That the photographs we had been sent were twenty years old. That the crowd of men in knit caps and shabby black coats waiting for us down below on the dock would bear no resemblance to the handsome young men in the photographs. “On the boat we could not have known that when we first saw our husbands we would have no idea who they were. If, however, you are interested in a social history of the Japanese immigrant experience wrought in exquisite poetry, each sentence spare in words, precise in meaning and eloquently evocative, like a tanka poem, this book is a rare, unique treat.”Īlice Stephens, “The Buddha in the Attic,” Washington Independent Review of Books, August 30, 2011. The main character is simply ‘we.’ Sometimes a name is mentioned, occasionally even the same name twice, but for readers who prefer well-defined characters with whom to identify, and a clear narrative arc, this book is not for you. For those looking for a traditional story, be forewarned that there is no protagonist, plot or dialogue. “Though Knopf, publisher of The Buddha in the Attic, classifies the book as a novel, it is more like a beautifully rendered emakimono, hand-painted horizontal scrolls that depict a series of scenes, telling a story in frozen moments.
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