The Translation of Love

Zusatztext Remarkable! beautiful. . . . A haunting mystery that is also a moving coming-of-age story. Chris Bohjalian! New York Times bestselling author of The Guest Room and Close Your Eyes! Hold Hands [Kutsukake] conjures the voices of [an] agonized time with graceful simplicity. The New York Times Book Review A spellbinding! magnificent story. . . . Thoughtful and discerning! The Translation of Love presents resonating testimony to humanity's resilience. The Christian Science Monitor Dazzling. . . . A commanding story about identity! redemption! and healing that's not to be missed. Bustle Mesmerizing. . . . Moving from the gorgeously epic to the unflinchingly intimate! The Translation of Love takes us to the emotional core of Occupied Japan. It captures the strange! liminal time between destruction and recovery! and the uttermost vulnerability of those carrying on in the rubble of uncertainty and loss. Kyo Maclear! author of The Letter Opener Kutsukake skillfully weaves [her] characters' varied perspectives together to create a vivid and memorable account of ordinary people struggling to recover from the devastations of war. Booklist (starred review) A bold! beautiful book. . . . Kutsukake's remarkable debut spans the emotional terrain between identity and loyalty! love and loss! victory and defeat. Brian Payton! author of The Wind Is Not a River Stunning. Library Journal The Translation of Love offers rich insights into an underreported period in history. The Globe and Mail (Toronto) Eloquent! moving. . . . A heady blend of detailed historical research and compelling storytelling. The Japan Times An elegantly crafted reminder that no one is left untouched by the ripple effects of war and that our quests for outside truths can often lead us to secrets we've been keeping from ourselves. Sarah Bird! author of Above the East China Sea [A] moving debut. . . . A memorable story of hope and loneliness. Publishers Weekly Informationen zum Autor Lynne Kutsukake Klappentext Against the backdrop of occupied Tokyo! a young girl searches for her missing older sister! who has disappeared into the world of bars and dance halls. In the process! her story will become intertwined with those of others trying to make sense of their lives in a post-war world: a thirteen-year-old Japanese Canadian "repat!" a school teacher who translates love letters from American GIs! and a Japanese-American soldier serving with the Occupation forces. An emotionally gripping portrait of a battered nation! The Translation of Love mines this turbulent period to show how war irrevocably shapes the lives of people on both sides-and how resilience! friendship! and love translate across cultures and borders no matter the circumstances. Winner of the Canada-Japan Literary Award Tokyo, 1947 The car is in a parade all by itself. Traffic must stop whenever the boy's father travels, so the road is completely empty. Crowds line the street to watch them. Normally the boy is not allowed to ride in the big Cadillac, the special car reserved for work, but today is special. Today the boy is in the parade, too. It is a short ride to GHQ, General Headquarters, the office from which his father rules Japan. Look at all the people! The boy raises his finger to the car window. He sees a tiny old woman in a gray kimono, a sunburned man in a white shirt and black pants, a mother with a baby strapped to her back. Arthur, don't point. The voice is firm but not harsh. Even when it reprimands him, it is the voice he loves. Yes, Father, he murmurs and steals a glance at...

Autorentext

Lynne Kutsukake

Klappentext

Against the backdrop of occupied Tokyo, a young girl searches for her missing older sister, who has disappeared into the world of bars and dance halls. In the process, her story will become intertwined with those of others trying to make sense of their lives in a post-war world: a thirteen-year-old Japanese Canadian "repat," a school teacher who translates love letters from American GIs, and a Japanese-American soldier serving with the Occupation forces. An emotionally gripping portrait of a battered nation, The Translation of Love mines this turbulent period to show how war irrevocably shapes the lives of people on both sides-and how resilience, friendship, and love translate across cultures and borders no matter the circumstances.

Winner of the Canada-Japan Literary Award

Leseprobe
Tokyo, 1947
The car is in a parade all by itself. Traffic must stop whenever the boy’s father travels, so the road is completely empty. Crowds line the street to watch them. Normally the boy is not allowed to ride in the big Cadillac, the special car reserved for work, but today is special. Today the boy is in the parade, too.
 
It is a short ride to GHQ, General Headquarters, the office from which his father rules Japan.
 
“Look at all the people!” The boy raises his finger to the car window. He sees a tiny old woman in a gray kimono, a sunburned man in a white shirt and black pants, a mother with a baby strapped to her back.
 
“Arthur, don’t point.”
 
The voice is firm but not harsh. Even when it reprimands him, it is the voice he loves. “Yes, Father,” he murmurs and steals a glance at the figure seated beside him in the backseat. His father has not turned his head once since they got into the car, not toward the boy or toward the crowds.
 
“Your mother explained about the photographers, didn’t she?”
 
“Yes, sir.” He will have his picture taken with his father, and it will appear in all the newspapers and magazines in America.
 
“You’re not nervous are you, Sergeant?”
 
“No, Father.”
 
“That’s right. Nothing to be nervous about. Just a few photos. You should be yourself. Act natural.”
 
“Yes, Father.”
 
“When we’re finished, your mother will meet you and take you to the PX. The photographers may want to take more pictures of you. Maybe your mother will get you one of those special hamburgers. Would you like that?”
 
His father’s mouth takes the shape of a smile, but the boy cannot see his eyes. The dark lenses of the sunglasses reveal nothing.
 
Up ahead, the boy spots two girls lining the route. He can’t help noticing other children, especially if they look at all close to his own age. Suddenly one of the girls breaks from the crowd and dashes onto the road. She is heading straight for them, as if she means to run directly in front of the car’s path. There is shouting, loud cries in an unintelligible language.
 
The girl is close to the car now, close enough for the boy to see her eyes. She is staring right at him, locking her wild gaze on him, and he finds he cannot turn away. Then as abruptly as it started, it is all over. A Japanese policeman grabs her and her body snaps backward as if she has reached the end of an elastic band. The boy cranes his neck to see what is happening. He wants to turn around and look out the back window, but he doesn’t dare. He wants to tell his father what he has seen, to share this extraordinary thing that has happened on this extraordinary day, but General MacArthur is chewing on the end of his pipe, deep in important and private thought.
 
 
1
Ever since her sister had gone away, Fumi looked forward to the democracy lunches with a special, ravenous hunger. The American soldiers came to her school once a week with deliveries, and though she never knew what they would bring, it didn’t matter. She wanted it all, whatever it was. Sometimes it was powdered milk and soft white bread as fluffy as cake. S…