I love when the books I read accidentally collide. Of course, you can always argue that it’s not completely serendipity, but that I do search them out and that I am obsessed with a certain subject. I prefer to think that this particular subject is following me.
The latest occurrence happened this summer, but you need to rewind a little more to understand. It started last summer when I read the novella-slash-incantation-slash-historical novel by Julie Otsuka, The Buddha in the Attic. It followed a group of Japanese mail order brides from the moment they left Japan for America to the day they had to abandon their American homes in California for internment camps inland in 1942 following Pearl Harbor’s attack. I was enchanted by this book and it gave a memorable voice to a very singular slice of history. The sudden switch of perspective at the end from the choir of Japanese women to the choir of the communities emptied out of all their Japanese members was quite moving.
The second encounter with this particular theme was quite unexpected with James Ellroy’s Perfidia, that explore California in 1941-1942, following the immediate aftermath of Pearl Harbor. If anything, James Ellroy is known for not avoiding painful and controversial subjects and the issue of anti-Japanism racism was quite glaring in the first part of the book that I read (I had to give it back to the library and haven’t taken it again so far), and it showed without ambiguity that some people had seen quite early their own interest in having their Japanese neighbors removed, willingly or not. Both books have a collective view of events, but as much as Otsuka was emotional and focused on women, Ellroy’s tone is male-dominated, cynical and brutal.
The third encounter is this book, which looks like a coffee book table but is really a lot more. The pictures present art objects that were designed by Japanese people while living in the internment camps. The book is bittersweet, because these objects are so beautiful and yet made with scraps and bits of reclaimed materials they saved from their already grim daily routine: twine, bits of wood, shells, rocks… Japanese families were allowed only a few bare necessities and they had to endure a harsh environment for years. They organized arts and crafts classes and groups to beautify their surroundings.
The title word of Gaman means “enduring what seems unbearable with dignity and grace”. The author’s parents and grandparents were detained in these camps and this book is a tribute to their ingenuity and spirit. These traumatic events of being singled out, detained and imprisoned despite their U.S. nationality, are a big taboo in Japanese families and in American schools, so I hear, and I guess that this kind of initiative, along with exhibitions and conferences associated with it, are a big step forward for those who want to know their family history in full and break the silence and shame around it.