner dialogues and intimate reflections. What began as a small effort quickly caught fire: in 2018 alone, Baek’s crowdfunding campaign drew support exceeding its goal, and she printed three editions sold via independent bookstores.
Her manuscript was later acquired by a publishing house, and her voice found a much larger platform. By the time the English translation was published in 2022, the memoir had already accumulated a strong domestic following.
A Hybrid Work of Therapy and Literature
One of the memoir’s striking features is that it incorporates verbatim transcripts of Baek’s therapy sessions over a 12-week period. Alongside these dialogues are short essays, reflections, and “micro-lessons” drawn from her journey. This blending of raw conversation and introspective commentary allows readers to not merely read her inner life, but to witness — in near real time — how she processes emotional pain and tries to untangle harmful thought patterns. Themes addressed in her pages include self-judgment, shame, relationship anxiety, loneliness, work stress, and the struggle to maintain authenticity in daily life.
One curious motif running through the memoir is her craving for tteokbokki (spicy Korean rice cakes). Even while battling profound despair, she repeatedly expresses her desire for this comfort food — a metaphor, many readers believe, for the tension between wanting to give up and still wanting small pleasures.
Cultural Impact and Critique
I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki is often credited for helping destigmatize mental health conversations in South Korea, a society where psychological struggles have often been silenced. Internationally, the book’s relatable framing has appealed to readers navigating anxiety, depression, and existential questions in modern life.
Yet, as Baek’s influence grew, some critics raised concerns. A 2024 feature in The Times described her works as part of a growing “sad-girl lit” phenomenon — accessible, emotionally resonant works that trade in melancholic introspection. That article also warned of how mental health narratives can be commodified, asserting that literary success does not necessarily equate to personal healing.
Still, for many, Baek’s memoir remains a lifeline. Her disarmingly honest tone — she does not pretend to have all the answers — gives readers the space to feel seen. In a review, one blogger noted: “This short memoir gives you a sneak peek into the cultural challenges in Korea and how one woman deals with her heavy mental health issues.”
As her work continues to inspire new translations and discussions, one thing is clear: Baek Se-hee’s pages offered more than confession — they offered connection. And for many, that remains her most enduring legacy.
