Leslie Shimotakahara is an award-winning author of three novels and a memoir, as well as numerous short fiction and essays. She won the Canada-Japan Literary Prize (2012) and has been shortlisted for the K.M. Hunter Artist Award. Her writing has appeared in the National Post, World Literature Today, and other anthologies and periodicals. She holds a PhD in English from Brown University, and lives in Toronto with her husband.
The Breakwater by Leslie Shimotakahara is one of those novels that stays with you long after the final page. I really enjoyed this book and found it deeply moving, beautifully written, and impossible to put down. The author does an excellent job of weaving together family history, memory, and emotional tension in a way that feels both intimate and powerful.
As a big reader of Canadian history—especially during the war years—this book resonated with me on a profound level. While it’s not a traditional war novel, it carries the emotional weight of a nation shaped by conflict, including the painful legacy of the forced uprooting of over 22,000 Japanese Canadians during World War II. After Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, the Canadian government used the War Measures Act to evacuate Japanese Canadians from the BC coast to remote internment camps in the interior and even to farms in Alberta, Manitoba, and Ontario. More than half were Canadian-born citizens (Nisei), and none were ever charged with disloyalty.
Their properties—homes, farms, fishing boats, businesses—were confiscated and sold without consent, often at far below market value, and the money was used to pay for their own incarceration. Japanese Canadians weren’t allowed to return to the coast until 1949, and nearly 4,000 were forcibly deported to Japan, many of whom had never even been there. This was one of the worst human rights violations in Canadian history, and the government didn’t formally apologize and offer redress until 1988.
The Breakwater captures this intergenerational trauma beautifully. The themes of loss, displacement, resilience, and memory echo the Japanese Canadian experience—the way the past lives on in the present, shaping families across generations. The writing is thoughtful and elegant, and the emotional weight builds steadily without ever feeling forced.
This was definitely one of my favourites, and I’d recommend it to readers who enjoy literary fiction with depth, heart, and a strong sense of place—especially those who love Canadian history and stories about how war and injustice shape families across generations. Leslie Shimotakahara has a real gift for storytelling, and The Breakwater is a beautiful example of that talent.
TL;DR: The Breakwater is a compelling glimpse into Japanese-Canadian life during the 1930s and WWII. While it excels at dissecting the internal conflicts of a man caught between duty and guilt, it falls just short of perfection due to a somewhat one-dimensional rival.
Review: Leslie Shimotakahara draws inspiration from a haunting childhood memory — visiting an asylum — to craft the landscape of The Breakwater. The narrative centers on two Japanese-Canadian brothers: Yas, the elder, who shouldered the heavy mantle of family responsibility, and Stum, the rebellious younger brother who rejected expectations. Estranged since the outbreak of World War II, the two were forced into an uneasy reunion decades later following Stum’s terminal cancer diagnosis.
Shimotakahara skillfully maneuvers through multiple perspectives — Yas, Stum, and Yas’s daughter, Cathy — while weaving together past and present. This structure provides a window into the 1930s Japanese-Canadian experience and the internment camps. The author’s greatest achievement is the characterization of Yas; he is beautifully complex, constantly oscillating between pride and guilt, ego and insecurity.
However, the brotherly dynamic feels slightly unbalanced. In contrast to Yas’s rich inner life, Stum feels relatively single-minded. He harbors few regrets and remains unwavering in his conviction that Yas is at fault for their rift. It feels like a missed opportunity; had Stum been given more internal nuance or moral ambiguity, their confrontation would have carried even more weight.
I absolutely adored Leslie Shimotakahara’s The Breakwater. It’s a quietly stunning novel, one that lingers long after the final page. Shimotakahara’s language is strikingly elegant, each word carefully chosen and each sentence skillfully shaped to evoke mood and place with remarkable precision. Scenes unfold with such clarity that you don’t just read them - you feel like you are living them.
What makes The Breakwater especially powerful is how seamlessly it overlays a deeply troubling and overlooked chapter of Canadian history - the internment of Japanese Canadians during WWII - onto a compelling modern-day family narrative. Shimotakahara handles this dual timeline with incredible nuance and control, allowing the past and present to echo one another in a way that feel both intimate and profound.
The emotional core of the story is anchored in complex family dynamics, rendered with incredible sensitivity and depth. Relationships feel real, layered, and at times unsettling, mirroring the unresolved tensions of history itself.
It is extraordinarily clear that the research that has gone into this novel is deep and comprehensive, with historical details interwoven throughout. The Breakwater is unique, immersive, and ultimately masterful. It’s a novel that demonstrates literary brilliance, emotional intelligence along with a dedication to telling a story most of us don’t know, but should.
The Breakwater is a multigenerational story about family division and the secrets that follow when shame directs our actions. Shimotakahara writes about a Japanese-Canadian family still facing the many wounds left by the Japanese internment during the second world war, combined with other family trauma. Truths are hidden from later generations, and as time begins to run out for reconciliation with an estranged relative, secrets begin to come to light. Through beautiful prose and remarkable imagery, Shimotakahara explores what it means when ties are broken, and when we choose not to be truthful even with ourselves.