If you’re anything like me, when you hear “Nagasaki, Japan” you can’t help but think about World War II and the atomic bomb. This book is very much a story of that fateful day in 1945, as well as a story about a mother and daughter, of lost love, of secrets, of hatred, of regret, and of mourning. The main character, and narrator, is Amaterasu Takahashi, a Japanese widow who left Nagasaki with her husband (Kenzo) after the bomb killed their daughter (Yuko) and grandson (Hideo). She has spent her life grieving and blaming her daughter and grandson’s deaths on a combination of herself and a doctor (Sato). Now, 40 years after the bombing (called Pikadon), she is living alone in Pennsylvania, pretty much just spending her days drinking whiskey and forgetting to eat, despite assuring Kenzo on his death bed that she wouldn’t do either.
Then, one day, there’s a knock on her door and there before her is a scarred, disfigured man who claims to be Hideo. She is, of course, incredulous and quite upset by this claim. She vividly remembers the day of the bomb, walking Hideo to school and being saved from the explosion because of a sweet tooth that took her into a store and that delayed her inside long enough to protect her. She recalls the sound of the explosion and the aftermath of searching for survivors, enduring toxic rain, and tremendous grieving.
Hideo leaves to give her space but leaves behind a box (from the people that found and raised him) intended to help her understand what happened and help her understand who this man is and hopefully help her conclude he is, indeed, Hideo. The story alternates between the present day and memories of the past, and realizations Amaterasu makes as she reads Yuko’s journals for the first time. We learn about Yuko, who finds “love” with a married man her father’s age (in fact, her dad’s old pal) – the doctor (Sato) that Amaterasu hates and blames for Yuko’s and Hideo’s demise. We ascertain how Yuko and Sato got together, how Amaterasu discovers this and stops it, and how Yuko reacts (spoiler alert: not happy). We find out why Yuko was so against Sato – and not just because he was a married doctor who had sex with his old friend’s 16-year-old daughter in a scandalous hotel (though, I’ll say, that would be enough for me). And we discover why Yuko blames herself for Yuko’s death that fateful morning.
I’m not gonna lie. It was hard for me to get into this book. I listened to this and had to increase the speed to 1.65, something I rarely do. At most, I increase the speed of books to 1.20, as I enjoy having conversations sound “normal” – not like a coked up chipmunk auctioneer. But I increased this speed in part because the narrator was such a slow talker and in part because I wanted it over sooner. I was almost halfway through before I started caring in the way I probably should have from the beginning. I appreciate flowery descriptions, and I understand why so much description on the characters and certain events were needed. It was just hard to care.
With that said, at that halfway point, I did start caring. I did start wanting to know more. Why did Amaterasu hate Sato so much? She hated him before his relationship with Yuko – why? Why was Amaterasu so convinced it was her fault that Yuko died? What happened with Yuko and Sato? Is that really Hideo? And that box that Hideo gives Amaterasu to convince her – what’s in it? I mean, what’s in the box? WHAT’S IN THE BOX?! (If you didn’t say that last line in Brad Pitt’s voice ala Se7en, then consider me disappointed in you.) The story, eventually, comes together. You admonish Amaterasu while pitying her as well. You see Sato as a villainous victim. You see Yuko as naïve yet artfully sophisticated. And aren’t these the realities we face – that we’re never always one thing or the other. We are a combination of all extremes.
Alright – so what about the location, since that’s what we’re here for. Nagasaki, Japan – and nearby locations (e.g., Iwo Jima) are very nicely described, from neighborhoods to coastlines. Yuko’s eventual husband (who was later killed in war) talks about the history of Nagaski during their courtship, so we hear a glimpse of that. We swim and ride bikes with Yuko per her journal writings and walk the streets of Nagasaki with Amaterasu before and after the bomb. Probably the biggest learning from this book, however, was in the definitions that were presented at the start of each chapter. Early on, Amaterasu recounts how she didn’t want to learn English or acclimate to the United States after she and Kenzo moved. Kenzo really wanted her too, though, so he bought her an English Dictionary of Japanese culture that had Japanese words on one side and the English word on the other, along with an explanation of the deeper meaning behind the word. (While it’s fantastic she got this gift since it adds a great element to each chapter and the book overall, you have to see how it’s a crappy gift to give somebody who explicitly says she doesn’t to learn English a book that is meant to teach her English. If this is how it works, I’d like John to know that I really don’t want to drive a Porsche or travel the world.) Anyway, this dictionary is where the real “lesson” of Japanese culture comes in, and it also sets the stage for each chapter. For example, early on, we are presented with the word haji with the explanation that “the Japanese live in a typical shame culture” and the word wabi described as “a simple and austere type of beauty – the word is derived from the verb wabu, to lose strength, and the adjective, wabishi, lonely. Originally it meant the misery of living alone away from society. Later, it gained a positive aesthetic meaning the enjoyment of a quiet, leisurely, and carefree life.” Other words are seken-tei (decency), yasegaman (endurance), and kenkyo (humility), among others. Each definition and explanation are interesting, shedding light on Japanese history and culture as well as what and why Amaterasu thinks and behaves the ways she does.
With that, my overall assessment is that I’d say, sure, read the book. Why not? It’s hard to vehemently recommend something that it took me halfway through to care about. But it’s worth a shot if you don’t mind slow starts and enjoy poetic writing. The human element is well-depicted. The description of the explosion and the unmistakable sound is chilling. In fact, that was one of my favorite parts of the book. Seriously, check this out:
“I had never heard such a noise before. It felt as if the world’s heart had exploded. Some would later describe it as a bang, but this was more than a door slamming on its hinges or an oil truck thudding into a car. There can be no word for what we heard that day. There must never be. To give this sound a name might mean it could happen again. What word can capture the roar of every thunderstorm you might have heard? Every avalanche and volcano and tsunami that you might have seen tear across the land? Every city, consumed by flames and waves and winds. Never find the language for such an agony of noise and the silence that followed.”
Chilling, right?
Ok, so there were other quotes I liked. Like this one, depicted near the end of the book: “We had so few hours left to glue dead leaves to an infected family tree.” Poetic, no?
So, there you go. A well-written story depicting all those things I mentioned earlier – hatred, lost love, regret, mourning… and the impact of an atomic bomb – both a literal one and a figurative one that emerges when secrets are uncovered, and hurtful truth emerges.
Boom. How’s that for the end of a review?