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How We Disappeared
A beautiful, stunningly ambitious tale of endurance, identity, and memory, for fans of Min Jin Lee's Pachinko and Georgia Hunter's We Were the Lucky Ones.
Singapore, 1942. As Japanese troops sweep down Malaysia and into Singapore, a village is ransacked. Only three survivors remain, one of them a tiny child.
In a neighbouring village, seventeen-year-old Wang Di is bundled into the back of a troop carrier and shipped off to a Japanese military rape camp. In the year 2000, her mind is still haunted by her experiences there, but she has long been silent about her memories of that time. It takes twelve-year-old Kevin, and the mumbled confession he overhears from his ailing grandmother, to set in motion a journey into the unknown to discover the truth.
Weaving together two timelines and two life-changing secrets, How We Disappeared is an evocative, profoundly moving and utterly dazzling novel heralding the arrival of a new literary star.
Singapore, 1942. As Japanese troops sweep down Malaysia and into Singapore, a village is ransacked. Only three survivors remain, one of them a tiny child.
In a neighbouring village, seventeen-year-old Wang Di is bundled into the back of a troop carrier and shipped off to a Japanese military rape camp. In the year 2000, her mind is still haunted by her experiences there, but she has long been silent about her memories of that time. It takes twelve-year-old Kevin, and the mumbled confession he overhears from his ailing grandmother, to set in motion a journey into the unknown to discover the truth.
Weaving together two timelines and two life-changing secrets, How We Disappeared is an evocative, profoundly moving and utterly dazzling novel heralding the arrival of a new literary star.
352 pages, Hardcover
First published April 4, 2019
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26044 people want to read
About the author
Jing-Jing Lee
9 books307 followersJing-Jing Lee is the author of HOW WE DISAPPEARED (Oneworld and Hanover Square Press, May 2019). Born and raised in Singapore, she graduated from Oxford’s Creative Writing Master’s in 2011 and has since seen her poetry and short stories published in various journals and anthologies. Lee's novella, If I Could Tell You, was published by Marshall Cavendish in 2013 and her debut poetry collection, And Other Rivers, was published by Math Paper Press in 2015.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,406 reviews
May 29, 2019
They were called “comfort women”, a soft description meant to make what was done by the Japanese soldiers to these young girls and women from Korea and this case Singapore, to make it sound less threatening, less horrific. But what they endured was horrific - the rapes and sexual abuse, slavery, locked in rooms, given little food. This is another story that’s difficult to read, but an important one as a theme of the novel reflects - the stories must be told. I didn’t really know anything about what happened in Singapore during WWII so I found here yet another piece of that historical time. It’s not just about the awful things that happened to young girls and women when they were taken away from their homes and families, but also about what happened to the people of Singapore as they were bombed and lost their homes, their families or their lives. It’s about keeping the story of the past a secret from every one, including your loved ones because of your shame for doing things that were not your choice, for fear of being disowned. It about the importance of telling those stories.
The dual time line of Wand Di’s narrative is a story of her past, one that she was not been able to tell even her husband of many years before he dies and her present day struggling to deal with not having told him and wanting to know the secrets of his past as well. A second narrative in the present day is that of twelve year old Kevin who is visually impaired, bullied and trying to follow through with a promise to his grandmother on her deathbed. This was perhaps a little slow at times, but overall it was compelling as I waited to see how Kevin and Wand Di’s paths would cross. Heartbreaking in many ways, but a satisfying ending of to important story.
I received an advanced copy of this book from HARLEQUIN/Hanover Square Press through NetGalley.
August 28, 2022
This book follows the twelve-year-old Kevin's zealous journey to discern the truth about his grandmother Wang Di. Kevin is trying to discover what happened to his grandmother during 1942 when the Japanese troops rummaged Singapore. Wang Di was unfortunately shipped to the military rape camp in Japan. She sacrificed her sacrilegious concept of family for her own family. But did it go in vain? This book will give you the answer.
What I learned from this book
1) We can overcome any sufferings if we have the will power
Wang Di was so taciturn about the sufferings she had to go through in the military camp. The war pushed a sanguine young lady into the perils of mental strife. The military subjugated all the young ladies in the camp, and they were treated in a servile manner. By her sheer temerity and unremitting nature, she was able to survive all the wanton acts in the camp.
“Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners."
― William Shakespeare, Othello”
2) Motherhood
This book deals with motherhood in-depth and how motherhood changes a woman.
"About two years later, we had a child, a boy. Suddenly there was someone to take care of. It made me feel different. Less of a person and more because here was part of me in that little boy, but I was more because I had real responsibilities now. I helped create a human being”
3) Sometimes words by the people we love can be more painful than any other suffering
It is difficult to tell what was more painful to Wang Di. Was it the sufferings she had to face in the military camp or the words said by her mother and her family? It is true that some words told by our loved ones and the emotional pain caused by it will be more painful than any physical pain. She thought she was doing it for her family, while the family considered her a disgrace because of the same reason.
"And then, after the horror during what was supposed to be her best years, how her mother's words, the shame foisted on her by herself, her family, and everyone around her, had dictated the silence that shadowed her every move after the war."
My favourite three lines from this book
“Sometimes all you had to do to get someone to talk was to be silent”
“Did I do it myself? Was it all me? I was left to wonder what I had been doing then?”
“After that night my father disappeared a little more. That was when I learned that it is possible to disappear and still be there. That it is possible to disappear further than he had, to be emptier than empty, blacker than black. It took him half a year to come back again, and when he did, he acted as if it never happened, just came back home one day and told us that he found a new job. ”
What could have been better?
I wish that Kevin's character had a little more depth.
Rating
4/5 If you liked the book Pachinko, this would be a good choice to pick. Jing-Jing Lee's succinct yet sublime writing style will give us a transcending reading experience. The verisimilitude of Wang Di's story will vex you for many days after finishing this book.
April 2, 2019
The book cover is gorgeous.....
Yet the history was brutal.
The Japanese occupation in Singapore in WWII took place from 1942 to 1945.
The history often is forgotten - and some prefer it that way. Especially the Japanese government.
The Japanese Military was horrendous and shameless.
Most Americans are educated about Pearl Harbor - yet are less familiar with the horrors of what the Japanese military did - and to the extent that women suffered.
What really got to me was the ‘shame’ the women and ‘girls’ felt about themselves....for being forced into sexual slavery.
It kills me - as in so sad - when victims internalize their trauma by blaming themselves with inner critical abusive thoughts.... and other self inflicting punishment.
I never fully understand why humans do that.... but if I’m honest - I’ve been guilty as well.
The years of torture begins to weigh too heavily....often leading to feelings of unworthiness. That’s were the shame comes in: HEARTBREAKING!!!
The term ‘comfort women’ has always bothered me.
This is not my first time hearing this label.
I find it degrading to continue using the term ‘comfort women’, at all!!!!
Let the label *disappear*.
Wang Di was 16 years old when she was abducted from her home by the Japanese military.
The devastation of things she endured- were unspeakable.
The storytelling includes not only the teenage years for Wang Di.... but as an elderly woman - after years of marriage grieving her dying husband.
The other part of the story focuses on a young boy name Kevin. He learns secrets that his grandmother had been keeping that were also ‘unspeakable’.
I’ve read other books about this history - and any book that opens awareness to the importance of these atrocities- is a worthy read.
The crafting of the writing is not without flaws - but the heart of this story itself flawless.
Thank you Harlequin Trade Publishing, Netgalley, and Jing-Jing.
Yet the history was brutal.
The Japanese occupation in Singapore in WWII took place from 1942 to 1945.
The history often is forgotten - and some prefer it that way. Especially the Japanese government.
The Japanese Military was horrendous and shameless.
Most Americans are educated about Pearl Harbor - yet are less familiar with the horrors of what the Japanese military did - and to the extent that women suffered.
What really got to me was the ‘shame’ the women and ‘girls’ felt about themselves....for being forced into sexual slavery.
It kills me - as in so sad - when victims internalize their trauma by blaming themselves with inner critical abusive thoughts.... and other self inflicting punishment.
I never fully understand why humans do that.... but if I’m honest - I’ve been guilty as well.
The years of torture begins to weigh too heavily....often leading to feelings of unworthiness. That’s were the shame comes in: HEARTBREAKING!!!
The term ‘comfort women’ has always bothered me.
This is not my first time hearing this label.
I find it degrading to continue using the term ‘comfort women’, at all!!!!
Let the label *disappear*.
Wang Di was 16 years old when she was abducted from her home by the Japanese military.
The devastation of things she endured- were unspeakable.
The storytelling includes not only the teenage years for Wang Di.... but as an elderly woman - after years of marriage grieving her dying husband.
The other part of the story focuses on a young boy name Kevin. He learns secrets that his grandmother had been keeping that were also ‘unspeakable’.
I’ve read other books about this history - and any book that opens awareness to the importance of these atrocities- is a worthy read.
The crafting of the writing is not without flaws - but the heart of this story itself flawless.
Thank you Harlequin Trade Publishing, Netgalley, and Jing-Jing.
March 4, 2022
4.5/5
“They didn’t bother naming the girl for a few weeks, but when they did, they named her Wang Di—to hope for a brother.”
In 1942 seventeen year old Wang Di , daughter born to a working class family is taken from her home in Japanese occupied Singapore to become a “comfort woman”. Renamed “Fujiko” she is housed with other young girls under the control of Mrs. Sato and spends the next few years trying to survive unimaginable sexual exploitation and abuse in the hands of Japanese soldiers who frequent the “black and white house”. She manages to survive the ordeal and returns home after the occupation ends but home is no longer what she had left behind. Shunned by neighbors and with her own family embarrassed and unable to cope with her reality, she knows that the events of the last few years will haunt her for the rest of her life. She never speaks of her experiences in fear of being judged and ostracized and eventually is married off to an older but kind widower who has lost his family during the war .
Fast forward sixty years , recently widowed Wang Di earns a meagre living recycling cardboard (referred to as ‘cardboard lady’ by her neighbors) . She has become a hoarder, a habit that has its roots in her war time experiences .She strives for a sense of security, filling the empty space in her life and heart with material objects. Before he passed on, her husband tried to help her face her past and encouraged her to tell him her story and share his own with her – an endeavor that could not be completed. “He knew what the unsaid did to people. Ate away at them from the inside.”
We also meet Kevin, a sensitive twelve year old child grieving for his recently deceased grandmother , his Ah Ma ,who on her deathbed revealed a family secret that she had kept buried for decades , the roots of which might shed a light on his own father’s true parentage. Kevin takes in upon himself to dig deeper before he shares anything with his parents fearing that whatever he discovers might cause his father further distress . He had already seen his father sink into depression after losing his job years ago , a state that had lasted almost a year and a half – something that Kevin does not want to witness again.
“That was when I learned that it was possible to disappear and still be there, that it was possible to disappear even further than he had. To be emptier than empty. Blacker than black.”
The narrative switches between Wang Di during the War , Wang-Di ‘s present life and Kevin and his quest for answers. The story continues in the present day when Kevin and Wang Di’s worlds converge and the revelations that are unearthed unravel a connection long thought to be lost which enable Wang Di and Kevin’s family to reconcile with their past and present traumas.
Jing Jing Lee’s How We Disappeared is an absorbing and profoundly moving story of family , strength and human resilience with themes of war, generational trauma, mental health and life changing impact of abuse and neglect . The author’s depiction of the horrific experiences of women like Wang Di and how such experiences impact every aspect of an individual’s life and relationships for years to come is heartbreaking. While most historical fiction set in the WW2 era are narrated from European or American perspectives, Jing Lee’s How We Disappeared sheds a light on the impact of WW2 and the atrocities faced by women in a different corner of the world – a chapter in history that is important and needs to be shared . The author says that she has drawn upon her own family history in crafting this story and it must be said that she has done a fantastic job .
“They didn’t bother naming the girl for a few weeks, but when they did, they named her Wang Di—to hope for a brother.”
In 1942 seventeen year old Wang Di , daughter born to a working class family is taken from her home in Japanese occupied Singapore to become a “comfort woman”. Renamed “Fujiko” she is housed with other young girls under the control of Mrs. Sato and spends the next few years trying to survive unimaginable sexual exploitation and abuse in the hands of Japanese soldiers who frequent the “black and white house”. She manages to survive the ordeal and returns home after the occupation ends but home is no longer what she had left behind. Shunned by neighbors and with her own family embarrassed and unable to cope with her reality, she knows that the events of the last few years will haunt her for the rest of her life. She never speaks of her experiences in fear of being judged and ostracized and eventually is married off to an older but kind widower who has lost his family during the war .
Fast forward sixty years , recently widowed Wang Di earns a meagre living recycling cardboard (referred to as ‘cardboard lady’ by her neighbors) . She has become a hoarder, a habit that has its roots in her war time experiences .She strives for a sense of security, filling the empty space in her life and heart with material objects. Before he passed on, her husband tried to help her face her past and encouraged her to tell him her story and share his own with her – an endeavor that could not be completed. “He knew what the unsaid did to people. Ate away at them from the inside.”
We also meet Kevin, a sensitive twelve year old child grieving for his recently deceased grandmother , his Ah Ma ,who on her deathbed revealed a family secret that she had kept buried for decades , the roots of which might shed a light on his own father’s true parentage. Kevin takes in upon himself to dig deeper before he shares anything with his parents fearing that whatever he discovers might cause his father further distress . He had already seen his father sink into depression after losing his job years ago , a state that had lasted almost a year and a half – something that Kevin does not want to witness again.
“That was when I learned that it was possible to disappear and still be there, that it was possible to disappear even further than he had. To be emptier than empty. Blacker than black.”
The narrative switches between Wang Di during the War , Wang-Di ‘s present life and Kevin and his quest for answers. The story continues in the present day when Kevin and Wang Di’s worlds converge and the revelations that are unearthed unravel a connection long thought to be lost which enable Wang Di and Kevin’s family to reconcile with their past and present traumas.
Jing Jing Lee’s How We Disappeared is an absorbing and profoundly moving story of family , strength and human resilience with themes of war, generational trauma, mental health and life changing impact of abuse and neglect . The author’s depiction of the horrific experiences of women like Wang Di and how such experiences impact every aspect of an individual’s life and relationships for years to come is heartbreaking. While most historical fiction set in the WW2 era are narrated from European or American perspectives, Jing Lee’s How We Disappeared sheds a light on the impact of WW2 and the atrocities faced by women in a different corner of the world – a chapter in history that is important and needs to be shared . The author says that she has drawn upon her own family history in crafting this story and it must be said that she has done a fantastic job .
May 13, 2019
How We Disappeared has two timelines. The first is set during World War II, and the location is Singapore. Japanese troops have been marching through Malaysia. One village is almost completely wiped out; only three survive the attack.
In a nearby village, Wang Di is captured and sent to a Japanese military brothel where she is a “comfort woman.”
The second timeline is in the year 2000. Young Kevin’s grandmother is sick, and she confesses something to him. It causes him to seek the truth, whatever that might be.
The two timelines have two secrets…
Jing-Jing Lee was inspired by her family’s experiences to write this story. How We Disappeared is a tribute to strong women displaying resilience of spirit even in the most dire of times. It’s about family and seeking the truth. While this was occasionally difficult to read due to the subject matter, the inspiration I drew from these characters and their courage kept it from being overwhelmingly dark.
The writing is beautiful, and the story so poignant, I was completely invested and compelled to keep reading. I also absorbed the Singaporean culture from the time, as it was fascinating. Overall, this is another perspective on the atrocities of World War II, and a story that was important to share so that we never, ever forget.
I received a complimentary copy. All opinions are my own.
My reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com
In a nearby village, Wang Di is captured and sent to a Japanese military brothel where she is a “comfort woman.”
The second timeline is in the year 2000. Young Kevin’s grandmother is sick, and she confesses something to him. It causes him to seek the truth, whatever that might be.
The two timelines have two secrets…
Jing-Jing Lee was inspired by her family’s experiences to write this story. How We Disappeared is a tribute to strong women displaying resilience of spirit even in the most dire of times. It’s about family and seeking the truth. While this was occasionally difficult to read due to the subject matter, the inspiration I drew from these characters and their courage kept it from being overwhelmingly dark.
The writing is beautiful, and the story so poignant, I was completely invested and compelled to keep reading. I also absorbed the Singaporean culture from the time, as it was fascinating. Overall, this is another perspective on the atrocities of World War II, and a story that was important to share so that we never, ever forget.
I received a complimentary copy. All opinions are my own.
My reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com
March 4, 2020
Now Nominated for the Women's Prize for Fiction 2020
This sprawling epic talks about the Japanese occupation of Singapore during WW II and its repercussions which affect families until this day. I applaud Jing-Jing Lee for illustrating that history is never really over and how important it is to be able to tell one's own story in order to see oneself and to feel seen: To share and discuss what has happened in the past can free individual people, families and whole societies.
Jing-Jing Lee has woven a net of stories about a family that experiences hardship, loss and trauma due to the occupation of Singapore 1942-45. One main focus lies on Wang Di who is abducted from her parents and forced to work as a prostitute serving Japanese soldiers; another main thread is set in the 21st century and introduces us to Kevin who tries to uncover the secrets of his grandmother - the story is propelled forward by the question how the stories of Wang Di and Kevin might be connected, and while trying to figure that out, we are jumping between timelines and meeting their parents and other family members, thus hearing about various destinies marked by historical events while they where happening and long afterwards.
While many of the grown-ups struggle to suppress their own memories, try to silence the victims or can't find a way to face what has happened to them due to severe trauma, 12-year-old Kevin takes his late grandmother's tape recorder that she used to record music and employs it as a device to record stories in order to secure that long-hidden truths are finally preserved for everybody to hear. Like the oral history in the national archives, Kevin creates a soundscape of stories about his own family, thus also finding out who he is and where he comes from.
So all in all, there is a lot to enjoy in this novel, and to my knowledge, its topic is not widely discussed in literature that is available in English (or German). Jing-Jing Lee has a lot of empathy for her characters, she does not indulge in flashy descriptions of violence or in kitsch, and she taught me quite a bit about Singapore. Still, I found the novel way too long: It is full passages that contain unnecessary descriptions as well as retardations that do not heighten suspense, but are slightly enervating. The language was fine and very readable, but not unique. Unfortunately, the writing is lacking a poetic dimension that might transport the book from being an interesting historic novel into a lyrical meditation about history and storytelling - that the power of language is one of the main topics the author adresses makes the reader wish she would have opted for a more daring poetic concept.
Still, a solid debut novel that I would recommend: It's informative, well-written and full of heart.
This sprawling epic talks about the Japanese occupation of Singapore during WW II and its repercussions which affect families until this day. I applaud Jing-Jing Lee for illustrating that history is never really over and how important it is to be able to tell one's own story in order to see oneself and to feel seen: To share and discuss what has happened in the past can free individual people, families and whole societies.
Jing-Jing Lee has woven a net of stories about a family that experiences hardship, loss and trauma due to the occupation of Singapore 1942-45. One main focus lies on Wang Di who is abducted from her parents and forced to work as a prostitute serving Japanese soldiers; another main thread is set in the 21st century and introduces us to Kevin who tries to uncover the secrets of his grandmother - the story is propelled forward by the question how the stories of Wang Di and Kevin might be connected, and while trying to figure that out, we are jumping between timelines and meeting their parents and other family members, thus hearing about various destinies marked by historical events while they where happening and long afterwards.
While many of the grown-ups struggle to suppress their own memories, try to silence the victims or can't find a way to face what has happened to them due to severe trauma, 12-year-old Kevin takes his late grandmother's tape recorder that she used to record music and employs it as a device to record stories in order to secure that long-hidden truths are finally preserved for everybody to hear. Like the oral history in the national archives, Kevin creates a soundscape of stories about his own family, thus also finding out who he is and where he comes from.
So all in all, there is a lot to enjoy in this novel, and to my knowledge, its topic is not widely discussed in literature that is available in English (or German). Jing-Jing Lee has a lot of empathy for her characters, she does not indulge in flashy descriptions of violence or in kitsch, and she taught me quite a bit about Singapore. Still, I found the novel way too long: It is full passages that contain unnecessary descriptions as well as retardations that do not heighten suspense, but are slightly enervating. The language was fine and very readable, but not unique. Unfortunately, the writing is lacking a poetic dimension that might transport the book from being an interesting historic novel into a lyrical meditation about history and storytelling - that the power of language is one of the main topics the author adresses makes the reader wish she would have opted for a more daring poetic concept.
Still, a solid debut novel that I would recommend: It's informative, well-written and full of heart.
June 19, 2019
"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." (Maya Angelou)
In the creative hands of Jing-Jing Lee, the rawness and the brutality of the war years in Singapore become a reality for all of us. Once occupied by the British, Singapore became a land seemingly passed from hand to hand always waiting for the boots of strangers to fill the room with echoes of uncertainty.
It's 1942 and the British have abandoned the land to the crushing threats of the Japanese. Village after village has been ransacked and pillaged leaving little food in the huts and little hope for a return to times past. The number of families in Singapore begin to dwindle under the horrendous acts of violence and murder at the hands of the marauding Japanese.
Wang Di is soon to celebrate her seventeenth birthday with the promise of a visit from a local matchmaker. But tradition and culture will be set aside. Her small village will be stomped upon by the soldiers who beat her father unconscience and throw Wang Di and other young village women into the back of a waiting truck. Her young mind centers on the thought that they may be imprisoned and eventually returned home. Nothing could be further from the truth.
How We Disappeared will be told in dual layers from the past war years in Singapore and then into the present. Backstories will come into play as more and more light is shone upon Wang Di's life experiences with those who may or may not have survived the horrendous events.
Jing-Jing Lee showcases one of the many, many dark sides to the war. Village women were relegated to being "Comfort Women" to the throngs of soldiers who demanded a sexual escape from the battlefields. The "black and white house" will become an unsavory focus of her story at that time. The personal shame and the fear of abandonment from families kept secrets locked tightly in one's heart and in one's psyche.
In great tragedy there is a light that filters through with hope. Jing-Jing Lee elevates her story to a new height with a search for identity in the latter part of the book. And she does it well. This is one of those fine books in which one can marvel over the resilience of human nature over the often crushing heel of evil.
How We Disappeared, though fiction, gives us an opportunity to hear humanity speaking in voices that were buried under rocks of shame. Suffering affects us from the past and into the breaths of present and future.
Bravo, Jing-Jing Lee.
In the creative hands of Jing-Jing Lee, the rawness and the brutality of the war years in Singapore become a reality for all of us. Once occupied by the British, Singapore became a land seemingly passed from hand to hand always waiting for the boots of strangers to fill the room with echoes of uncertainty.
It's 1942 and the British have abandoned the land to the crushing threats of the Japanese. Village after village has been ransacked and pillaged leaving little food in the huts and little hope for a return to times past. The number of families in Singapore begin to dwindle under the horrendous acts of violence and murder at the hands of the marauding Japanese.
Wang Di is soon to celebrate her seventeenth birthday with the promise of a visit from a local matchmaker. But tradition and culture will be set aside. Her small village will be stomped upon by the soldiers who beat her father unconscience and throw Wang Di and other young village women into the back of a waiting truck. Her young mind centers on the thought that they may be imprisoned and eventually returned home. Nothing could be further from the truth.
How We Disappeared will be told in dual layers from the past war years in Singapore and then into the present. Backstories will come into play as more and more light is shone upon Wang Di's life experiences with those who may or may not have survived the horrendous events.
Jing-Jing Lee showcases one of the many, many dark sides to the war. Village women were relegated to being "Comfort Women" to the throngs of soldiers who demanded a sexual escape from the battlefields. The "black and white house" will become an unsavory focus of her story at that time. The personal shame and the fear of abandonment from families kept secrets locked tightly in one's heart and in one's psyche.
In great tragedy there is a light that filters through with hope. Jing-Jing Lee elevates her story to a new height with a search for identity in the latter part of the book. And she does it well. This is one of those fine books in which one can marvel over the resilience of human nature over the often crushing heel of evil.
How We Disappeared, though fiction, gives us an opportunity to hear humanity speaking in voices that were buried under rocks of shame. Suffering affects us from the past and into the breaths of present and future.
Bravo, Jing-Jing Lee.
Read
December 8, 2021First read from the 2020 Women's Prize for Fiction longlist.
How We Disappeared is historical fiction that purports to explore the life of a young woman forced to work in a military brothel during the Japanese occupation of Singapore during WW II. Over a hundred pages pass before the protagonist, Wang Di, arrives at the brothel, and too few of the pages that follow are dedicated to recounting her experience. Lee often glosses over or impassively summarizes the more horrific aspects of the life of a "comfort woman".
One positive element of the book is Lee's decision to portray Wang Di's post-war experience, highlighting the social stigma comfort women endured after their release, but even those passages are brief.
Too much of the book is dedicated to following a secondary character, Kevin, whose connection to Wang Di is too insignificant to warrant dedicating half the book to his uninspired attempts to solve an emotionally detached mystery. In fact, Kevin's narrative could have been removed altogether in favor of showcasing another comfort woman's experiences during the war.
With no intention of diminishing or trivializing a comfort woman's experience, it must be said that Lee's portrayal of Wang Di is about as good as a comfort woman could hope for. With nearly half a million women forced into sexual slavery, it's estimated that less than ten percent - ten percent - survived. It seems a failed opportunity on Lee's part not to provide a first-person narrative of a second (or even a third) comfort woman who's experiences are a more authentic portrayal of the abuse, rape, trauma, starvation, disease and death suffered by comfort women.
The book's pacing is ineffective, and the framework lends itself to redundancy. Finally, the first and last chapters allude to the unreliability of memory but feel like a cheap riff off of Life of Pi
Verdict: How We Disappeared is history lite. It will shock readers who have never heard of "comfort women," but it only skims the surface of a complex and tragic period in history.
How We Disappeared is historical fiction that purports to explore the life of a young woman forced to work in a military brothel during the Japanese occupation of Singapore during WW II. Over a hundred pages pass before the protagonist, Wang Di, arrives at the brothel, and too few of the pages that follow are dedicated to recounting her experience. Lee often glosses over or impassively summarizes the more horrific aspects of the life of a "comfort woman".
One positive element of the book is Lee's decision to portray Wang Di's post-war experience, highlighting the social stigma comfort women endured after their release, but even those passages are brief.
Too much of the book is dedicated to following a secondary character, Kevin, whose connection to Wang Di is too insignificant to warrant dedicating half the book to his uninspired attempts to solve an emotionally detached mystery. In fact, Kevin's narrative could have been removed altogether in favor of showcasing another comfort woman's experiences during the war.
With no intention of diminishing or trivializing a comfort woman's experience, it must be said that Lee's portrayal of Wang Di is about as good as a comfort woman could hope for. With nearly half a million women forced into sexual slavery, it's estimated that less than ten percent - ten percent - survived. It seems a failed opportunity on Lee's part not to provide a first-person narrative of a second (or even a third) comfort woman who's experiences are a more authentic portrayal of the abuse, rape, trauma, starvation, disease and death suffered by comfort women.
The book's pacing is ineffective, and the framework lends itself to redundancy. Finally, the first and last chapters allude to the unreliability of memory but feel like a cheap riff off of Life of Pi
Verdict: How We Disappeared is history lite. It will shock readers who have never heard of "comfort women," but it only skims the surface of a complex and tragic period in history.
March 18, 2020
Longlisted for the 2020 Women's Prize for Fiction.
Wang Di is a disappointment to her parents. Why? Because she was born a girl instead of a boy. The name her parents gave here “Wang” meaning hope and “Di” meaning boy, a constant reminder of this disappointment every time somebody calls her name.
Kevin is only twelve, well nearly thirteen and he is going blind. At the opticians he can’t even read the first letter on the chart. He has taken to making recordings of things since he knows his sight is deserting him. The cassette player was a gift from his grandmother. Showing him how to operate it after she had a stroke and told him that she would soon die.
It is this cassette player that he uses to record a cryptic confession that his grandmother makes on her deathbed. It seems that his father may not have been his grandmother’s son at all. The confession is also a plea for forgiveness that his grandmother never found his real parents.
These are the two major characters of this novel and they are connected. Kevin tries to solve the puzzle that his grandmother has left him with unintentionally in the present. While Wang Di spends most of her time in the early years of World War 2.
Most of the novel takes place in Singapore just after the successful invasion by the Japanese. Wang Di is captured by the Japanese and forced to serve the soldiers and officers as a “comfort woman”, a euphemism for prostitute, but prostitute is also a misleading description for these women because they are never actually payed. They think that money is being sent back to their families, but it is just a sham used to mitigate the horrible jobs they are forced to perform every day.
This part of the novel is brutal, and life for these women was nothing short of a living nightmare. Then for the ones who survived, they returned home to be disowned, shamed, and labelled traitors. Wang Di’s parents can barely stand to look at her and only talk to her if it’s necessary.
Yes, this part of the novel is vicious and confronting to the reader, but it is also the best part of the book. How each woman uses different strategies to make it through each day, the friendship between Wang Di and Jeomsun and Huay. The wonderful character of Mrs Sato. Who turns out to have surprising depth.
For me Wang Di and this part of the narrative is the strength of the book, and I believe it would have been a better book if Kevin had been left out of the narrative all together. At times it feels like his chapters are tacked on to fill out the narrative and add a puzzle about the identity of his real family that is not needed. There are times when Kevin’s chapters almost feel like interruptions and tear you away from the immersion that you feel with Wang Di’s chapters.
I think that if Kevin was removed from the story this would have been a five star read for me, because I thoroughly enjoyed Wang Di’s story. Still having said that it is still an impressive debut. There are wars, and always will be, but what was done to these women are war crimes, and their story should never be hidden away in shame. This novel at least gives these women a voice and shines a light on the depraved acts, rape and torture that we can only hope will never happen again. 4 Stars.
Wang Di is a disappointment to her parents. Why? Because she was born a girl instead of a boy. The name her parents gave here “Wang” meaning hope and “Di” meaning boy, a constant reminder of this disappointment every time somebody calls her name.
Kevin is only twelve, well nearly thirteen and he is going blind. At the opticians he can’t even read the first letter on the chart. He has taken to making recordings of things since he knows his sight is deserting him. The cassette player was a gift from his grandmother. Showing him how to operate it after she had a stroke and told him that she would soon die.
It is this cassette player that he uses to record a cryptic confession that his grandmother makes on her deathbed. It seems that his father may not have been his grandmother’s son at all. The confession is also a plea for forgiveness that his grandmother never found his real parents.
These are the two major characters of this novel and they are connected. Kevin tries to solve the puzzle that his grandmother has left him with unintentionally in the present. While Wang Di spends most of her time in the early years of World War 2.
Most of the novel takes place in Singapore just after the successful invasion by the Japanese. Wang Di is captured by the Japanese and forced to serve the soldiers and officers as a “comfort woman”, a euphemism for prostitute, but prostitute is also a misleading description for these women because they are never actually payed. They think that money is being sent back to their families, but it is just a sham used to mitigate the horrible jobs they are forced to perform every day.
This part of the novel is brutal, and life for these women was nothing short of a living nightmare. Then for the ones who survived, they returned home to be disowned, shamed, and labelled traitors. Wang Di’s parents can barely stand to look at her and only talk to her if it’s necessary.
Yes, this part of the novel is vicious and confronting to the reader, but it is also the best part of the book. How each woman uses different strategies to make it through each day, the friendship between Wang Di and Jeomsun and Huay. The wonderful character of Mrs Sato. Who turns out to have surprising depth.
For me Wang Di and this part of the narrative is the strength of the book, and I believe it would have been a better book if Kevin had been left out of the narrative all together. At times it feels like his chapters are tacked on to fill out the narrative and add a puzzle about the identity of his real family that is not needed. There are times when Kevin’s chapters almost feel like interruptions and tear you away from the immersion that you feel with Wang Di’s chapters.
I think that if Kevin was removed from the story this would have been a five star read for me, because I thoroughly enjoyed Wang Di’s story. Still having said that it is still an impressive debut. There are wars, and always will be, but what was done to these women are war crimes, and their story should never be hidden away in shame. This novel at least gives these women a voice and shines a light on the depraved acts, rape and torture that we can only hope will never happen again. 4 Stars.
March 15, 2020
Set in Singapore, How We Disappeared centers on Wang Di, an elderly woman who survived Japanese occupation during WWII by being forced into serving as a comfort woman. We follow her present-day narrative as well as seeing flashbacks to the war, which comprise the bulk of this novel. Meanwhile we also follow Kevin, a teenage boy whose grandmother has just made a shocking confession on her death bed, which propels Kevin to dig into his family history.
I found this to be an occasionally frustrating and messy yet ultimately satisfying read. Its main strength was Jing-Jing Lee's skill at immersing the reader, and the chapters set during WWII really came to life. I do think a bit too much of the narrative focused on Kevin - not to the detriment of Wang Di's narrative, as I felt that her sections were properly fleshed out - it's more that Kevin himself added very little as a character. I tend to prefer historical fiction that doesn't have a past/present framing, and this was no exception; I kept wishing it would stay in the 1940s. That said, I do feel that Jing-Jing Lee ultimately justified this narrative decision with the way the story wrapped up, even if it wouldn't have been my first choice of how to tell it.
But where I felt this book really excelled was Jing-Jing Lee's descriptions of Wang Di's life as a comfort woman, but then also in the depiction of the aftermath. The shame and stigma attached to these young women after they returned home was a heartbreaking thing to reckon with, but I felt the book was strengthened by Lee's willingness to confront this head-on. I know that we in the book community collectively feel a bit of fatigue where WWII novels are concerned, but I felt that this one was a worthwhile read - impeccably researched and harrowing while still providing a strong and compelling narrative. (If you're going to read one book about sexual slavery off the Women's Prize longlist, make it this one instead of Girl.)
I found this to be an occasionally frustrating and messy yet ultimately satisfying read. Its main strength was Jing-Jing Lee's skill at immersing the reader, and the chapters set during WWII really came to life. I do think a bit too much of the narrative focused on Kevin - not to the detriment of Wang Di's narrative, as I felt that her sections were properly fleshed out - it's more that Kevin himself added very little as a character. I tend to prefer historical fiction that doesn't have a past/present framing, and this was no exception; I kept wishing it would stay in the 1940s. That said, I do feel that Jing-Jing Lee ultimately justified this narrative decision with the way the story wrapped up, even if it wouldn't have been my first choice of how to tell it.
But where I felt this book really excelled was Jing-Jing Lee's descriptions of Wang Di's life as a comfort woman, but then also in the depiction of the aftermath. The shame and stigma attached to these young women after they returned home was a heartbreaking thing to reckon with, but I felt the book was strengthened by Lee's willingness to confront this head-on. I know that we in the book community collectively feel a bit of fatigue where WWII novels are concerned, but I felt that this one was a worthwhile read - impeccably researched and harrowing while still providing a strong and compelling narrative. (If you're going to read one book about sexual slavery off the Women's Prize longlist, make it this one instead of Girl.)
January 25, 2025
I devoured this book, an epic tale of the Japanese invasion of Singapore, the comfort women who were assaulted by them on a daily basis, and the criss-crossing paths of Singaporeans 60 years later.
An infrequently shared story, and one that ends on a note of hope.
If you liked Pachinko, you should enjoy this too.
An infrequently shared story, and one that ends on a note of hope.
If you liked Pachinko, you should enjoy this too.
August 6, 2021
Can’t decide on 3 or 4 stars. So I’m giving it 3.5.
April 11, 2020
This not-knowing when it came to my parents; things I’d never thought about, even if they were clear as day, clear as the fact that my parents had their own parents, had their own childhoods and histories. And then one day you open a drawer and out come all the secrets that have just been sitting quietly, waiting to be found, even though you never thought about them, never suspected they existed in the first place.
I read this book due to its longlisting for the 2020 Women’s Prize.
I timed my reading to co-incide with what should (but for the coronavirus) have been a business trip to Singapore – a country I visit around twice a year for a few days, my visits confined to the business district, luxury hotels and ex-pat haunts; far removed in time and place from the world portrayed here.
The book starts with two extremely well chosen epigraphs:
Margaret Atwood “The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn’t one
Li-Young Lee “I’ll tell my human tale, tell it against the current of that vaster, that inhuman telling”
It then opens in 2000 with a character lifted (I think) largely from the pages of the author’s novella “If I Could Tell You” – a 70+ year old “carboard woman”, displaced from her state flat. Wang Di’s modern day account (told in the third person) begins with three different stories she has been told of her birth – all of which make it clear that her parents (particularly her father) would have preferred a boy – something her name (which as she grows she realises means something like “Hoping for a boy [next]” makes part of her very identity. It is the 100th day since the death of her (older) husband – who she married as a widower immediately after the war (via the assistance of a matchmaker) and still refers to as “The Old One”- and she still regrets that she and he were never able (despite 50 years of marriage) to fully share their secret hurts with each other – the traumas each suffered during the war.
Just before his death, The Old One did encourage her to share some of her story with him – and the second chapter (which it seems is part of this retelling) is a first party account going back to 1941 – Wang Di is 16, living in a small village with her parents and brother, but any thoughts of marrying her off and overtaken by the start of the Japanese attacks on the Island.
The third chapter switches back to 2000 – and a first party character Kevin, a 12 year old boy whose beloved paternal grandmother is dying in hospital. If Wang Di was literally lifted from another of the author’s works, Kevin seems lifted from a different genre altogether – a rather geeky, bullied boy who turns detective.
The book then settles into a pattern of alternating chapters – with the first and third sets both turning into modern day mysteries and the second into a harrowing history.
Wang Di determines to find out more about what befell The Old One in the war and what lead to his regular absences on a fixed day each February – something she is sure relates to the wartime fate of his first wife and wider family. Kevin’s grandmother gives what appears to be a garbled confession (mistaking Kevin for his father) – and which seems to relate to her finding of him as a baby.
In 1942 Wang Di is seized by the Japanese and forced to be a “comfort woman” for the duration of the war.
I found both sets of Wang Di passages sensitively written and at times moving.
The author brings across the horror of Wang Di’s wartime plight without having to resort to gratuitous description and the passages are all the stronger for that.
Her difficult existence in 2000, disorientated by the loss of her husband and her habitat, and shunned by her new neighbours due to her eccentricities, is also conveyed in a moving way.
Particularly strong (and mixed between both sections) are some of her memories of the post war years: the birth and then loss of a son at the war’s end; her immediate repulsion on sensing the male smells of her father and brother (after three years of continuous rape); her own family’s shame at her and her sudden realisation that the only thing that made her bare her ordeal – deliberately choosing to believe it would win her family favour or even money from the Japanese – was always a mirage; her quiet marriage to the older widow, his lack of insistence on physical contact and the trauma induced hysterectomy that condemned them to childishness.
By contrast I simply did not like the Kevin chapters to the same extent. They seemed too derivative of other novels and not as well written. His investigations seem to proceed via an odd combination of coincidence and ghostly intervention. Unlike the other boy-detective in the Women’s longlist (Jai) I simply could not see that it worked as a framing device to tell the other story/societal secrets that the author was looking to explore.
The two story lines and mysteries do coincide in the third section; at times this is presented like it is some kind of emerging revelation. However instead it is obvious from the first time that they are both set out given the lack of branching narratives; I was reminded of a murder novel when there is only one other character other than the victim and the detective.
There are some touching scenes between Kevin and Wang Di in this part but what really rescues the book is a moving closing chapter – which mirrors the book’s opening in its set of three possible origin stories, while adding the level of ambiguity which I think the book had largely missed until then.
Overall the novel handles a difficult (but important) storyline very well, conveys brilliantly a sense of how shame can drive long lasting suppression and secrecy in a small society but falls short of being a great book (in my view) due to a sub-optimal framing device.
I would rank this book around half-way on the longlist.
It had only taken her more than fifty years, she thought, and what was fifty, when the words of the people you grew up with mattered so much they formed the breadth and depth of your life, shaped the path ahead of you. All of it had begun with her waking to the world, the name she had been given. The fact of her upbringing. And then, after the horror during what was supposed to be her best years, how her mother’s words, the shame foisted on her by herself, her family and everyone around her, had dictated the silence that shadowed her every move after the war.
February 21, 2019
"Who's going to listen?" I repeated. [...]
"Don't tell anyone. Not me or your father or any of the neighbours. Especially not your future husband."
An important book that is hard reading at times as we learn the story of one woman's life as a 'comfort woman' to the Japanese Army in Singapore during WW2.
I have to say that I found this uneven in places: I loved the heart of the book, Wang Di's cathartic narrative as she finally allows herself to tell the story of her captivity and experiences. But I found it all wrapped up in far less entrancing tales: Wang Di as an old woman 'now', and Kevin who is searching for his antecedents.
Still, what I consider the main story is wonderfully realised in all its horror and terror. What is so striking is not just what these women went through during the war, but the shame they experienced as if they had done something wrong rather than having wrong done to them. The cultural burden of silence imposed on them by their families who wanted to just look away is what tore me up the most.
So I might not have necessarily agreed with the structural and narrative decisions that the author made but would recommend this book widely: it's painful reading but surely urgent and necessary - especially as women are still being trafficked into sexual slavery, and placed in 'rape camps' in wars around the world.
Many thanks to Oneworld for an ARC via NetGalley.
May 28, 2019
This beautiful heart-breaking debut is multi-narrated around two timelines and centers around Japan’s atrocities during their occupation of Singapore during WWll, and modern day when a 12yr old learns of his grandmother’s hidden secret.
Artfully crafted and utterly gripping.. this novel evokes the strong resilience women needed to survive during those horrific times. Has difficult subjects and is not for the faint at heart. 4 ☆
Artfully crafted and utterly gripping.. this novel evokes the strong resilience women needed to survive during those horrific times. Has difficult subjects and is not for the faint at heart. 4 ☆
March 12, 2020
This was a traumatic story about a woman who was abducted during the Japanese occupation of Singapore in WWII for service as a “comfort woman”. A lot of the details of the families trying to survive during the occupation was sad and horrific, but the second, present day timeline seemed unnecessary to the story and just didn’t appeal to me in the end.
January 19, 2023
Jing-Jing Lee's How We Disappeared is a captivating and heart-wrenching novel about identity, displacement, and resilience in the face of war.
From the moment I saw it on the library’s shelf late one night, I was intrigued by the design and title - little did I know that this would be such an emotionally charged story.
The book is set in wartime Singapore, a setting to which I could relate due to my grandparents' own experiences of Japanese occupation during World War II.
Every character in this story has a unique voice and journey of their own and Jing-Jing Lee develops each of them precisely and brilliantly.
Even if she were to write a much longer book, I'd still be pushing through to find out more about these wonderfully written characters.
From the moment I saw it on the library’s shelf late one night, I was intrigued by the design and title - little did I know that this would be such an emotionally charged story.
The book is set in wartime Singapore, a setting to which I could relate due to my grandparents' own experiences of Japanese occupation during World War II.
Every character in this story has a unique voice and journey of their own and Jing-Jing Lee develops each of them precisely and brilliantly.
Even if she were to write a much longer book, I'd still be pushing through to find out more about these wonderfully written characters.
November 10, 2021
a harrowing, haunting narrative of the horrific of the Japanese occupation in Singapore, a book which managed to bring to life and sensitively impact me more than any of the facts and figures i studied in school.
but the pacing was terrible, the ending 'cheap', also in my personal opinion it was very detached (maybe intentionally?) character wise even with so much trauma and intergenerational rifts involved, but still i respect the writer's craft.
2.5 stars
but the pacing was terrible, the ending 'cheap', also in my personal opinion it was very detached (maybe intentionally?) character wise even with so much trauma and intergenerational rifts involved, but still i respect the writer's craft.
2.5 stars
July 28, 2020
Storia della nostra scomparsa di Jing-Jing Lee affronta un pezzo di storia che forse da noi occidentali non è così tanto conosciuto: quello delle donne di conforto in Cina.
Purtroppo sappiamo che durante la guerra le donne, di qualsiasi età, vengono stuprate e poi magari uccise. Le donne di conforto facevano una fine diversa, forse peggiore. Venivano portate via dai loro villaggi, dalle loro case, dalle loro famiglie. Portate a chilometri e chilometri di distanza. Rinchiuse in una casa. In condizioni igieniche miserabili e con pochissimo cibo a disposizione venivano stuprate da dieci, venti, trenta uomini al giorno (e anche di più) tutti i giorni. Non importa se sei ammalata, se sei deperita, se stai male, se sei incinta.
Wang Di ha sedici anni quando viene presa. Siamo nel 1942 e i giapponesi hanno invaso Singapore. Le uniche soluzioni possibili per cercare di sopravvivere è sposarsi o travestirsi da uomo e sperare. Sperare che nessun soldato nemico si accorga di te.
La narrazione si alterna tra presente e passato e i capitoli di Wang Di si alternano con quelli di Kevin, un ragazzo di tredici anni determinato a scoprire la verità sulle origini della sua famiglia dopo la confessione della nonna fatta in punto di morte.
Ero davvero molto incuriosita da Storia della nostra scomparsa perché ammetto essere una di quelle persone che delle case di conforto non ne sapeva nulla. Forse per ingenuità. Forse perché non te la immagini nemmeno così tanta cattiveria. Come ho detto sopra, sappiamo degli stupri di guerra. E “banalmente” pensiamo che la tragedia finisca lì. Non che duri per anni e anni. Sopravvivere per anni in quello stato? Denutrite, e soprattutto stuprate anche cinquanta volte al giorno? È disumano. È orribile. Credo non ci sia nemmeno una parola adatta per esprimere tutto ciò.
Da questo punto di vista quindi Storia della nostra scomparsa di Jing-Jing Lee ha sicuramente il pregio di avermi fatto conoscere qualcosa che non sapevo. E lo stile dell’autrice è sicuramente delicato. Nonostante questo però mi è mancato qualcosa, a livello emotivo.
Mi rendo conto di poter sembrare una brutta persona nel dire questo. Voglio dire, leggi un libro che parla di uno stupro continuo, e critichi il libro a livello emotivo? Lo so. Eppure a parte un unico momento in cui ho fatto gli occhi lucidi, non mi sono mai emozionata, quando invece ero convinta avrei passato tutto il tempo a piangere.
Se penso a questi atti orribili sì, mi viene da piangere, mi manca il fiato e sto male. Ma finché leggevo non ero così rapita come mi aspettavo. Ripeto, mi mancava qualcosa.
Non è un libro che sconsiglio, perché di sicuro non è brutto né fatto male; ma per quanto mi riguarda è un libro nella media. Probabilmente ci sono libri che affrontano l’argomento in ugual modo, ma che danno molto di più a livello emotivo.
Purtroppo sappiamo che durante la guerra le donne, di qualsiasi età, vengono stuprate e poi magari uccise. Le donne di conforto facevano una fine diversa, forse peggiore. Venivano portate via dai loro villaggi, dalle loro case, dalle loro famiglie. Portate a chilometri e chilometri di distanza. Rinchiuse in una casa. In condizioni igieniche miserabili e con pochissimo cibo a disposizione venivano stuprate da dieci, venti, trenta uomini al giorno (e anche di più) tutti i giorni. Non importa se sei ammalata, se sei deperita, se stai male, se sei incinta.
Wang Di ha sedici anni quando viene presa. Siamo nel 1942 e i giapponesi hanno invaso Singapore. Le uniche soluzioni possibili per cercare di sopravvivere è sposarsi o travestirsi da uomo e sperare. Sperare che nessun soldato nemico si accorga di te.
La narrazione si alterna tra presente e passato e i capitoli di Wang Di si alternano con quelli di Kevin, un ragazzo di tredici anni determinato a scoprire la verità sulle origini della sua famiglia dopo la confessione della nonna fatta in punto di morte.
Ero davvero molto incuriosita da Storia della nostra scomparsa perché ammetto essere una di quelle persone che delle case di conforto non ne sapeva nulla. Forse per ingenuità. Forse perché non te la immagini nemmeno così tanta cattiveria. Come ho detto sopra, sappiamo degli stupri di guerra. E “banalmente” pensiamo che la tragedia finisca lì. Non che duri per anni e anni. Sopravvivere per anni in quello stato? Denutrite, e soprattutto stuprate anche cinquanta volte al giorno? È disumano. È orribile. Credo non ci sia nemmeno una parola adatta per esprimere tutto ciò.
Da questo punto di vista quindi Storia della nostra scomparsa di Jing-Jing Lee ha sicuramente il pregio di avermi fatto conoscere qualcosa che non sapevo. E lo stile dell’autrice è sicuramente delicato. Nonostante questo però mi è mancato qualcosa, a livello emotivo.
Mi rendo conto di poter sembrare una brutta persona nel dire questo. Voglio dire, leggi un libro che parla di uno stupro continuo, e critichi il libro a livello emotivo? Lo so. Eppure a parte un unico momento in cui ho fatto gli occhi lucidi, non mi sono mai emozionata, quando invece ero convinta avrei passato tutto il tempo a piangere.
Se penso a questi atti orribili sì, mi viene da piangere, mi manca il fiato e sto male. Ma finché leggevo non ero così rapita come mi aspettavo. Ripeto, mi mancava qualcosa.
Non è un libro che sconsiglio, perché di sicuro non è brutto né fatto male; ma per quanto mi riguarda è un libro nella media. Probabilmente ci sono libri che affrontano l’argomento in ugual modo, ma che danno molto di più a livello emotivo.
May 6, 2019
The real deal.
This book was unsurprisingly difficult to read, but worth it. My heart broke so much for Wang Di, and the real women on whom her character is based. The trauma she endures appears to me to be depicted faithfully in the novel, neither sanitized nor sensationalized, and the lasting impact of this time in her life courses through every page. Her relationship with her late husband, affectionately called The Old One, was a precious thing, and I loved and ached as she reminisced over their bond. Kevin is an equally compelling character; a victim of bullying, he has taken to recording his experiences to remember his life if he goes blind. His love for his family and curiosity propel him to investigate the secrets of his grandmother’s confession, and set the course of this novel in motion.
The interlocked stories of Kevin and Wang Di past and present captivated me, while giving me a deeper understanding of a previously overlooked piece of history. I highly recommend you pick up this novel, and be ready to be moved.
This book was unsurprisingly difficult to read, but worth it. My heart broke so much for Wang Di, and the real women on whom her character is based. The trauma she endures appears to me to be depicted faithfully in the novel, neither sanitized nor sensationalized, and the lasting impact of this time in her life courses through every page. Her relationship with her late husband, affectionately called The Old One, was a precious thing, and I loved and ached as she reminisced over their bond. Kevin is an equally compelling character; a victim of bullying, he has taken to recording his experiences to remember his life if he goes blind. His love for his family and curiosity propel him to investigate the secrets of his grandmother’s confession, and set the course of this novel in motion.
The interlocked stories of Kevin and Wang Di past and present captivated me, while giving me a deeper understanding of a previously overlooked piece of history. I highly recommend you pick up this novel, and be ready to be moved.
March 14, 2024
Credo che potrei parlare per ore di questo libro e del perchè spero che in molti lo leggano e al tempo stesso non credo sarei in grado di trovare le parole giuste. L'ho finito da pochi minuti, divorato nel giro di tre giorni, perchè nonostante il groppo alla gola non riuscivo a smettere di leggere, e sono provata emotivamente. Non è un libro facile. Conosco bene la questione delle comfort women, che ho ampiamente studiato e di cui a mia volta ho scritto in varie occasioni, e quando ho saputo che Fazi avrebbe portato in Italia questo titolo ne ero felicissima, perchè non è una storia di cui in genere si parla, e si dovrebbe.
E niente. È straziante e doloroso e terrificante, ma è un libro importante e vorrei tanto poter stringere la mano all'autrice per essere riuscita a raccontare qualcosa di così difficile in una maniera così potente.
E niente. È straziante e doloroso e terrificante, ma è un libro importante e vorrei tanto poter stringere la mano all'autrice per essere riuscita a raccontare qualcosa di così difficile in una maniera così potente.
September 7, 2018
A shattering, tender and absorbing novel that centres around the unfathomable cruelty that women in Singapore endured when they were snatched by the Japanese Army and forced into sexual slavery during World War Two. It was harrowing to read of Wang Di’s incarceration as a ‘comfort woman’ - far too benign a description for the barbarism that she and thousands of women endured across the occupied territories - yet what rings out from the book is human resilience and our capacity to love no matter how damaged we might be.
Not only do we hear from young Wang Di, age just 16 when she is ripped away from her family and locked into the tiny room of her prison, but elderly Wang Di has her own chapters too. Grieving her husband, affectionately known as the 'Old One', it transpires that neither of them, though traumatised by their experiences during the occupation, have ever shared with one another what really happened to them both. For Wang Di, this is because of the shame that attached to women who had been forced into sexual slavery; their treatment included being shunned and called traitors. Wang Di sets out to discover what the Old One experienced during the war. The third voice in the book belongs to the enchanting teenager Kevin. With his bottle-top glasses and his tape recorder, he starts to unearth a secret that his late grandmother had been keeping for decades. As Wang Di and Kevin set out on their individual quests to uncover the truth, the tension builds while we wait to find out whether their worlds will collide.
The final chapters are suffused with kindness, the power of talking, love. Indeed they are so moving that I read them through a blur of tears.
Meticulously researched, exquisitely written, with characters that will live and breathe in your hearts long after you finish the last page, How We Disappeared is a worthy testament to the women who were forced to become ‘comfort women.’ Not only does Jing-Jing Lee capture the horror of it all, but also the hope. I’m reeling from its power - what an absolute triumph.
Not only do we hear from young Wang Di, age just 16 when she is ripped away from her family and locked into the tiny room of her prison, but elderly Wang Di has her own chapters too. Grieving her husband, affectionately known as the 'Old One', it transpires that neither of them, though traumatised by their experiences during the occupation, have ever shared with one another what really happened to them both. For Wang Di, this is because of the shame that attached to women who had been forced into sexual slavery; their treatment included being shunned and called traitors. Wang Di sets out to discover what the Old One experienced during the war. The third voice in the book belongs to the enchanting teenager Kevin. With his bottle-top glasses and his tape recorder, he starts to unearth a secret that his late grandmother had been keeping for decades. As Wang Di and Kevin set out on their individual quests to uncover the truth, the tension builds while we wait to find out whether their worlds will collide.
The final chapters are suffused with kindness, the power of talking, love. Indeed they are so moving that I read them through a blur of tears.
Meticulously researched, exquisitely written, with characters that will live and breathe in your hearts long after you finish the last page, How We Disappeared is a worthy testament to the women who were forced to become ‘comfort women.’ Not only does Jing-Jing Lee capture the horror of it all, but also the hope. I’m reeling from its power - what an absolute triumph.
January 18, 2021
Quando si parla della guerra e delle atrocità perpetrate dai soldati non ci sono mai abbastanza parole per esprimere il dolore, il disgusto e la rabbia che ci cova dentro.
In questi casi leggere mi provoca del male fisico e profondo, ogni pagina è una mattonata all’anima. E sprofondo sempre più giù.
‘Storia della nostra scomparsa’ non è solo un romanzo di narrativa. È una parte importante della nostra storia contemporanea che spesso viene lasciata ai margini e non raccontata. Invece tutti dovremmo conoscerla.
Wang Di, come molte altre ragazze all’epoca, viene strappata alla sua famiglia dai soldati giapponesi che hanno occupato Singapore nel ‘42 durante la seconda guerra mondiale.
Viene portata nel loro campo, rinchiusa in una piccola casetta di legno e costretta a diventare una delle tante comfort women (donne di conforto) per i soldati. Passerà tre anni tra queste mura senza mai poter uscire, ricevendo in media circa quaranta soldati al giorno.
Parallelamente alla sua storia, c’è il racconto del piccolo Kevin un ragazzino singaporiano bullizzato a scuola che, alla morte della nonna, scopre un grande segreto celato alla famiglia per anni.
Le donne sono le protagoniste di questo libro. Corpi abusati, maltrattati, come bambole rotte. Vuoti.
Ma dietro a uno scenario di sofferenza si nasconde una profonda speranza, una possibilità di salvezza e di riconciliazione. Una luce che squarcia a metà l’ombra più oscura.
Una storia impattante come poche.
Ve lo consiglio moltissimo!
In questi casi leggere mi provoca del male fisico e profondo, ogni pagina è una mattonata all’anima. E sprofondo sempre più giù.
‘Storia della nostra scomparsa’ non è solo un romanzo di narrativa. È una parte importante della nostra storia contemporanea che spesso viene lasciata ai margini e non raccontata. Invece tutti dovremmo conoscerla.
Wang Di, come molte altre ragazze all’epoca, viene strappata alla sua famiglia dai soldati giapponesi che hanno occupato Singapore nel ‘42 durante la seconda guerra mondiale.
Viene portata nel loro campo, rinchiusa in una piccola casetta di legno e costretta a diventare una delle tante comfort women (donne di conforto) per i soldati. Passerà tre anni tra queste mura senza mai poter uscire, ricevendo in media circa quaranta soldati al giorno.
Parallelamente alla sua storia, c’è il racconto del piccolo Kevin un ragazzino singaporiano bullizzato a scuola che, alla morte della nonna, scopre un grande segreto celato alla famiglia per anni.
Le donne sono le protagoniste di questo libro. Corpi abusati, maltrattati, come bambole rotte. Vuoti.
Ma dietro a uno scenario di sofferenza si nasconde una profonda speranza, una possibilità di salvezza e di riconciliazione. Una luce che squarcia a metà l’ombra più oscura.
Una storia impattante come poche.
Ve lo consiglio moltissimo!
April 14, 2020
Historical fiction set during Japan's occupation of Singapore during WWII. This book exposed my ignorance of an entire half of that war, since all the historical fiction, and indeed most of the history, I have read has focused on the experience of Europeans and Americans. It was eye opening and wrenching, but, like any good WWII fiction, always makes room for love and humanity even in the most dire circumstances.
April 10, 2019
In "How We Disappeared," Lee brings to life the history, atrocities and unimaginable hardships of thousands of women during the Japanese colonization of Singapore in the 1940s through Wang Di, a young girl violently ripped from her family and village and forced to become a sex slave ("comfort woman") to the Japanese soldiers for three long, dark years. In addition to "servicing" upwards of 7+ men per day, Di and others in the "black and white house" are starved, beaten, mentally and physically abused and imprisoned by a madam in the name of service to the Japanese Army. Her survival and escape with an infant boy in tow is a testament to sheer determination and an indominable will to survive, though for what she does not yet know. Later, the intersection of Wang Di's life with that of her husband, who suffers his own terrible losses during the war years, and the ties to her husband's previous family (Wang Di is her husband's second wife; his first wife and child are murdered in the 4-3 massacre) is well-done and provides a robust and fulsome rendering of what life must have been like for both the "comfort women" and common citizens of Singapore during the Japanese occupation of this strategically-situated island nation. I knew embarrassingly little about this subject, which, given how much historical fiction is written about WWII is surprising. (But as a result of this book, I have added more on this topic to my TBR pile.)
Like other readers, I feel this book is an important read for several reasons, beginning with the necessary homage to and recognition of the plight that these women were forced to endure. Lee’s telling of the soldiers’ acts against these comfort women is shameful, shocking, heartbreaking and important to understand. If these women survived the comfort houses at all and were able (or willing) to return to their home villages, the shame, treatment, and social ousting they faced at home would drive most reasonable beings to the edge.
I'm torn on whether I felt that weaving Kevin's storyline in added or detracted from the novel. As Lee takes us to the “present,” in the 2000s when Wang Di is widowed and in her 70s, we learn that Kevin is the grandson of Wang Di’s now-deceased husband. And Kevin’s recently-deceased grandmother reveals her own wartime secrets on her deathbed, which Kevin records with a tape recorder. Her revelations drive him to seek out his biological grandfather, which leads him to Wang Di. At times, I found Kevin's story a bit disconcerting and drawing the connections between Wang Di and Kevin's father made for an arduous task in several places in the book. Even at the end, I found myself wondering what ever happened to the baby Wang Di (we think) gave up upon her escape from the comfort house. Perhaps I’m a less sophisticated reader, but the final pages wherein Lee provides three possible “stories” of what happened to Wang Di’s infant boy were far less illuminating than I was hoping for. Despite searching online for other reviewers who, like me, were unclear what the outcome and import of Wang Di’s baby was, I found nothing that led me to a definitive answer. Was Wang Di’s baby Kevin’s father? (Perhaps, but Wang Di herself shuts down that option several times in the book). Did Di’s baby die after their escape? What’s the tie between Wang Di’s baby to the rest of the story?
Despite this one flaw, I found Lee’s novel a searing, heartbreaking, yet important rendering of the lives of comfort women and the citizens of Singapore before, during and after WWII, as well as an enlightening account of Singapore’s geo-political and strategic importance to several world powers throughout history (including the United States). I gave this book 5 stars and will certainly recommend it to fellow readers interested in historical fiction, Asian history and stories that demonstrate the depth and strength of the human spirit.
Many thanks to Harlequin and NetGalley for an ARC of this book for an honest review. All opinions are my own.
Like other readers, I feel this book is an important read for several reasons, beginning with the necessary homage to and recognition of the plight that these women were forced to endure. Lee’s telling of the soldiers’ acts against these comfort women is shameful, shocking, heartbreaking and important to understand. If these women survived the comfort houses at all and were able (or willing) to return to their home villages, the shame, treatment, and social ousting they faced at home would drive most reasonable beings to the edge.
I'm torn on whether I felt that weaving Kevin's storyline in added or detracted from the novel. As Lee takes us to the “present,” in the 2000s when Wang Di is widowed and in her 70s, we learn that Kevin is the grandson of Wang Di’s now-deceased husband. And Kevin’s recently-deceased grandmother reveals her own wartime secrets on her deathbed, which Kevin records with a tape recorder. Her revelations drive him to seek out his biological grandfather, which leads him to Wang Di. At times, I found Kevin's story a bit disconcerting and drawing the connections between Wang Di and Kevin's father made for an arduous task in several places in the book. Even at the end, I found myself wondering what ever happened to the baby Wang Di (we think) gave up upon her escape from the comfort house. Perhaps I’m a less sophisticated reader, but the final pages wherein Lee provides three possible “stories” of what happened to Wang Di’s infant boy were far less illuminating than I was hoping for. Despite searching online for other reviewers who, like me, were unclear what the outcome and import of Wang Di’s baby was, I found nothing that led me to a definitive answer. Was Wang Di’s baby Kevin’s father? (Perhaps, but Wang Di herself shuts down that option several times in the book). Did Di’s baby die after their escape? What’s the tie between Wang Di’s baby to the rest of the story?
Despite this one flaw, I found Lee’s novel a searing, heartbreaking, yet important rendering of the lives of comfort women and the citizens of Singapore before, during and after WWII, as well as an enlightening account of Singapore’s geo-political and strategic importance to several world powers throughout history (including the United States). I gave this book 5 stars and will certainly recommend it to fellow readers interested in historical fiction, Asian history and stories that demonstrate the depth and strength of the human spirit.
Many thanks to Harlequin and NetGalley for an ARC of this book for an honest review. All opinions are my own.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 28, 2020
Il suo nome è Wang Di. La chiamarono così perché speravano che dopo avrebbero avuto un maschio: “«Wang significa speranza, desiderio di qualcosa. E Di vuol dire fratellino».”
Wang Di, una messaggera di speranza.
Ma così non è stato. O meglio, non durante la guerra.
Era un’adolescente quando fu strappata alla sua famiglia per diventare una “comfort woman”, una delle tante donne che soddisfacevano i bisogni dei militari giapponesi.
E questi sono i capitoli più terribili: più e più volte violata, senza sosta, senza amore, fino a farsi scomparire per sopravvivere: “Di tanto in tanto mi addormentavo, ma poi mi risvegliavo di soprassalto, perché il rumore più assordante era il silenzio delle altre ragazze che erano nelle stanze accanto alla mia e in quelle adiacenti, terrorizzate e in attesa come me.”
“Cercai di raggomitolarmi su un fianco, ma appena mi muovevo sentivo come un fuoco in mezzo alle gambe. Così restai sdraiata sulla schiena e chiusi gli occhi. Quella notte, sentii qualcuno piangere dall’altra parte del muro. Stavo per battere sul divisorio quando una voce gridò qualcosa in giapponese. Il pianto s’interruppe per un istante e poi ricominciò, più soffocato, come se la persona che si lamentava si fosse coperta il viso con le mani. Anche dopo che mi addormentai, quel pianto s’insinuò nei miei sogni, togliendo spazio a ogni altra cosa. Presto, troppo presto – un minuto, mi sembrò –, riaprii gli occhi e vidi che la luce già filtrava sotto la porta. Era l’alba.”
Fino a quando un giorno non scopre di essere incinta, non si sa di chi. Non si sa di chi tra i tanti. Riesce a scappare, ma poi stremata da tutto smarrisce il figlio. Riesce a fare ritorno dalla sua famiglia, ma resta un’emarginata, un simbolo della vergogna.
La vita di Wang Di si intreccia con quella di Kevin, un altro adolescente che riesce a scoprire la verità sui suoi nonni.
“Ti ho trovato. Ti prego, perdonami. Ti ho trovato e ti ho portato via. Erano tutti morti. O non si trovavano più. Io non sapevo. Non c’era più nessuno e volevo solo cercare di aiutarti. Volevo salvarti. Eri solo un bambino. Così piccolo. Volevo cercarli dopo la guerra, volevo, ma è passato un mese, due mesi, un anno, due anni. E poi non ho potuto più. Non ho potuto. Mi perdoni? Ho cercato di trovarli. Ho cercato. Non odiarmi, quando scoprirai la verità. Ti prego, perdonami.”
“Ho sottolineato due volte la parola “O” sulla seconda riga, poi tre volte. Sul frontespizio del quaderno, ho scritto le domande a cui dovevo dare una risposta: 1. Dove l’ha trovato? Dove era stato abbandonato mio padre da neonato? 2. Chi sono i veri genitori di mio padre? Sono ancora vivi? Dove sono? 3. Ah Ma pensa, o è sicura, che mio padre scoprirà la verità. Come dovrebbe scoprirla?”
“Come si fa a perdere qualcosa che non hai mai trovato? Pensavo a questo, sospeso tra sogno e realtà, mentre camminavo verso casa. Avevo già le chiavi in mano quando ho sentito qualcosa, una canzone che sembrava arrivare da molto lontano, nel tempo e nello spazio, da quando Ah Ma dormiva ancora nel suo letto e si addormentava ascoltando l’opera cinese, con quell’aria che le entrava dritta in petto.”
Un lungo racconto sulla storia delle atrocità compiute dai giapponesi durante la guerra. Una storia che prova a portare alla luce la verità. E nonostante tutta quella disumanizzazione, la forza per non perdersi completamente.
“Solo quando sono tornato a casa, ho sentito nel petto tutto il peso delle sue parole. L’unica soluzione che ho trovato per liberarmene è stata quella di mettere tutto per iscritto. È stato così che ho passato le settimane successive: di giorno la intervistavo e poi riscrivevo tutto con parole mie, cercando di raccontare la sua storia meglio che potevo. Ho scritto il primo capitolo, intitolato “Wang Di – 1941”, quasi senza pensarci, ma poi, rileggendolo, mi è sembrato che funzionasse. Così ho iniziato allo stesso modo tutti i capitoli. Con il suo nome, perché quelle storie appartenevano a lei, e poi l’anno in cui erano successe.”
Tra 4 e 5 stelle.
Wang Di, una messaggera di speranza.
Ma così non è stato. O meglio, non durante la guerra.
Era un’adolescente quando fu strappata alla sua famiglia per diventare una “comfort woman”, una delle tante donne che soddisfacevano i bisogni dei militari giapponesi.
E questi sono i capitoli più terribili: più e più volte violata, senza sosta, senza amore, fino a farsi scomparire per sopravvivere: “Di tanto in tanto mi addormentavo, ma poi mi risvegliavo di soprassalto, perché il rumore più assordante era il silenzio delle altre ragazze che erano nelle stanze accanto alla mia e in quelle adiacenti, terrorizzate e in attesa come me.”
“Cercai di raggomitolarmi su un fianco, ma appena mi muovevo sentivo come un fuoco in mezzo alle gambe. Così restai sdraiata sulla schiena e chiusi gli occhi. Quella notte, sentii qualcuno piangere dall’altra parte del muro. Stavo per battere sul divisorio quando una voce gridò qualcosa in giapponese. Il pianto s’interruppe per un istante e poi ricominciò, più soffocato, come se la persona che si lamentava si fosse coperta il viso con le mani. Anche dopo che mi addormentai, quel pianto s’insinuò nei miei sogni, togliendo spazio a ogni altra cosa. Presto, troppo presto – un minuto, mi sembrò –, riaprii gli occhi e vidi che la luce già filtrava sotto la porta. Era l’alba.”
Fino a quando un giorno non scopre di essere incinta, non si sa di chi. Non si sa di chi tra i tanti. Riesce a scappare, ma poi stremata da tutto smarrisce il figlio. Riesce a fare ritorno dalla sua famiglia, ma resta un’emarginata, un simbolo della vergogna.
La vita di Wang Di si intreccia con quella di Kevin, un altro adolescente che riesce a scoprire la verità sui suoi nonni.
“Ti ho trovato. Ti prego, perdonami. Ti ho trovato e ti ho portato via. Erano tutti morti. O non si trovavano più. Io non sapevo. Non c’era più nessuno e volevo solo cercare di aiutarti. Volevo salvarti. Eri solo un bambino. Così piccolo. Volevo cercarli dopo la guerra, volevo, ma è passato un mese, due mesi, un anno, due anni. E poi non ho potuto più. Non ho potuto. Mi perdoni? Ho cercato di trovarli. Ho cercato. Non odiarmi, quando scoprirai la verità. Ti prego, perdonami.”
“Ho sottolineato due volte la parola “O” sulla seconda riga, poi tre volte. Sul frontespizio del quaderno, ho scritto le domande a cui dovevo dare una risposta: 1. Dove l’ha trovato? Dove era stato abbandonato mio padre da neonato? 2. Chi sono i veri genitori di mio padre? Sono ancora vivi? Dove sono? 3. Ah Ma pensa, o è sicura, che mio padre scoprirà la verità. Come dovrebbe scoprirla?”
“Come si fa a perdere qualcosa che non hai mai trovato? Pensavo a questo, sospeso tra sogno e realtà, mentre camminavo verso casa. Avevo già le chiavi in mano quando ho sentito qualcosa, una canzone che sembrava arrivare da molto lontano, nel tempo e nello spazio, da quando Ah Ma dormiva ancora nel suo letto e si addormentava ascoltando l’opera cinese, con quell’aria che le entrava dritta in petto.”
Un lungo racconto sulla storia delle atrocità compiute dai giapponesi durante la guerra. Una storia che prova a portare alla luce la verità. E nonostante tutta quella disumanizzazione, la forza per non perdersi completamente.
“Solo quando sono tornato a casa, ho sentito nel petto tutto il peso delle sue parole. L’unica soluzione che ho trovato per liberarmene è stata quella di mettere tutto per iscritto. È stato così che ho passato le settimane successive: di giorno la intervistavo e poi riscrivevo tutto con parole mie, cercando di raccontare la sua storia meglio che potevo. Ho scritto il primo capitolo, intitolato “Wang Di – 1941”, quasi senza pensarci, ma poi, rileggendolo, mi è sembrato che funzionasse. Così ho iniziato allo stesso modo tutti i capitoli. Con il suo nome, perché quelle storie appartenevano a lei, e poi l’anno in cui erano successe.”
Tra 4 e 5 stelle.
May 8, 2019
Readers will immediately notice the beautiful cover of this Historical Fiction novel that looks at WWII from a different vantage point - the Japanese occupation of Singapore between 1942 and 1945.
The story has dual time lines and is told with two perspectives. Wang Di is a teenage girl from a small town who is abducted during the war and sold into sexual slavery to become a 'comfort woman' to the Japanese army. The second perspective is from Kevin, a 12-year-old boy who tries to piece together his grandmother's murky confession sixty years after the war. These are compelling premises, but I found Wang Di's story, while hard to read at times, much more interesting. I will caution readers that her tragic story isn't for the faint of heart as the author vividly describes the barbaric abuse and feelings of helplessness that Wang Di and her friends suffer at the hands of the Japanese who controlled Singapore.
While I appreciated learning about a lesser known, but no less tragic, aspect of WWII, unfortunately, I struggled to become invested the stories, particularly Kevin's. The connections between the two POVs and two time frames were often awkward which influenced the flow of the story. I also felt somewhat dissatisfied that readers are left with so many unanswered questions.
Overall, while I had some issues with this book, it is an evocative read about survival, female endurance and the long road to healing.
Disclaimer: My sincere thanks to the publisher and TLC Book Tours for providing me with a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.
The story has dual time lines and is told with two perspectives. Wang Di is a teenage girl from a small town who is abducted during the war and sold into sexual slavery to become a 'comfort woman' to the Japanese army. The second perspective is from Kevin, a 12-year-old boy who tries to piece together his grandmother's murky confession sixty years after the war. These are compelling premises, but I found Wang Di's story, while hard to read at times, much more interesting. I will caution readers that her tragic story isn't for the faint of heart as the author vividly describes the barbaric abuse and feelings of helplessness that Wang Di and her friends suffer at the hands of the Japanese who controlled Singapore.
While I appreciated learning about a lesser known, but no less tragic, aspect of WWII, unfortunately, I struggled to become invested the stories, particularly Kevin's. The connections between the two POVs and two time frames were often awkward which influenced the flow of the story. I also felt somewhat dissatisfied that readers are left with so many unanswered questions.
Overall, while I had some issues with this book, it is an evocative read about survival, female endurance and the long road to healing.
Disclaimer: My sincere thanks to the publisher and TLC Book Tours for providing me with a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.
January 28, 2019
This book is with rights compared to Min Jin Lee's "Pachinko".
It's beautiful and heart-breaking at the same time. Our main characters go through so incredibly much abuse and sorrow and never really open up to each other what happened during the war and Japanese occupation.
I can recommend this to lovers of Min Jin Lee's novels or if you enjoyed the Night Tiger or the Geisha.
It's beautiful and heart-breaking at the same time. Our main characters go through so incredibly much abuse and sorrow and never really open up to each other what happened during the war and Japanese occupation.
I can recommend this to lovers of Min Jin Lee's novels or if you enjoyed the Night Tiger or the Geisha.
March 1, 2019
Review to come, but this book broke my heart over and over.
May 23, 2019
Visit the locations in the novel
Singapore, 1942. As Japanese troops sweep down Malaysia and into Singapore, a village is ransacked, leaving only two survivors and one tiny child.
An emotional and heartbreaking read set during the Japanese occupation. It’s the story of a woman who survived the most horrific circumstances yet survived. Woven around this story is the tale of her husband and the horrors he also went through at the hands of the Japanese.
A heartbreaking and powerful read. Did I mention this was heartbreaking? It shattered my heart and it’s stayed with me ever since. There were times I didn’t want to read any more but I did, as to stop would have felt like abandoning the characters to their fate alone. This book got to me in many ways, I’m not going to lie.
The books takes you back to the horrors inflicted on the women of Singapore during WW2. The Japanese invaded and they destroyed a country but they terrorised and violated many of the women. The descriptions of this were graphic and upsetting yet it’s experiences that did happen and Wang Di’s incarceration and brutal treatment is also that of so many others. Remember this and it’s all the more heart-wrenching. The women who were taken were called ‘comfort women’ and this name made the situation even worse somehow. Comfort? That word felt like nails on a blackboard. The notion of comfort which conjures up so many nice things sullied by the Japanese in this way. Those poor, poor women.
Then there’s the story of her husband. They have both suffered in different ways but find it hard to talk about it. He’s affectionately known as ‘Old One’, and Wang Di needs to know what he experienced during the war. She’s never admitted to him what happened to her – the shame is too great. And that’s what got me. despite everything this poor woman has endured, she’s the one to feel shame.
These two stories are recorded and written down by Kevin, who wants to discover the long lost story of his late grandmother. It’s this and the intertwining of the two histories that builds the picture of the novel as a whole.
Important to learn about, important to read, but powerfully raw and emotionally heartbreaking.
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