Buddha in the Attic is a unique novella told in the first person plural “we”, narrating the story of a group of young women brought from Japan to San Francisco as “picture brides” nearly a century ago.
In eight chapters, that read like a rhythmical chant, it traces the brides’ lives, beginning at the point of departure after leaving their predictable village lives, to the much-anticipated, though often frightening, boat journey and their arrival in San Francisco.
Some of us were so dizzy we could not even walk, and lay in our berths in a dull stupor, unable to remember our own names, not to mention those of our new husbands. Remind me one more time, I am Mrs. Who?
It recounts their first nights as new wives, the hard manual labour in new fields, cleaning house for white women, their struggles to master the language and understand the culture, to experiences in childbirth, as mothers, raising children who will lose their heritage and history, though continue to be marked by it, with the terrifying arrival of war and it damning label of them as the enemy.
At night we sat in our kitchens with our husbands as they pored over the day’s papers, scrutinizing every line, every word, for clues to our fate. We discussed the latest rumours. I hear they’re putting us into work camps to grow food for the troops.
Julie Otsuka has created a unique and original way to narrate the collective story of these Japanese mail order brides and their many experiences around common themes, we imagine the narrator as one of them, though we do not know which of the experiences are hers, as she balances them equally, one beside the other, in repetitive, elegiac prose.
This collective storytelling in effect brings our perception of them together, creating a sense of community, despite the suffering. It s as if, through sharing their experiences in these paragraphs, they become stronger, better able to cope, the author bringing them together. The “we” narrative unites them, we read and feel for them as a group, as if they are together. Otsuka brings them together in a lyrical expression of tasks, sufferings, looks, sighs, memories.
Apart from the initial boat ride over the seas from Japan to the US, there is little joy, they discover they are the lowest of low in the pecking order, equivalent to slaves, seen as quiet and submissive, hard workers. Some take it in their stride, others will fall by the wayside.
They admired us for our strong backs and nimble hands/ Our stamina. Our discipline. Our docile dispositions. Our unusual ability to tolerate the heat, which on summer days in the melon fields of Brawley could reach 120 degrees. They said that our short stature made us ideally suited for work that required stooping low to the ground. Wherever they put us they were pleased. We had all the virtues of the Chinese – we were hardworking, we were patient, we were unfailingly polite – but none of their vices – we didn’t gamble or smoke opium, we didn’t brawl, we never spat. We were faster than the Filipinos and less arrogant than the Hindus. We were more disciplined than the Koreans. We were soberer than the Mexicans. We were cheaper to feed than the Okies ad Arkies, both the light and the dark. A Japanese can live on a teaspoonful of rice a day. We were the best breed of worker they had ever hired in their lives.
And as if it couldn’t get any worse, war happens, and they discover they are the enemy, they are regarded suspiciously and in time sent away.
This part is narrated by “them”, the communities within which they have existed alongside, though never really been a part of, certainly not appreciated – at least not until the Orkies and Arkies move in, who are not quiet and hard-working like the Japanese.
It is a soulful lament, a long sad narrative of a life of toil and disappointment that is endured, a disappearance that is unwarranted, a tribute to those who dreamed of a better life, who travelled across an ocean believing they would find it only to be betrayed bitterly.
It reminded me, not in style, but in subject of Jamie Ford’s The Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, a story of childhood friends in Seattle, second generation immigrants caught up in the brutal reality of being perceived as untrustworthy, having the skin of an enemy.
Their plows weighed more than we did, and were difficult to use, and their horses were twice the size of our horses back home in Japan. We could not harness them without climbing up on orange crates, or standing on stools, and the first time we shouted out to them to move they just stood there snorting and pawing at the ground. Were they deaf? Were they dumb? Or were they just being stubborn? “These are American horse,” our husbands explained. “They don’t understand Japanese.” And so we learned our first words of horse English. “Giddyap” was what you said to make the horse go forward, and “Back” was what you said to make it back up. “Easy” was what you said to make it slow down, and “Whoa” was what you said to make it stop. And after fifty years in America these would be the only words of English some of us could still remember by heart.
Julie Otsuka speaks here (in English) about the inspiration behind Buddha in the Attic, which won the French Prix Femina Etranger 2012 translated as Certaines n’avaient jamais vu la mer for the French edition.
Word by Word 
This sounds great! I love The Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet…
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This is a wonderful complement to Jamie Ford’s book, another subset of well-intended young women, lured by false promises, who make the best of the situation they can, never complaining and determined not to lose face, it really is a delightful, if heart-breaking lament and tribute to their unfailing stoicism.
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I’m interested in the use of “we” as the narrative voice. I don’t recall ever having read a book that uses such a voice, which seems appropriate for the subject matter.
This is the kind of book I want to be reading. Thanks for putting it on my radar!
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I love how it as meeting these women as she travelled around on the book tour for her first novel that inspired Julie Otsuka to write the story and rather than just a clever device, I can imagine how naturally she may have come to the conclusion to pay tribute to them, but finding a voice that didn’t single out any one particular voice, but gives equal voice to them all. So deserving of it success, a little gem and a great teacher to the writer in us all.
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I’m really intrigued by the pleural ‘we’first person narrative & the context. Great review Claire☺
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It’s so unique Poppy, and yet so appropriate and it really works. You must read it!
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I love everything about this book, Claire. The cover, and the title are my favourites. Although the story seems to make me sad, I want to read it. And, I read your sentence over and over again — ‘It is a soulful lament.’ It captures the heart of the book so beautifully. Thank you, Claire.
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Thanks Deepika, a ‘soulful lament’ really does encapsulate its beauty and though there is an inherent sadness, there is something accepting about it all as well, something in the way she uses the collective “we” that brings them together, that would have perhaps made these women happy to have had their stories shared, voiced at last, without them losing face. It allows them to maintain their dignity, I love that it gives us so much, without invading a personal privacy, defying that curious need to know every little detail that is so inherent in many written accounts today. You’ll love it Deepika, we imagine these lives and have so much more gratitude for our own.
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So beautifully said, Claire. Thank you. I am adding it to my list.
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I recall seeing quite a few positive mentions of this book on Twitter but very few reviews so it’s useful to see a more detailed account here. The use of the first person plural sounds very effective. I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever read a novel that uses this type of voice, but nothing springs to mind…
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I don’t think I have before either Jacqui, I’ve read a couple that use “you” but never “we”. I think it’s inspired and love that its literary genius was recognised as such in France. Another novella to add to the list!
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I loved this book, the collective narrative voice worked so well. Great review!
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Thanks Cathy, a special novella indeed, a wonderful tribute to a little known community of women.
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So rich . . . so moving . . .so personal and yet so sharp-eyed in the collective telling. I read ‘The Buddha in the Attic’ after attending a panel discussion in which Julie Otsuka participated a few years back. And I agree so much re: ‘the rhythmic chanting’ of the narrative.
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Wow, how fabulous to have heard her speak, that must have been special indeed Deborah, I enjoyed watching the video and listening to her talking about the inspiration that motivated her to share these stories and then the unique way in which she has done that, through the collective voice. Just wonderful.
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Enjoyed the review very much….question: What does the title mean?
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It’s a reference to all the things they had to leave behind, on a physical level, as in all their belongings when they became declared the enemy and sent away and perhaps also in reference to everything they left in terms of their history, heritage, family and cultural values.
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Sounds wonderful. I read When the Emperor was Divine some years ago – a beautifully powerful little book.
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I have that one on the shelf to read Ali, Buddha in the Attic I picked up from the library and decided to read first, I should be staying away from the library, but its such a fun outing!
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Oh yes love libraries 😊
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I might have to give this one a try, I didn’t particularly enjoy the only other book I’ve read by her.
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Oh did you read When The Emperor Was Divine? I have that one on the shelf, but read this one first.
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Yes! I couldn’t remember the name when I was responding. It’s not a bad book, but the writing was too simple for me. Maybe I just didn’t understand it.
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I have this one on my TBR list. The author is from my neck of the woods. Looking forward to reading, especially after reading your review.
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So muuch to read, so little time…….
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I mean ‘much’ obviously …..
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Oh this does sound like a unique read; I don’t think I’ve ever read a book narrated by we!
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I have this book geared up to read this year. I saw a review on it and found it terrifying. I’ve also read Hotel on the Corner of Bittersweet, which I found beautifully written and melancholic. Being cut off from one’s culture like that has to be a real battle that’s hard to fight. Am intrigued that the author uses “we”. Sounds extremely effective. I’ll have try some writing exercise out with that. This post is urging me to pick up The Buddha in the Attic sooner.
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