Amazon.com Review
At first blush, Lydia Minatoya's novel
The Strangeness of Beauty would seem to be pretty standard fare: three generations of Japanese women struggle to understand and love one another. Sounds like generic women's fiction, but in Minatoya's hands, it becomes something quietly distinctive. Minatoya has a taste for the in-between. In this, her first novel, mothers are not mothers, Americans are Japanese, and warriors are pacifists.
Etsuko and her sister Naomi move with their respective husbands from Kobe to Seattle in the 1920s. When Naomi dies in childbirth, the widowed Etsuko becomes the baby's surrogate mother. The two return to Japan, where the girl, Hanae, can receive the education in subtleties that is her heritage as a member of a samurai family. The young American girl finds the chores and trials of samurai life enraging. "Take sweeping the garden path with a light bamboo broom: the point isn't just to clear off debris. Designed to develop dedication and spiritual depth, the real task is in repeating the activity--morning and dusk, over and over, for decades--until she learns to leave light, flowing impressions on the soft surface earth."
Just as patiently, Etsuko and Hanae must learn the secrets of their family. There's quite a bit of familial breast-beating, sure, but it's leavened by the perspective of Etsuko, a bumbling, sweet-tempered antiheroine of a narrator. The book comes alive as the two women, trapped in the liminal state of exile, neither American nor Japanese, learn to wrest the best from both worlds. As Japan teeters on the brink of war, Etsuko and Hanae apply their samurai-warrior sense of honor to fighting for peace. Minatoya (author of the acclaimed memoir Talking to High Monks in the Snow) never settles for black or white. She always strives for that more difficult place: the gray area. --Claire Dederer
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
edition.
From Publishers Weekly
The autobiography, or "I-story," of Etsuko Sone is the basis of this lyrical first novel by Minatoya, herself author of the memoir Talking to Monks in the Snow. Etsuko emigrates from Kobe to Seattle in 1918 with her husband, Tadoa, a kite maker who dreams of a career with Boeing; instead, he settles for a job on a fishing boat, and soon drowns. Several years later, Etsuko's sister dies in childbirth, and Etsuko helps raise the baby, Hanae, whose dentist father is a gambler and an ace on the Japanese three-cushion pool circuit. When Hanae is six and anti-Japanese sentiment is on the increase in the U. S., Etsuko is persuaded to take her back to Japan for a traditional upbringing in the house of Fuji. Etsuko has never herself lived in her family's home, having been cast out as an infant by a mother still reeling from the death of her firstborn son. Although she initially feels that she belongs in neither country, Etsuko comes to terms with her past and present, finally finding her purpose as Hanae prepares for upper-school graduation and the country prepares for war with China. Minatoya's unadorned prose has the evocative suggestibility of a Japanese print, and Etsuko's incisive, often wry observations resemble resonant lines of haiku. Ironically, the problems Etsuko identifies as inherent to the "I-story"(self-absorption, narrowness, oblique indirection, dullness) are not entirely avoided here, however artful Etsuko's looping narrative. But they are present in the novel only occasionally and are more than offset by the richly detailed multigenerational and multicultural story. With candor, Minatoya analyzes the qualities ("eloquent silence, poetic hindsight, conversation crafted with the masked formality of actors performing ancient Noh theater") that make life possible in crowded Japan, but seem "ridiculous" in America. While sometimes weighted down by bald passages of history, this highly unusual story offers valuable insights into Japanese culture. Agent, Sally Woford-Girand. (June)
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
edition.