The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka

 Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

This one has been on my list for a while, and I decided to give it a try in the audiobook version. I think that was a good choice, because the narration really adds to the experience in this case. It is the sort of quasi-poetic writing that benefits from being read out loud. 

The Buddha In The Attic is an unusual book in the way it is written. It is in the plural first person throughout, and doesn’t have a plot in the usual sense. It doesn’t focus on individuals although individual stories get told very briefly. 

 

The story itself is of the “picture brides,” young Japanese women who came the the United States in the early decades of the 20th Century. They were essentially mail order brides for the Japanese men who came to work in agriculture. Although they settled in various places in the United States, the story is about those who came to my home state of California. That means that the places were familiar to me. 

 

I also knew some of the history of this, in part because of the gaping holes left behind. But that requires a bit of the story of the American concentration camps of World War Two. In one of the most shameful incidents in our history (although there are a lot of them, alas), we rounded up men, women, and children of Japanese descent - many of them US citizens - and imprisoned them in concentration camps during the war. As a result, they lost their land, property, business, wealth, and homes. It took until the 1990s before they were compensated at all, and even then, it was a pittance compared with the damages we inflicted on them. You can read more about this part of the story in my post on our visit to the Manzanar Camp. 

 

[Also of note here, Trump praised the forced imprisonment of innocent men, women, and children; increased the incarceration of immgrants and refugees, and suggested we should do the same for Muslims in the US. That would be about 3 million innocent people, by the way. One of the many reasons he is a disgusting and evil person.] 

 

The structure of the book is in several sections. The first is entitled “Come, Japanese!” and tells of the arranging of the marriages and the boat ride over. As throughout the book, the story is told through repetitive sentences that build the story gradually until it overwhelms. A typical sentence starts with “Some of us were…” This “some of us” tells collective yet individual stories, showing the wide sweep of individuals that came, all for their own reasons, yet all looking for a better opportunity. The hopes, dreams, loves, disappointments, trauma, and the whole human experience is on display. 

 

The next section is “First Night,” and tells the often harrowing stories of that first night with their new husbands, most of whom demanded sex immediately. Some of these are clearly rapes, others just awkward as hell, with a few positive ones mixed in. Which is pretty much what one would expect from two strangers in an arranged marriage, coming from a culture in which women were still viewed as property and domestic servants to men. 

 

After this, the third section is “Whites,” and focuses on the experience of being Japanese living in a white supremacist country. Here in California, we have an unfortunately long history of prejudice against persons of Asian descent, from the anti-Chinese laws, to an informal Jim Crow system that excluded non-whites from many restaurants and stores, to our leading role in the Japanese imprisonment during the war. This part of the story, like the previous two, is told from the point of view of the Japanese women, dealing with open prejudice, “kind” patronizing, and the occasional more equal treatment. Among other issues, the stories tell of coerced sex with domestic workers, the expectation that servants would help cover up affairs, the stress of never knowing when you might be fired for being too pretty, the question of which neighbors would let their kids play with yours, and many more. 

 

The fourth section is “Children.” For the picture brides, raising American children was a confusing experience. On the one hand, the children were never fully accepted as American. On the other, they were often embarrassed by their immigrant parents, with their accents and old fashioned ways. 

 

Following this are two chapters set during the war. “Traitors” tells of the growing prejudice and hostility, including the irresponsible and slanderous “journalism” that stirred up hatred. As the chapter progresses, the men start to disappear, arrested for alleged “disloyalty.” Finally, at the end, FDR’s removal order results in the rounding up and mass incarceration of innocents. 

 

The next chapter after that, “Last Day,” recounts the day that the Japanese are removed. The author makes a crucial change in the narrative at this point. Whereas previously, the stories were all impersonal, starting with “some of us,” “many of us,” “a few of us,” “one of us,” in this section, names start to appear. The impersonal becomes personal. Now it is Kimiko, Naoko, Iyo, Haruko, and dozens of other names. And the details become increasingly personal as well. Otsuka deliberately chooses to humanize the people in the story, at the exact time when white Americans chose to dehumanize them, reducing them to “The Japanese.” 

 

The final chapter is told from the point of view of the white neighbors left behind. In the audiobook, this is marked by a change in narrator from Samantha Quan to Carrington MacDuffie. The basic style remains the same, returning to the impersonal style of the opening. As the Japanese disappear, those left behind are sad to see them leave, but realize as time goes on that they will forget them. "The Japanese have disappeared from our town. Their houses are boarded up and empty now."

 

This reflects a sad reality that is evident throughout towns all over California. Most small towns (like the bigger cities) had “Japan Towns” as well as Chinatowns. These practically disappeared within months of the removal, and never returned. Whereas the Japanese used to be a significant source of farm labor, they didn’t really return to the work afterward, choosing to settle in the big cities and pursue other jobs. This was a huge loss for small town California in many ways, and only traces and stories of the thriving Japan Towns are left. It really wasn’t until a couple decades ago that Japanese restaurants - once as plentiful as Chinese - returned to Central California, and you couldn’t find passable ramen here in Bakersfield until just a few years ago. (And Bakersfield used to have a significant Japanese population before the war.) Our fateful choice to do the wrong thing has left holes in our social fabric. And worst of all, it seems a lot of people still are willing to defend what we did. 

 

Just a note here: I have German ancestors on both sides of my family, and they immigrated to the US only a decade or two before the picture brides. And yet, my ancestors were not rounded up and put in concentration camps because of their ethnicity. And this despite the fact that Hitler probably had more spies here than Japan did. (And seriously, semi-illiterate farm workers are unlikely to be a threat - and it was of course the poor and vulnerable who were targeted.) One might be tempted to believe that it was more about scapegoating people with a different skin color, and sacrificing them to appease white anger about Pearl Harbor. 

 

Because of the way the stories are told, the book as a definite cadence that borders on free verse poetry. It isn’t quite at that level, and I don’t believe it is intended to be poetry per se. But it flows like poetry, it mesmerizes, it builds and builds as a wave of emotion and image and human messiness. It feels like an elegy, and collective mourning, an outpouring an insistance that “we were and are human too.” A description of the style sounds like it would cloy, but it really doesn’t. It works, and works so very well. The result is a profoundly moving book, where the unique storytelling lingers in the mind and even more in the heart. 

 

The audiobook version is wonderful. Samantha Quan in particular has a lovely voice, and a true feel for the rhythms and cadences throughout. Carrington MacDuffie is excellent too, in her shorter part of the book, but there is something truly special about Quan’s reading. 

 

I would highly recommend this unique and unforgettable book. The audiobook is a great way to experience it, but at least read it out loud to hear the artistry of the words.