Oh, I haven't so agonized over a review in such a long time.
Here's the thing. There is a part of me that wondered, "If this wasn't Isabel Allende, would this book ever have been published?" It's pages and pages and pages of exposition. A held-at-arm's-distance recitation of characters' histories, loves, lives, and losses, interspersed with patinated scenes of an assisted living center for geriatric WASP hippies in the woods a comfortable, but convenient, distance from San Francisco. There's little of the jagged edge, the edge of the cliff, the wild tear of passion, that so made me fall in love with Allende's writing twenty-plus years ago. I wondered about all the books by authors who write from raw and dangerous places that publishers might pass by for the sure sale of another Allende.
But. But. What held me to the sofa on a stormy near-winter's day, unable to set this aside until the end? Okay, so I had a fever, I was exhausted, I need to rest my body and my brain. I needed desperately to be swept away and The Japanese Lover was just what the doctor would have ordered. Had I sought a medical opinion, that is. This is comfort food, literary warm rice pudding, soothing, rich, sentimental.
Alma Belasco and Irina Bazili are both immigrants to the United States, but they arrived generations and tragedies apart. Alma was sent as a young girl to live out World War II with wealthy relatives, escaping the decimation of her native Poland and eradication of her family by Nazi Germany. Decades later, pre-teen Irina lands in Texas from Moldova, finally reunited with a mother who'd escaped sexual slavery in Turkey. Whereas Alma lives a silver-spoon life in a mansion overlooking San Francisco Bay, Irina's formative years are a horror show, a secret revealed deep into the book's narrative.
The two women find each other at Lark House, a retirement center and assisted living community for the patchouli-and-pranayama set. Irina is hired as a caregiver and after proving herself to be a model of patience and discretion, Alma hires her as a personal assistant. It is then, through the gentle prodding of Alma's grandson, Seth, who develops a patronizing crush on Irina, that the story of Alma's "Japanese Lover" takes shape.
Reading this novel, which is built around the flashback love story of Alma and Ichimei, the son of her uncle's gardener, at a time when Donald Trump is proclaiming we must refuse entry to Muslims and register those already on American soil, was heartrending. The novel wakes up and shake off its velvet glove when Allende takes us into the concentration camps where Americans of Japanese origin were held captive during the war.
Aging is naturally a significant theme in The Japanese Lover, presented with tenderness, humor, and grace. Clearly, Allende herself is grappling with the indignities of aging, the physical and emotional losses, the abandonment of ability, mind, friends and family, but she offers models of the elderly living with determination and vibrancy, albeit enormous privilege.
The Japanese Lover is a big-hearted, adorable, poignant read, filled with lovely images and vital themes. Three-and-a-half stars rounded up to four because life is too short to quibble.