To quote Ezra Pound, great literature is "simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree," and this is it.
Yamada uses simple language that is also somehow acrid, jarring, grotesque and politically charged. Whenever I read her work I am moved by questions of my own identity,
"How can double mean nothing?" I quoted this to my mother to see if it resonated with her, and oh boy, it did. Like yamada herself, also an immigrant, she felt that remaining loyal to America necessitated rejecting her own heritage. And it caused a lot of guilt and confusion. One of the greatest experiences I have when reading a good work of literature is remembering that pain, grief and confused feelings of identity are universal, eternal, in the same way that war and pestilence are.