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In the 1980s, Geoffrey Ward and Ken Burns created what may be the most riveting and revolutionary documentary in television history, The Civil War. While many have tried to recapture this lightning in a bottle including Burns and Ward themselves they’ve never quite reached that compelling mix of conflict and human emotion. That will change this fall when PBS airs another Burns and Ward documentary about another war the Second World War. The War: An Intimate History, 1941-1945, is the companion volume to the series, and if words and pictures are any indication of what is to come, this could be another watershed cultural moment.

The two authors freely admit in the book’s introduction that an event like WWII is too big, too multifaceted, to even attempt anything like a comprehensive look. Instead, as they did with The Civil War, they present the big picture by focusing on the human element through the fates of four small towns: Luverne, Minnesota; Sacramento, California; Waterbury, Connecticut; and Mobile, Alabama. They weave in personal stories of people from those towns, the people they met, loved and married. The War tells us how raw recruits from the Midwest survived Normandy; how Japanese-Americans from West Coast detention camps formed one of the most decorated divisions in Italy; how East Coast kids lived through the hell of Bataan; how Southern shipbuilders got a taste of a future battle when blacks and whites had to work together. There’s the wistful tale of a young girl’s childhood in a Japanese prison camp in the Philippines, and the hair-raising story of a pilot who walked away from more than his share of crashes.

The War is lavishly illustrated, and the accounts of its survivors who are dying, the authors point out, at a rate of 1,000 a day bring a human perspective to an event almost incomprehensible in scope. If Ward and Burns can bring our nation’s all-too-often idle consciousness to bear on the true costs of war, we’ll all be better served.

Baby boomer James Neal Webb is proud of his father’s service in the Navy.

In the 1980s, Geoffrey Ward and Ken Burns created what may be the most riveting and revolutionary documentary in television history, The Civil War. While many have tried to recapture this lightning in a bottle including Burns and Ward themselves they've never quite reached that…
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<b>Heart of darkness: Lindbergh’s pursuit of immortality</b> The title of David M. Friedman’s new book is slightly misleading. Although <b>The Immortalists: Charles Lindbergh, Dr. Alexis Carrel, and Their Daring Quest to Live Forever</b> does cover the subject described, it also covers much more. It is the story of two famous men, their deep friendship, their brilliant work, their detestable philosophy and the earth-shattering event that changed one of them forever. Friedman must be lauded for turning an arcane medical subject into history both illuminating and affecting.

In 1930, the most famous man in the world, Charles A. Lindbergh, sought the advice of Nobel laureate Dr. Alexis Carrel. Lindbergh hoped Carrel would know how to repair a defective valve in his sister-in-law’s heart. The great physician, inventor of the technique for suturing blood vessels, could not help. But in that meeting a partnership was forged that produced advances in the study of living tissue and organs so profound that the most amazing medical procedures in use today organ transplant, repair and in-vitro growth are their direct medical descendants. Lindbergh and Carrel graced the cover of <i>Time</i> magazine in 1938 and lectured far and wide about the possibility of perpetually repairing human organs, effectively rendering death obsolete. It was a dream that, for a time, seemed perfectly reasonable.

Unfortunately, as Friedman states, the duo’s search for a biological path to immortality was not intended as a public health initiative. Carrel and Lindbergh were racists, and sought to conquer death not to advance all humanity, but to ensure the continued supremacy of white civilization. So when Adolf Hitler came to power in Germany, Lindbergh embraced the Nazi regime, dismissing their brutality as a passing aberration. His public advocacy for Hitler earned him scorn throughout the rest of Europe and the United States and caused a breach with the French-born Carrel, who feared German militarism. Friedman’s revelation of what happened to Carrel and Lindbergh during the subsequent global conflagration is the emotional heart of <b>The Immortalists</b>, in which he shows readers what can happen to men confronted by the logical extreme of their deeply held beliefs.

<b>Heart of darkness: Lindbergh's pursuit of immortality</b> The title of David M. Friedman's new book is slightly misleading. Although <b>The Immortalists: Charles Lindbergh, Dr. Alexis Carrel, and Their Daring Quest to Live Forever</b> does cover the subject described, it also covers much more. It is…

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The secret to a happy childhood is bonding, so the experts tell us. It stands to reason, then, that a key component of said happiness involves staying in one place long enough to establish friendships, community ties and a sense of belonging. By that measure, author Mike O’Connor had anything but a happy childhood. His earliest memories are of panic and despair at the prospect of being uprooted once again, to some unknown and likely unpleasant new home. His parents would never tell him the reasons for the quick getaways, giving only a falsely cheerful announcement that the family was embarking on an exciting new adventure.

The reality was significantly less appealing. His father would often disappear for weeks at a time, only to turn up unexpectedly, acting as if he’d never been away. Food was often scarce; promised funds routinely failed to appear. Early on, O’Connor began to realize that he was not privy to the whole story; his parents clearly held some secret that fueled their paranoia causing them to abandon houses, friends, even family pets as they dashed headlong into the night.

O’Connor went on to an illustrious career as an investigative journalist, first for CBS News, then for the New York Times and NPR. After his father died, he asked his mother the reason for their repeated flights. Her dismissive reply: Just a little trouble a long time ago. Nothing to talk about now. It was not until after his mother’s death that O’Connor embarked in earnest upon the search into his family history. What he found was chilling and unexpected, the legacy of a Cold War witch hunt involving the FBI, the INS and local law enforcement agencies from Massachusetts to Texas and beyond. Hampered by a family reluctant to give up its secrets, but aided by sympathetic ex-Feds and the Freedom of Information Act, O’Connor painstakingly unraveled the mysteries that shaped his early life. The result is a disturbing book for disturbing times, a look back at the McCarthy era and the unsettling parallels to be found in today’s politics, all at a very personal level.

 

The secret to a happy childhood is bonding, so the experts tell us. It stands to reason, then, that a key component of said happiness involves staying in one place long enough to establish friendships, community ties and a sense of belonging. By that…

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<b>Young doctor’s voice outlasts war</b> <b>Last Night I Dreamed of Peace</b> contains two remarkable stories. It is foremost the diary of Dang Thuy Tram, a young North Vietnamese doctor who chronicles her experiences caring for civilians and soldiers during the height of the Vietnam War. But almost as compelling is the tale of how the diary came to be published 35 years after Thuy’s death.

A gifted writer, Thuy eloquently describes her feelings and opinions on war and the destruction it leaves in its wake. She witnesses this firsthand as she treats the wounded from her mobile medical clinic in the jungle, and her diary entries reflect alternating moods of hope and despair about the war. She criticizes the Communist Party for its reluctance to accept her as a member because she is a woman. And she speaks of the sadness of unrequited love, with frequent references to her mysterious first love, a Viet Cong guerilla she calls M. Thuy made her final diary entry on June 20, 1970. I am no longer a child. I have grown up, she writes. But somehow at this moment, I yearn deeply for Mom’s caring hand. . . . Come to me, squeeze my hand, know my loneliness, and give me the love, the strength to prevail on the perilous road before me. Shortly after, Thuy, 27, died from a gunshot wound to the forehead during an American raid on her clinic. Thuy’s diary came to be published through an amazing series of events, described in detail in the book’s introduction. An American lawyer, Fred Whitehurst, was serving with a military detachment, assigned to comb through captured enemy documents and burn those with no military value. Holding Thuy’s cigarette packet-sized diary over a fire, Whitehurst was stopped by his interpreter, who said, Don’t burn this one, Fred. It has fire in it already. Whitehurst saved the diary and kept it in a file cabinet for more than three decades before returning it to Thuy’s family in Hanoi in 2005. Published first in Vietnam, the diary became a sensation. Now available in English, <b>Last Night I Dreamed of Peace</b> is enabling Americans to better understand the impact of the Vietnam War through the eyes of one extraordinary young woman. <i>John T. Slania is a journalism professor at Loyola University in Chicago.</i>

<b>Young doctor's voice outlasts war</b> <b>Last Night I Dreamed of Peace</b> contains two remarkable stories. It is foremost the diary of Dang Thuy Tram, a young North Vietnamese doctor who chronicles her experiences caring for civilians and soldiers during the height of the Vietnam War.…

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Even if the stories by female inmates in I’ll Fly Away weren’t searing, powerful and revealing, this would still be a book worth reading as a show of support for those who went through so much to produce it. Edited by novelist and accidental activist Wally Lamb, who teaches a writing workshop at the York Correctional Institution in Connecticut, this new collection came after state officials challenged a prior book, Couldn’t Keep It to Myself, in a protracted legal battle. Only Lamb’s persistence and a public outcry enabled the prisoners to prevail and begin telling their stories once again. As the title suggests, Lamb hopes that writing gives the women wings to hover about the confounding maze of their lives and find a way past the dead ends.

Even if the stories by female inmates in I'll Fly Away weren't searing, powerful and revealing, this would still be a book worth reading as a show of support for those who went through so much to produce it. Edited by novelist and accidental activist…
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They were humble men, laborers who came to the United States in search of its streets of gold. Instead Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti found living hard, while dreaming of a land of no bosses, no police, no judges. In August 1927, they were executed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for the murders of a paymaster and guard committed in the course of a robbery seven years earlier.

Shortly before this crime, the nation had reeled under the onslaught of homegrown terrorism as self-proclaimed anarchists sent bombs through the mail or lobbed them into the homes of high public officials. Were the two men victims of public outrage against those horrors? Of prejudice toward immigrants and anarchists? Did they die because of incompetent defense in their original trial, and resilient but exhausted counsel on appeal? Did a prejudiced judge, a nimble prosecutor and a hidebound judicial system send them to the electric chair? Who can believe that these men, who wrote such moving prison memoirs, could be murderers? And what about the discrepancies in the trial testimony, the recantations of some witnesses and a much more plausible set of thieves it was a robbery for money the Morelli gang? On the other hand, Sacco and Vanzetti shared the convictions of bombers who blew up people. Both men were armed when arrested. They lied at their first interrogation. And an honest jury convicted them of the murders. Numerous appeals upheld those convictions.

In his latest book, Sacco and Vanzetti: The Men, The Murders, and the Judgment of Mankind, Bruce Watson follows the case as it traverses the decade when American culture descended into frivolity. While the world danced the Charleston, Sacco and Vanzetti became totems for the Communists, the aged Progressives, the university intellectuals whose clamor only prolonged the years they waited to die.

Watson, a journalist, plumbed the primary sources, including the trial transcripts, during his research for Sacco and Vanzetti. He has gone back to the old polemical arguments that have raged for 80 years and evaluated them in an eloquent epilogue.

His verdict on this complex case Not proved ought to settle it, but that seems unlikely.

They were humble men, laborers who came to the United States in search of its streets of gold. Instead Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti found living hard, while dreaming of a land of no bosses, no police, no judges. In August 1927, they were…
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Despite the passage of 300 years, things do not seem to have changed much in the land of Don Quixote at least according to author Andromeda Romano-Lax. In her extraordinary, gripping debut novel, The Spanish Bow, impractical idealism appears once again to lose the eternal battle against the evil forces of the world. This time that idealism takes the form of the glorious cello music of Feliu Delargo, Romano-Lax’s omniscient narrator (modeled loosely on Pablo Casals). Delargo is born in 1892 with a lame leg and a heavenly talent that only grows as he journeys haltingly from a Catalan country town to the artistic capitals of the world. Along the way, he encounters all the trappings of 20th-century power, from the feckless Spanish monarchy to the despotic regime of Francisco Franco. Tapping memories of his convoluted relationship with world-class pianist and composer Al-Cerraz, and a shyly undeveloped romance with Aviva, a lovely violinist with a shadowed past, Delargo tells the story of his rise to international fame. In the end, a sacrificial rejection of both music and renown is the only way he can protest the cruelties of the world.

All this sounds very serious, and, in effect, it is. Nevertheless, Romano-Lax, herself an amateur cellist and a journalist, includes some human twists that enliven the plot. Furthermore, she allows Delargo an ironic, sometimes even comic voice here, a personal Punch and Judy show; there, an almost foot-in-mouth vignette of a meeting with (real-life) composer Manuel de Falla. Indeed, encounters with actual world players, like Picasso, Adolf Hitler, Franco, Kurt Weill and others, constitute a special feature of this many-favored book. Another is the author’s obvious love for Spain and its colorful cities, which are unforgettably detailed, as in this passage about Grenada, where Al-Cerraz and Delargo play a concert of Bach and Haydn . . . marble music in a city of carved wood and flowing water. In the end, The Spanish Bow suggests that fighting the manifest evil in the world can be even more damaging than tilting at windmills. And yet, and yet there always remains the message and nobility of opposition in itself.

Despite the passage of 300 years, things do not seem to have changed much in the land of Don Quixote at least according to author Andromeda Romano-Lax. In her extraordinary, gripping debut novel, The Spanish Bow, impractical idealism appears once again to lose the…
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Toloki, the professional mourner at the heart of South African writer Zakes Mda’s acclaimed Ways of Dying finds himself in Ohio on Halloween, just before the 2004 presidential election, in Mda’s new novel Cion. On the street in the middle of a Halloween parade, he’s befriended by Obed Quigley, a man in his late 20s dressed up as a fugitive slave. The Quigleys take Toloki in, and he learns of their mixed heritage white, black and American Indian which Obed uses and alters each time he comes up with a new scheme to make money, whether opening a casino or attempting to tell the future. As Toloki becomes more involved with the family, he hears the Quigley story from its beginnings on a slave-breeding farm in Virginia. Two brothers, Nicodemus and Abednego, form the base of the twisted Quigley family tree, and the book alternates between Toloki’s story and theirs, as they make their escape to freedom across the Ohio River. The two are guided by quilts made by their mother, filled with codes about how best to escape. Ruth, the family’s modern-day matriarch, honors that legacy by making traditional quilts, and clashes with her daughter, Orpah, who seeks to make art in her own way. In the meantime, Toloki falls in love with Orpah and the strange music she makes playing bluegrass on her sitar. Ruth keeps quilting and growing vegetables in the yard, while her husband, Mahlon, grows nothing but gnomes and American flags in his garden spot. All the while, readers are enchanted by the stories held in ghost trees, quilts and graves, illustrating the power and persistence of memory even in the modern world.

This vivid and lyric novel Mda’s first set in America boldly illustrates the cruelty of slavery and the promise of freedom, the power of history even invented history to hold sway in the present, and the confusion and frustration that are so often present in America today.

Toloki, the professional mourner at the heart of South African writer Zakes Mda's acclaimed Ways of Dying finds himself in Ohio on Halloween, just before the 2004 presidential election, in Mda's new novel Cion. On the street in the middle of a Halloween parade, he's…
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Fellow Hoosiers, take heart. Once again, Haven Kimmel lifts us from the obscurity of the cornfield in the third and final book of her Indiana-based trilogy, The Used World. Kimmel spins the stories of three small-town women in different stages of life. Rebekah and Claudia are employed by Hazel Hunnicutt in her Used World Emporium, where once-cherished objects wait to be appreciated, purchased and taken home. Like the antiques, and for various reasons, these once-cherished women also wait for reclamation. Kimmel tells her readers, The Used World was, after all, nothing but the past unfolding into an ideal home. With fondness and perception, Kimmel draws on her own autobiography (chronicled in the memoirs A Girl Named Zippy and She Got Up Off the Couch) to depict Jonah, Indiana, where farmers, chubby mommies, drug addicts, diner waitresses, retired Chrysler workers and ghosts, both real and imagined, are part of the tale. Kimmel recognizes us, the inhabitants of east-central Indiana. She dusts us off, using language to lift us from mundane to miraculous, from foolish to philosophical. Layering past with present, Kimmel interweaves each woman’s history with her current situation. But what is really a person’s story when the details are dependent on perspective? Must we be resigned to life as the sum of our parts? Can we change our perspective our used world and become more? Hazel points out to Claudia, regarding Claudia’s recollections of her mother, You’re just telling a story called Ludie. You’ve made up a character who stands in a spot and fulfills certain needs and is rounded by your perfect imagination of her. Read The Used World to enjoy Kimmel’s gift for poetic description. Those looking for a can’t-put-it-down story will find it here. Belly laughs and thought-provoking situations also abound. With Haven Kimmel, one size fits all. Jodi Hakes-Smith resides in eastern Indiana, where this novel takes place.

Fellow Hoosiers, take heart. Once again, Haven Kimmel lifts us from the obscurity of the cornfield in the third and final book of her Indiana-based trilogy, The Used World. Kimmel spins the stories of three small-town women in different stages of life. Rebekah and Claudia…
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In The Assassin’s Song, M.G. Vassanji has created a stunning portrait of a man struggling with the burdens and the joys of filial and religious obligation. It is the mid-1960s in northern India, and Karsan Dargawalla is destined to succeed his father as the avatar of Pirbaag, the shrine of a 13th-century Sufi mystic. Hoping for a regular life unencumbered by spiritual demands, Karsan secretly applies to colleges in America. He is accepted by Harvard and moves to Cambridge, leaving his family bewildered and broken-hearted by his choice. He pursues an academic career, marries and settles in Canada, but as the years pass, he can never quite escape the pull of his religious duties and the shame of his father’s disappointment. After personal misfortune, Karsan becomes disturbed by news of increasing religious violence near the shrine and returns to India to discover what, if anything, remains for him there. The complexities of Karsan’s spiritual and emotional life play out against India’s religious and political tensions of the last four decades. Though Sufism is a Muslim tradition, the shrine under the Dargawalla’s care is a place of worship for both Hindus and Muslims. Karsan was raised in an atmosphere of religious tolerance, and this acceptance provided the Dargawallas temporary protection from the violent Nationalist outbreaks in their village. By the early 21st century, however, the shrine is no longer safe from religious rioting. Karsan returns to India to find the shrine destroyed and his younger brother, now a practicing Muslim, wanted for questioning by the police. As Karsan learns more about the family he left behind as a teenager, he begins to piece together a life for himself among the shards of the fractured sanctuary and come to terms with his own existence. Born in Tanzania to Indian parents and currently living in Toronto, Vassanji is the author of five previous books and has twice won Canada’s prestigious Giller Prize. The Assassin’s Song, which beautifully renders the struggle between the spiritual and the secular with nuance and skill, is bound to broaden his readership and bring him increased critical attention.

In The Assassin's Song, M.G. Vassanji has created a stunning portrait of a man struggling with the burdens and the joys of filial and religious obligation. It is the mid-1960s in northern India, and Karsan Dargawalla is destined to succeed his father as the…
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Every social sphere contains a few of those charmed and golden elite who seem to be forever sun-kissed and flashing white-toothed smiles. The few for whom, from a distance, life appears to be unfathomably perfect. And, however fleetingly, it is tempting to daydream about becoming one of them. But what is the price of such social royalty? In The Night Climbers, recent Cambridge graduate Ivo Stourton’s debut novel, the answer is simple: &andpound;1 million.

Early on in his freshman year at Cambridge, James Walker makes a critical distinction: my world fell into two hemispheres like a neatly halved melon. . . . Those who were talked about and those who were not. Plagued by an overly acute sense of self-awareness, he seems fated to fade into the background until his key to the social elite literally climbs through his bedroom window and opens the door to the world of the beautiful and the rich. Once he enters, his starry-eyed imaginings are realized: secret societies, cocaine-fuelled galas, free-flowing champagne, fox hunts on country estates . . . and late night climbs up facades of the ancient architecture at Cambridge. Intoxicated by the energy and drama unique to the wealthy, beautiful and brilliant, James revels in his newly earned social cachet. More than eager to maintain his good standing, he becomes immersed in their world and, ultimately, an essential addition to their clique. The price of such inclusion, however, isn’t fully apparent until years later when, echoing that fortuitous window entrance years ago, a friend from his past walks through his doorway and threatens to shatter everything.

The pace of The Night Climbers is quick, electric and endlessly engaging. Despite a few missteps that present momentary hiccups in an otherwise compelling story, Stourton knowingly encapsulates the world of the privileged, the devastatingly pretty and the eternally youthful. With it, he presents both the hubris that leads to their downfall and the magnetism that allows others to willfully leap after them. Meredith McGuire writes from San Francisco.

Every social sphere contains a few of those charmed and golden elite who seem to be forever sun-kissed and flashing white-toothed smiles. The few for whom, from a distance, life appears to be unfathomably perfect. And, however fleetingly, it is tempting to daydream about becoming…
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Like Rashomon on Red Bull no, make that steroids ex-lawyer Rudolph Delson’s debut novel, Maynard &andamp; Jennica, scrutinizes a New York City love affair from nearly three dozen points of view, including those of dead relatives, a macaw and a subway emergency brake. Presumably the kitchen sink had no particular insight.

Maynard Gogarty is a self-described failed celibate who hasn’t had much greater success either as a composer or cinema vŽritŽ filmmaker. He’s married (for visa purposes only) to a Russian-Israeli bunco artist who attempts to cash in on the 9/11 attacks by declaring herself dead. Jennica Green is a transplanted California dynamo who has compulsively broken down her ’90s relationships into a mathematical table that reveals she was lonely 68.53 percent of the decade. If that isn’t a recipe for kismet, what is? Maynard and Jennica first lay eyes upon one another on the downtown No. 6 train (one of the backdrops for Maynard’s film commentary on contemporary fashion, Unseemly), but it’s at the post-screening Q&andamp;A of said film that their spark ignites. The gift of a Maine Coon cat launches their romance, and also their first argument. If we call him Mumpus instead of Marcel, asks Jennica, can we call you Arnie instead of Maynard? A horrified Maynard rejoins, Gah! If we call me Arnie, can I take off your bra? And in that moment, just as when Woody Allen declined Paul Simon’s invitation to a party in Annie Hall, we know the relationship’s timer has been set, and it’s all countdown from here. But the excursion (and discursions) on the way to the inevitable crash are highly entertaining, as these two, complex and vivid characters attempt to negotiate the rocky shoals of love while half the Western world looks on . . . and comments.

The book has already been optioned by Scott Rudin (The Truman Show, The Queen) for film, so if your attention span is sufficiently short as to be distracted by the dizzying narrative structure, don’t be surprised if Maynard &andamp; Jennica shows up at your local cineplex before you have all its cast sorted out. Thane Tierney found his true love in an equally unlikely manner on the telephone.

Like Rashomon on Red Bull no, make that steroids ex-lawyer Rudolph Delson's debut novel, Maynard &andamp; Jennica, scrutinizes a New York City love affair from nearly three dozen points of view, including those of dead relatives, a macaw and a subway emergency brake. Presumably the…
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I hadn’t read too many chapters of Gail Tsukiyama’s beautiful and fascinating novel about a Japanese family before, during and after World War II when I began to wonder how I had missed her five previous novels. Tsukiyama is a lovely storyteller; in The Street of a Thousand Blossoms she handles multiple perspectives with ease, and she quickly makes the reader part of the world she has created.

Hiroshi and Kenji live with their maternal grandparents on the Street of a Thousand Blossoms in Tokyo. Hiroshi was three and Kenji only 18 months old when their parents drowned in a boating accident, a story their grandmother regularly recounts to Hiroshi, her voice rising and falling like waves, lapping slowly to the shore almost in a whisper as she came to the end. Kenji, though, cannot stand to listen. Despite their loss the boys have a happy and secure life. Their grandfather is a dreamer who built a watchtower onto his house to observe the life around us ; he and his wife have a loving marriage. Hiroshi, like his grandfather, is a great fan of sumo wrestling and has the talent to be one.

Kenji, a sensitive boy, finds a feeling of endless possibilities as he observes craftsmen at work, and eventually apprentices with a master Noh mask-maker.

As Hiroshi and Kenji forge ahead in their chosen careers, they give readers glimpses into special areas of Japanese culture. The novel spans 27 years and has an epic feel. There are many individual losses, most of them foreshadowed with a sense of inevitability which makes them no less sad or moving but keeps the reader from feeling pummeled by their number. The only real quibble is that Tsukiyama’s skilled writing leaves the reader wanting more especially when it comes to her depictions of pre-war Japan. Joanne Collings writes from Washington, D.C.

I hadn't read too many chapters of Gail Tsukiyama's beautiful and fascinating novel about a Japanese family before, during and after World War II when I began to wonder how I had missed her five previous novels. Tsukiyama is a lovely storyteller; in The Street…

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