Speak, Okinawa

by Elizabeth Miki Brina

A searing, deeply candid memoir about a young woman's journey to understanding her complicated parents--her mother an Okinawan war bride, her father a Vietnam veteran--and her own, fraught cultural heritage.

Elizabeth's mother was working as a nightclub hostess on U.S.-occupied Okinawa when she met the American soldier who would become her husband. The language barrier and power imbalance that defined their early relationship followed them to the predominantly white, upstate New York suburb where they moved to raise their only daughter. There, Elizabeth grew up with the trappings of a typical American childhood and adolescence. Yet even though she felt almost no connection to her mother's distant home, she also felt out of place among her peers. Decades later, Elizabeth comes to recognize the shame and self-loathing that haunt both her and her mother, and attempts a form of reconciliation, not only to come to terms with the embattled dynamics of her family but also to reckon with the injustices that reverberate throughout the history of Okinawa and its people. Clear-eyed and profoundly humane, Speak, Okinawa is a startling accomplishment--a heartfelt exploration of identity, inheritance, forgiveness, and what it means to be an American.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, Japan, Biography, Audiobook, Biography Memoir, History

304 pages, Kindle Edition

First published February 23, 2021

Reviews

[Elyse Walters · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’m on the trail ... will write a review soon...
But before I continue walking... I just want to say how timely this book is. It’s MORE than a memoir.... The history of immigrant Asians in the United States has not been examined enough - understood enough - respected enough. The Asian hate crimes we just recently witnessed-
have been on the rise. ITS ALARMING!

I started this book through the library Overdrive... in audiobook format ...
I was engaged right away but it’s as we get further and deeper into this book — the heart of the IMPORTANCE & history punches us in the gut.....
The injustice and misunderstandings of Asians begin to really build... and it begins to weigh heavy on our thoughts.
How would you feel if people said your face wasn’t recognizable from the next Japanese or Chinese or Hawaiian person? How would you feel if you were lumped together — as one face — no individuality? a throwaway?

Paul, just happened to join in - listened-in....
when we were in the garden yesterday...during a gripping powerful moment ...
I was more than half way. Paul became so interested — we ended up buying a copy.
I have much more to say about this book and I’m glad Paul wants to listen to its entirety, too.

The author did an outstanding job portraying the feelings of being American/Japanese....growing up in America - a daughter of parents who each had complicated stories of their own...
Much more to say... but... I’ve got to get walking...

I may return... to share more specifics...
but NO QUESTION... this is another 5 star fascinating-interesting- enjoyable and informative AUDIOBOOK...
I’ll be listening again with this guy I live with.

[emma · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love a memoir. If I ever say I'm reading nonfiction in a transparent attempt to sound intellectual, there is a 99% chance I'm reading a memoir, and the 1% is that I'm lying altogether.

So starting my reading year with a memoir felt fitting. And this was a good one!

It was also very...ambitious? It's a book detailing her life, her mom and dad's relationship, her mom's life, her dad's life, and the history and present day of Okinawa. In (checks notes) barely 300 pages.

So it probably goes without saying that I wish things were a little less disordered (things weren't told in chronological or thematic order) and this book were significantly longer.

Even still, it was very well written and powerful, and if the rest of my 2022 reads follow this track I'll be pretty pleased.

Which, knowing my cynicism and pessimism and intolerable personality, is very good.

Bottom line: A lot packed in a little, but well done anyway!

-----------------
pre-review

starting my year as i mean to go on: reading as much as possible

review to come / 3.5 stars

[Kay · Rating 2 out of 5]

As someone who has spent the majority of my life living and working in "regular" or "non-military" Okinawa (that is to say, I'm one of the over 95% of people in Okinawa who have no connection to the US military whatsoever), I have a number of issues with this book.

I'll begin with an analogy:

Patpong, Bangkok is home to one of the world's most notorious red light districts. Spend five minutes there, and you'll see hundreds of couples that would fit right into TLC's "90 Day Fiance": overweight, sweaty, middle-aged white men holding tightly onto their companions, skinny teenage asian girls wearing high heels and miniskirts. Some of these "couples" are temporary, some lead to long-distance relationships, and some even lead to an eventual international marriage.

These relationships, if they last, can lead to all sorts of issues. Language, culture, social class. The man might be called a predator or loser, the woman might be called a gold-digger or visa hunter. Their multi-racial kids then grow up with identity issues and complex home-life issues.

Now imagine that the entirety of Thailand, except for the aforementioned Patpong, is somehow sucked into a black hole. Thus, the only stories that come out of this black hole to reach the English speaking world are of go-go bars, prostitutes, international marriages, and multi-racial children growing up in dysfunctional families. Imagine then, that the narrators of these stories claim to speak for the entirety of Thailand. They speak of what it means to be "Thai", they tell dramatic stories about the "Thai experience", and then they offer these narratives to a largely ignorant public who has never heard about Thailand about what it really means to have a "Thai-American identity."

Wouldn't this be silly and eye-roll inducing? No one can deny the lived experiences of these people, but their experiences can hardly be called representative. What about the accountants, the doctors and nurses, the engineers, the businessmen, the teachers? Instead of seedy clubs and brothels, what about the regular suburbs, the parks, the temples and waterfalls?

This leads me to the main issue I have with this book. There is no shortage of stories like Elizabeth Brina's. Anywhere there are US military bases, not just in Okinawa, but in the Philippines, in Guam, in Korea, you'll find similar stories about marriages between military-related American men and their Asian girlfriends or wives. Stories of abuse, domestic violence, rape, deadbeat dads who leave behind pregnant girlfriends. Stories of mixed-race children who grow up with issues, and a history that's affected by imperialism, colonialism, or discrimination that the rest of the world doesn't care or even know about. And if that's the real story she wants to tell, then I have no problem with it.

However, at many points Brina deviates from her own personal story, and this is where her book falters. By placing herself in the shoes of imagined Okinawans from different time periods, by speaking for all Okinawans while saying "we" this and "we" that, by copying whole passages from existing english-language books on Okinawa such as George Kerr's "Okinawa: The History of an Island People" while inserting herself as an imagined observer to historical events, and finally by inserting calls to advocacy about issues such as the Okinawan independence movement and the Henoko base issue, she ironically turns her anti-oppression message into an oppressive one.

To put it simply, what is this book trying to be, and who is it trying to reach?

- If the book is meant to educate and inform about Okinawa generally, then Brina needs to develop a more thorough understanding of Okinawan history and culture. I mean, why should the average reader learn about Okinawan history and culture from someone who doesn't speak the language, has never lived in Okinawa, and makes simple factual and historical errors in her writing? For example, in one section she says that Hogen is the same as Uchināguchi, which is a dialect of Okinawa. This is wrong, Hogen is the catch-all phrase for all indigenous languages among all the islands, while Uchināguchi is the language of the main island. In any case, as her family is from Miyako, they wouldn't speak Uchināguchi in the first place.

Her section about the Ryukyuan missions to China was also almost entirely factually incorrect. She depicts Ryukyu as an agrarian hunter-gatherer society until China invaded and colonized them, taught them to build castles and weapons, and forced them to swear subservience. This is laughably wrong in every respect. First, Ryukyu didn't establish tributary relations with China until the Sanzan period, when Ryukyu was already well into its medieval period. Second, the Ryukyuan government had almost nothing to do with China even after relations were established. Often years would go by with no contact from either side. Third, the trading missions were initiated from the Ryukyuan government, who profited enormously from access to China's products and markets. The Ming and Qing governments actually lost money from the tributary system, not the other way around.

- If the book is about advocacy about the bases, independence, or Okinawa's relationship with the US more generally, then Brina needs to be careful not to misrepresent the voices of actual Okinawan people. While the vast majority of Okinawans agree that the Henoko base should not be built, that other parts of Japan should take on a more equitable role in sharing the burden, or that the US presence in general should be reduced, independence is an extremely fringe movement with less than 5% public support. Rather than nebulous slogans like "Free Okinawa", if Brina really wanted to draw attention to actionable issues her time would be better spent writing about specific proposals such as access to PFOS contaminant testing or other environmental issues, enforcing restrictions on low-altitude flight drills, or revising SOFA status rules.

The larger problem with focusing on advocacy is that, once again, the reader's context of Okinawa is again narrowed into a tunnel. This relates to my conclusion:

After reading Brina's book, one's impression of Okinawa is of a subjugated colony, a pawn subject to the shifting tides of international politics, and a place haunted by ghosts, poverty, alcoholism. Neon lights, "girlie" bars, unhappy marriages between American military men and uneducated Okinawan girls who are desperate for a better life, the noble protests of a peaceful and oppressed people against the uncaring boots of imperialism and western chauvinism. While this impression might have been arguably true around 50 years ago, it's pretty offensive to, you know, the actual people in Okinawa. It claims to speak for the majority of people here, myself included, who are just living our normal lives as doctors, engineers, teachers, and office workers. The people who have no connection to the bases, or the people who find them annoying but bearable, or the people who are pretty indifferent either way. The women who go on business trips and the girls who study at universities in Tokyo and Taipei and Hong Kong instead of thinking about "meeting a rich American" as a waitress. Brina's voice might be well-meaning, but at many times, it comes across as arrogantly as the foreign powers she criticizes in her book.

Brina asks Okinawa to speak, but it might be better if she tried to listen instead.

[Kusaimamekirai · Rating 5 out of 5]

“These are the first lessons we are taught in preschool. Which one is not like the others? We are taught to match. Colors with corresponding colors, shapes with corresponding shapes, fruits with other fruits, a tree does not belong in the group labeled ‘animal’. We are taught that sameness is correct. Sameness is desired.”

There are perhaps many paths one can choose when writing a memoir.
The majority of memoirs offer glimpses into the writer without ever really exposing the parts of themselves really close to the bone. The parts that cause you to have sleepless nights. The parts that when you look in the mirror you wish that it was someone else, anyone else, looking back at you. In short, most memoirs are varying degrees of safe.
This is not that kind of memoir.
In contrast, it is a litany of pain. Of disappointment. Of regret.
There are very few respites from any of it to be found here. Each time Brina’s life and pain seems to have bottomed out and I think I can finally come up for some air, there is always more.
Perhaps even more striking is that there is in truth, very little extraordinary about her life. Her pain is found in the ordinary indignities and humiliations we all more or less have to deal with at some point in our lives.
A mother who moved to America with her father in her early 20’s who spoke no English and felt isolated and homesick to the point that she would get blackout drunk more often than not to dull the pain:

“My mother and I speak different languages. Her native language is Japanese. My native language is English. This might seem like a mundane fact about us. It’s not. It dictates everything. Because even though my mother understands and speaks English at a highly functional level, there are places inside me she can’t reach, nuances of thought and emotion I can’t express in words that make sense to her."

“Sometimes my mother got very drunk. She would call her mother and sisters in Okinawa, talk on the phone for hours, then hang up and burst into tears. For a long time, I thought my mother was weak. Because she couldn’t speak English very well or read. Because she was afraid of pools and neighbors. Because she got drunk and sobbed unconsolably, and had to be carried, sometimes dragged, to bed. I didn’t realize then that she couldn’t change history, that history wasn’t her fault. That she could never escape the legacy of defeat, of trauma, perpetuated by her very own husband and daughter. That I could never escape, either. Now, whenever I try to comprehend her loneliness, I am completely overwhelmed by her strength. She must have longed for that small child in the photographs. She must have ached from missing me.”

A father who like her mother was loving, but showed his own frustration with his life by often being at turns either withdrawn or overly protective of her and her mom (there is a funny story about when the author was a teenager and her dad, worried when she wasn’t home on time, downloaded her cell phone records online and called the last number he found to find her. Overprotective perhaps, but also she recognizes later, endearing).

“But I also remember the countless times I needed those phone calls. How his voice gave me strength, motivation to ‘carpe diem’. How his voice gave me comfort, reassurance that my mistakes weren’t so bad or consequential. I remember the countless times I called him sobbing, anxious, on the verge of panic, at one, two, three o’clock in the morning. He always answered. As I got older, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two years old, I weaned him to one phone call a day, then one phone call every other day, and then, finally, to one text a day and one phone call a week. Except sometimes, he cheats. I try not to let myself get too upset or annoyed. I think about how, after my father’s gone, I won’t get those phone calls anymore. The thought fills me with dread. I’ll miss them.”

Both of her parents, were abused as children by their parents.
Reading about her not understanding her father emotionally, her mother both emotionally and linguistically was physically painful at times. Many of us have uses with our parents at some point in our lives but for most of us we do not have to grapple with our mother or father coming from a completely different world than ours. Watching her respond to the stresses in her life in the way many teenagers did, by acting out was also difficult to read. Drinking, smoking, letting herself be sexually exploited by anyone who showed her the littlest affection by the age of 14, not to mention the myriad identity issues wrapped up in being a girl who just wanted to assimilate but resented and often hated her mom for physically reminding her that she never could, made me more than once wonder how much more of this sadness I could take. And yet I continued.
I continued mainly because I came to really care about this scared and confused little girl.
I cared about the woman in her 20’s who seemed to be engaging in the same reckless behavior and self loathing that she had as a child.
I cared about the woman in her 30’s who clearly still struggled, but had begun to see some daylight in her life. Someone who had begun to see the damage and pain she caused her mother, her father, and those around her who loved her and was beginning to, most importantly, learn how to love herself..
I saw someone filled with sadness and regret who knew there was so much that could never be undone but was searching for wats to make things right with the time she had left.
I saw all this and was filled with so much admiration and respect for her.
This however is not only her story. This memoir’s true brilliance is found in how she ties the story of Okinawa, a place she spent a short time in as a child, and then only in several visits later in life, to her own. As her story unfolds, Okinawa transforms from a place she resents, hates as the symbol of her mother and the obstacle to her being a “normal” American girl. The Okinawa of her childhood memories is a dirty, impoverished place that she wishes would go away. Not unlike her own inner emotional state as a young adult. Yet as she gets older, she begins to admire the strength of Okinawa (and perhaps her own) as it survives humiliation after humiliation from the Chinese, from the Japanese, from the Americans. Okinawa doesn’t simply survive, but finds happiness in community and family. Much in the same way as she later begins to appreciate her own family. By the end of this memoir, Okinawa and the author are inextricably linked as shared inheritors of suffering yes, but also of strength, perseverance, and even happiness in the face of hardship.

“We are islands and we are people. We are people who can’t remember how we got here. Or why we came here. Some of us came with the current and some of us came with the winds. Some of us came from the north, from Japan.”

One final and remarkable thing here is the narrative structure Brina uses. The chapters alternate between stark lists of historical facts about Okinawa (some extremely hard to read), the story of her mother, her father (the most stunning is a chapter inside a chapter that alternates between her parents honeymoon in Okinawa in 1975 and her trip there with them 30 years later. She tells parallel stories about the present and how she imagines they spoke to each other 30 years earlier), herself and her childhood.
Perhaps most controversial to some would be the fictionalized portions of the memoir in which trying to emphasize some of the hardships Okinawans faced at the end of WW2, she places herself in a cave circa 1945 as American mortar shells rain down on her. She takes the voice of Okinawa which she admits she has little claim to or experience of, and makes it her own. She also takes the voice of a member of Commodore Matthew Perry’s staff as they land in Okinawa before pushing on to Japan, raping, looting, and humiliating the people and forcing American hegemony on them.
It is to say the least a very ambitious attempt at creative writing and while personally I wasn’t always comfortable with her appropriation of these distant voices, or the words she put in their mouths, (I want to sit down and discuss these portions of the memoir with Paisley Rekdal!) I certainly can understand why she did so.
But this is just a minor point that in no way detracts from the sum of the memoir. A memoir that is as raw, honest, and revealing as any you are likely to read. When Brina has for example her first conversation with her mother in Japanese, on her mother’s 69th birthday, it may be only about what they had for dinner, but deep down they know it means so much more. It means everything to them both. It is truly one of the more beautiful scenes I can remember reading.
It is certainly not a memoir that is easy to read. By the time you turn the final page it will have taken a lot of you. However, it also gives you back more than you could have ever expected, rewarding you with a fundamentally human story. A story of suffering yes, but also its corollary, the ever present hope of redemption.

[Nicole · Rating 1 out of 5]

A memoir of the daughter of an American father and an Okinawan mother sounded interesting, but, man, is the author spoiled. She blames everything on racism, yet takes no responsibility for her decades of poor choices. For example, as a twelve-year-old she is furious that she has to spend the summer with her mother in Okinawa. Hello? She's twelve, so of course she has to go with her mother. Still, she sulks and resents this for years to come. Later, she aimlessly takes over 7 years to get her bachelor's degree, then travels all over the US, searching for meaning and sleeping around, all while her dad pays for everything. In the end, she does have some sympathy for her mother as they age and visit Okinawa again, but it seems too little, too late, too made for the memoir. She is also very heavy-handed with her idea that peaceful, idyllic Okinawa is a perpetual victim of American, Chinese, and Japanese colonization. I would like to read a more balanced history of the island instead of her one-sided one. I don't recommend this book.

[Elena L. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beginning with the Battle of Okinawa, this memoir tells how Brina's grandmother survived during times of war's devastation and her mother's birth after the island was wrecked.

Daughter of a Japanese woman and American soldier, Brina, as a mixed race person, was often afraid of loneliness, not belonging and disappointing. She endured racism in her early ages and wanted her mother to be like other Americans. Beyond the language barrier, the clash of culture and history lingered between mother and daughter, widening the gap amongst them while Brina had mixed feelings about her mother. She grew up ashamed of her Japanese descent and it wasn't until Brina was an adult that she sought to connect with her Japanese heritage.

Brina also details her mother's hard life as an immigrant, describing the insecurities and helplessness. Same as the daughter, her mother suffered with (not) belonging. Some chapters felt like opening her mother's already-healed wound. As a reader, I empathized with both mother's struggles and daughter's recklessness. In other segments, Brina paints the experiences with her protective and cool father. We get to hear stories about war from his perspective and understand his internalized obsession with honor. Ultimately, we see the author's willingness to understand her parents' (love) story.

Later, Brina guides us into a journey of exploration of Japan in its intimacy, vividly showcasing the beauty and cultural/historical significance of cities, buildings and nature. I was immersed into Okinawan history, a place heavily imprinted by Japan, US and China, not to mention its particular connection with Japan.
In the battle of Okinawa, we feel pain, harm and destruction. Even though I found myself interested in the Japanese history, some parts were dense and hard to read.

My critiques are that, with glimpses of past and present throughout the novel, the transitions weren't always smooth. While I lost interest at times towards the end, the ending made me miss my mother.

SPEAK, OKINAWA is an intimate and vulnerable memoir that explores the life and struggles of a biracial woman and at the same time, allows us a deep look into Okinawa/Japan. I applaud Brina for her openness to deliver raw emotions and I recommend this memoir for readers wanting to read more about Asian American experience and Japan.

[ I received an ARC from the publisher - Knopf publishing - in exchange for an honest review ]

[♪ Kim N · Rating 3 out of 5]

Speak, Okinawa is the memoir of Elizabeth Miki Brina, offspring of an American father and an Okinawan mother. I appreciated the parts about Okinawan history, but found the author's personal story somewhat shallow and self-indulgent. In a struggle for identity, I think it's your family you need to be connected with. In her confusion, the author denied those connections, particularly with her mother, looking to "place" (America or Okinawa?) and outside opinion rather than family to establish her self-worth. In the end, she is overwhelmingly apologetic and tries to atone by beginning to build a relationship with her mother, who loves her and is infinitely forgiving.

The healing is gradual, cumulative. It happens as we begin to recognize our mothers not as mothers, but as women who endure husbands and daughters. It happens as we begin to accept and appreciate our very own exquisite uniqueness, and everyone we hold responsible.

It took Elizabeth a long time to grow up, to see her parents as individuals, and to understand what their marriage could teach her. I sense that she's still at the beginning of her journey/discovery about family and identity.

[Hala · Rating 5 out of 5]

"My mother and I speak different languages. Her native language is Japanese. My native language is English. This might seem like a mundane fact about us. It’s not. It dictates everything."

This touching memoir written by Elizabeth Miki Brina is about growing up as an Asian-American in the United States, her sometimes complicated relationship with her parents -especially her mom, and her experience of being ashamed and embarassed of her mother's culture. After having a tumultuous relationship with her mother growing up, she wants to cure her mother and to heal their relationship. As she navigates through this difficult time feeling pain and grief, she tells the history of the island where her mother grew up: Okinawa, while reflecting on memories of her childhood.

"And there is more to a language barrier than mere lack of shared vocabulary. There is a clash of history and culture. There is an imbalance of power."

Speak, Okinawa turned out to be a beautiful, well-written and thought-provoking memoir. This wasn’t a memoir that had me bawling my eyes out from beginning to end, but it hit me in waves, forcing me to put the book down and return to it. It’s emotional, and it transfixed me—sending me into reflections of past relationships with members of my own family—reminding me of how we should never take family for granted. No one is guaranteed any specific amount of time here, and we have to live each day like it’s our last together.

"I wish I had crawled into bed with her, told her not to worry, told her that I am her daughter, I am home. I wish I had been on her side, as she was always on mine.
But I was a little girl then, and more than a little scared and selfish, and I didn’t want to be near her."

For years, Elizabeth was ashamed of her Japanese mother. She thought she was an outsider in a town where 99% of the population is white, in a time where people of color were treated like outcasts. Elizabeth wanted to be part of the society and not be singled out. She wanted to fit in. So she refused to acknowlege her mother's work, barely spoke to her because of the language barrier and ignored her most of the time.

"Her fear embarrasses me. Her fear is always embarrassing me. At the grocery store, at the mall, she asks me to read signs and where to find things. When cashiers and clerks ask her to repeat herself, sometimes I have to interrupt and speak for her. I’m afraid to let her speak. I’m afraid of how her accent and pronunciation reflect on me.
Or maybe it is my fear that embarrasses her.

Her friends call her "Miss Piggy" because of her pug nose and sometimes "Tinker Bell" for her slanted eyes. Slowly, she starts dying her hair all sorts of colors in hopes of fitting in, bidding her last farewell to her real identity. I know that millions of women out there struggle with the pressure and guilt they grew up with because of their background. It often takes years to realize that you are okay the way you are. We need to recognize the dignity of others and let go of this pain and shame we carry around our identity. Your culture is not a deficiency, your difference is not an inadequacy. The color of your skin is not something to be ashamed of.

I guess I look strange, unfamiliar. I guess the way I look makes them uncomfortable. We are still extras, one-dimensional villains and sidekicks.

Brina managed to really capture the complexities of the mother-daughter relationship, especially that of an Asian-American daughter and a Japanese immigrant mother.

It took too long for me to admire my mother’s common sense and practical knowledge. Her ingenious reuse of excess food packaging. Her ability to transform a can of tuna fish and a carrot into a deftly flavored stir-fry dish. It took me too long to accept and appreciate my mother’s English. Eventually I realized that the world is certainly big enough for her English, for all Englishes, for all the languages and dialects, each one another history, another journey, another map by which we discover ourselves. Eventually I realized that it is my responsibility to understand her, not her responsibility to make herself understood.
But it took too long.

This was so moving, and I think I will recommend to literally anyone and everyone. This story can help us feel more appreciative of our family and culture, or at least what we have learned from them. STUNNING.

When two people with different histories, different cultures, interact with one another, they may very well get along. They may become friends. They may fall in love. They may marry and become family. But often, more often than perhaps we’re willing to observe and decipher, our ingrained histories and cultures will confront each other, potentially misinterpret and upset each other. No matter how unintentional, an offensive thought, a tactless remark, a moment of condescension inevitably slips out.

*I'm sorry for the ammount of quotes I added but the book was simply amazing to the point where I highlighted most of its cites, these are just a few.

[Bookworm · Rating 2 out of 5]

Was intrigued by the memoir of this woman who has had to struggle with having a Vietnam war vet father and a Japanese mother. A mother of whom the author is ashamed of growing up. It's difficult for Brina as she feels no connection to her mother's heritage but also does not pass in upstate New York, where her parents settle. She tries to navigate life, growing up, her identity, her relationship with her parents, and more.

The book interested me partially because I know someone who is not unlike the author. Half white and half non-white, this person was also ashamed of their mom growing up. It was not something I really understood (and neither did this person), so I wondered what Brina's experiences might tell me.

Setting aside my personal interest, I honestly did not understand the appeal of the book. It's a memoir written in fragments of memories, often moving back and forth in time. There is an odd sense of disconnection (although that's probably not unusual given what the author is covering) and it just felt like reading through someone else's journal entries.

There's definitely a lot to consider: immigration, racism, misogyny, the perhaps uneven dynamic between her parents, the way children can be extremely cruel to each other for being different, and more. But after awhile I just did not understand what the author was trying to do and it felt more like a therapy session than anything else.

I'm sure there are many who would enjoy this book and relate more to the author. Personally I found this skippable.

[Elena Sala · Rating 5 out of 5]

SPEAK, OKINAWA (2021) is so much more than a memoir. It is a painfully honest letter of apology, as well as a heartbreaking love letter to a mother. And to the island of Okinawa.

Brina's parents met in Okinawa, Japan. Her dad was a white US soldier, a Vietnam veteran; her mom was an Okinawan who worked as a waitress. They got married, they moved to the US and the author, their only child, was born and raised there. Brina adored her father, however, she never managed to feel close to her mother. Actually, she felt rather embarrassed about her mother who struggled with her English and found it extremely hard to navigate life in America. She was always an outsider, someone who struggled to fit in. Her drinking did not help to improve her daughter's estimation.

Okinawa is now a Prefecture in Japan. It used to be a kingdom but it was colonized by Japan in 1879 and became Okinawa. Brina writes movingly about the history of this island. Her narrative describes life during the period that Okinawa was a kingdom and then moves onto the tragic Battle of Okinawa in WW2. It is a gruesome story: civilians and Japanese military fought against the US military, with minimal support from Japan. Many, many civilians and Japanese soldiers committed suicide so as not to be taken prisoners.

Brina writes eloquently about the painful story of this island where her mother was born and lived prior to her life in the US. But this book is so much more than Brina's story: it is her mother's story and her father's. It is the story of their marriage, their unconditional love for their daughter and the power imbalance in their biracial family. It is the story of Okinawa and the long suffering Okinawans, resilient and generous people, frequently treated like second rate citizens.

So, yes, SPEAK, OKINAWA is a poignant memoir, an apology and a love letter to Brina's mother and to the Okinawan half of herself which she had always chosen to ignore. Highly recommended.

[Samantha · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ooof, this is a heavy memoir to sit with.

The long and short of it is that being a child of immigrants in America is a very unique and at times confusing and conflicted experience, and I suspect that only kids of immigrants will understand Brina's examinations. They are honest and sometimes brutal. The daughter of an Okinawan mother and an American father, Brina has more than just her mixed race to contend with - there's a violent history that ultimately brought her parents together, and how to consider a marriage that came from conflict between countries? Because of this, Brina ties her family's story in with Okinawan history....I can't speak to accuracy, but I found the decision to tell that side of the story (a side that arguably isn't hers to tell) interesting. I understand the inclusion, as the historical conflict deeply affects her parents' relationship, but where does one draw the line when detailing a history from a personal perspective that they weren't born into? In some parts, she switches to the first person plural "we" when talking about the history, and while I love a good POV switch, I questioned the....intent? Idk.

Brina also speaks honestly about her own internalized racism, which is another complexity of growing up mixed race. As it is, children of immigrants often find themselves in a cultural tug-of-war between the American culture they're raised under and their parents' home culture. And America doesn't always easily allow one to claim multiple identities or cultures, so you're often left feeling like you have to choose one. Living in America with a white father and Asian mother, Brina gravitates more naturally toward her father, as he mirrors society around her (speaks English clearly and is generally more assimilated into American culture than her mother). This otherizing of her mother is hard to sit with, but Brina's acknowledgment of and coming to terms with it is kind of beautiful. Her profound realization that her mother's pronunciation of her American first name is no more "correct" or "incorrect" than her father's is a small but mighty decentering of whiteness and Americanness.

This memoir is about Brina, but also about her mother, and it really captures the isolation and hardship of the immigrant experience (not that it's a singular experience of course, but I suspect many would relate to this). An important read for understanding fully what it means to come to a country you don't know and make a whole life.

[Shelby (catching up on 2025 reviews) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow!!!! 🙌 What an excellent memoir! This is one of the best I've read, and I am so grateful to the author for sharing her story with the world. ❤️ I so appreciate the vulnerability and transparency in which she shares the intimate details of her life. 10/10 stars! Well done!

Friends: If you like memoirs, you must read this one! I did a combination of reading and listening, and the narrator does a wonderful job!

[Sarah Cavar · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wrenching and fabulous memoir. Rarely do memoirists marry the “I” and the “we” so well, but this is where Speak, Okinawa shines. There’s personal narrative, historical truth, familial myth, all wrapped tightly into a coherent and heartbreaking story.

[Christine Liu · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sometimes you read a book at the exact right time in your life, when the experiences you've had allow you to really absorb the words that someone else has assembled in perfect order, that's it's like the book has managed to illuminate some fundamental truth that you always knew but could never articulate. This is one of those books for me. I don't read memoirs often, but I devoured this gorgeously written book in one night, stopping only to mark the passages I wanted to reread and getting tissues when my tears obscured the words on the page.

Speak, Okinawa is a rich and multilayered story of a woman reckoning with her own identity, the traumas that her parents carry with them, and the history of a unique place. Brina writes with luminous insight and astounding maturity about her experiences growing up as an American who was often treated as an outsider, of internalizing systemic racism and the impacts that had on her relationships with her white father and Okinawan mother, or her difficulties in connecting and relating to half of her identity. She explores her parents' struggles - her father as a Vietnam veteran who quietly carries PTSD and survivor's guilt with him every day of his life, and her mother as the fifth daughter of a poor family who saw marriage as an escape only to succumb to alcoholism when she found herself in a strange and alienating world that never truly welcomed her. And she recounts the history of Okinawan under Japanese and American occupation with haunting clarity.

This is a rare and special book, and Elizabeth Miki Brina is a singular talent. I can't wait to read more from her.

[Monica Albright · Rating 5 out of 5]

I couldn't read this book slow enough or fast enough. What follows is not really a review of Elizabeth's book but more of a letter to her about it.
Elizabeth,
Thank you so much for writing this book. I cannot begin to express how much it meant to me. I, too, am a daughter of an Okinawan woman and an Italian/American military man. Yes, they met while my dad was stationed in Okinawa. They met in a bar. It was the time of Vietnam. I am a bit older than you, born while the war raged on. If you changed the music and fashion, a lot of your story is my story. Unfortunately, I cannot apologize to my mother or father for my hatred and embarrassment as a child and teenager. They have both passed. But, I can feel slightly redeemed that you seem to have put down in a book what I never could. My tears overflowed on page after page and are still dripping onto my keyboard as I type. Thank you for sharing your story. Thank you for being so honest and transparent. Please hug your mom and dad for me.

[Colyforniaroll · Rating 5 out of 5]

For once, a book has struck me so deeply that I find it difficult to portray my feelings.

From the very beginning until the end, I had to read in fragments. Every word had such vulnerability that there were parts where I felt like Brina had read my thoughts only to voice it perfectly on the page. I knew that being half-Asian/half-white was not an experience solely my own of course, but to hear her speak about the guilt of siding with her white father, the shame and demoralization around dating as an Asian woman, the history of a culture so often turned away from the world, was so mesmerizing. The only word I can think of right now is surreal. When you start reading this book, you will be faced with your past, no matter who you are.

While it is a memoir about her life, she also weaves her parents complicated love story in with the history of Okinawa. She connects the dots to her guilt, with the reconnection to her mother. It really is a love letter to her mom and her mom's family, so much so that she ends the book with an apology. I can quote a line from literally every chapter, but the one that absolutely broke me was chapter VII, "Miki". This book is a must read.

[Andrea · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 stars
Raw, heartbreaking, so full of regrets and what-could-have-beens, but ultimately hopeful. Very well written and appropriately critical of the United States’ use and abuse of Okinawa and its people.

[Raven · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Only children believe they are exceptional. They believe they are the best at everything and the worst at everything. They are the most loved and most disappointing.”

It’s only spring, but I think Speak, Okinawa is my absolute favorite book that I’ve read so far this year, perhaps one of my absolute favorite memoirs right alongside Audre Lorde’s Zami, A New Spelling of My Name and Maya Angelou’s collection of memoirs.

I think that Speak, Okinawa has something in common with those works. Lorde described Zami as a biomythography, which is her way of being upfront about how our past and the pasts of our mothers is mythologized in a way, that memories (especially those that are not your own) are akin to a xerox of a xerox ad infinitum. Angelou is so deeply honest and so deeply vulnerable, yet still so deeply dedicated to her craft. I think Elizabeth Miki Brina explores memory in an innovative and interesting way; this memoir is gorgeously and expertly crafted. It is uncomfortably honest and so vulnerable that while reading it, I felt stripped and exposed in a strange way too, maybe that is kinship.

I appreciate the care with which Brina renders her parents. This memoir feels akin to a portrait, like a cubist portrait. I’ve read interpretations of cubism (think Pablo Picasso and Juan Gris) that explain that the portraits are often like that distorted because these artists are trying to depict the objects of their paintings from multiple points of view. Brina does that here in how she depicts her mother and father. Her is a brilliant thinker, a boundlessly loving and compassionate man, an embodiment of chivalry. And yet, he is also someone who has experienced severe trauma, someone who deals from a place of privilege, and someone whose entire life philosophy is basically the “All in the Family” theme song. Her mother is a brilliant woman able to balance on the tight rope between two worlds, a woman who is both meek yet fiercely devoted to her own dreams, a woman who has experienced severe trauma and struggled with alcoholism, a woman who deals from a place of empathy. While Speak, Okinawa is focuses on the portraits of Brina’s mother and father, it is also a self-portrait as well. Picasso is quoted as saying “There are so many realities that in trying to encompass them all one ends in darkness … That is why, when one paints a portrait, one must stop somewhere, in a sort of caricature.” I think this quote sums up what Brina is doing here. I think perhaps in this case though “caricature” isn’t intended to have a comic or grotesque effect, but maybe that is what it means to understand people as truly multifaceted beings.

I learned so much about the history of Okinawa while reading this book. Brina wrote those historical context portions using first person plural in a way that reminded me so much of Julie Otsuka’s The Buddha in the Attic. Those portions were written in a way to remind us that neither time nor absence can separate one from their culture, from the collective past of their community.

There is so much that I want to say about this book. My cup runneth over with praise for Speak, Okinawa: for how it is a call to action from Brina to the United States, how it is a reflection on Brina’s own experiences with fetishization, the boundless desire to desired, the difficulties of maintaining a romantic relationship when you doubt the ability of other people to maintain an authentic interest in you, to maintain a love for you. I want to ramble on about how this book deserves an entire galaxy of stars. And yet, I’ll end this review here because I realize that “one must stop somewhere.”

Notable Quotables:
“I do not yet know that acts of physical intimacy are not meant to be offered, like alms to charity, like a stick of gum. They are not meant to be passively received or performed, or endured.”

“I recall her responses to previous breakups and heartaches. ‘Oh, come on. Why are you so upset? He doesn’t like you. Just forget it.’ The bluntness I once mistook for mistranslation, for not understanding me and the depth of my emotional injury, was perhaps her way of provoking me to get over myself, to put my privilege in perspective, and focus on what I still had—what I still have. My youth, my freedom, my blank slate of a future.”

[Ris Sasaki · Rating 1 out of 5]

1.5 ⭐

Even though I appreciated the bits and pieces of info about Okinawa that the author put in some chapters, I have to say that I had lots of problems with this book.

Especially the way that the story is told between historical info, flashbacks from the past and a story line for the present.
Things were so chopped off that you were reading about her and her fiancee breaking up and it would cut out of nowhere for the author to talk about the relationship between her parents and then cut again in the middle of the narrative to talk about the us military raping okinawan young girls.
It was so back and forth all the time that for me it just seemed like I was listening to a child telling a story... They would say something to you, stop in the middle of a sentence to start a new subject just to come back to it in the middle of a new story.
So, suffice to say, it was confusing.

Also, I have to say that this might be entirely my fault, but for a memoir called Speak Okinawa, I expected to see way more information and details about the place and its history or even more about her mom and their japanese family instead of having to listen to her talk about the time when she was a teen and was drinking in the basement with her friends...

Overall, I'm deeply disappointed.

[Jan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very honest and touching memoir

[Leigh-Anne · Rating 4 out of 5]

This memoir was not quite what I thought it would be. I picked it up because we are currently living in Okinawa and have lived here before. I loved how the author pieced parts of Okinawan history into her story. Her life has taken many dark and graphic turns with abuse both from herself and others. Some of the parts of her story were difficult to sit with.

I will say, which will likely be an unpopular opinion but it is mine, that her chapter on the American military presence in Okinawa is a little naive, if that's the right word. I've often wondered if we need to have as many bases as we do here and as many airman, soldiers, marines stationed here. I, in no way, excuse the disgusting behavior of several military members here and their actions and it saddens me that they aren't dealt with justly. HOWEVER, if the US military left, what would happen? I've asked this and the simple answer is someone else would come in. Who would that someone be? Likely China. Would that be better for Okinawa? It's not right at all, but the location of this island is viewed as strategic for all these world powers and sadly they would fight for it. It may not be a good answer but unfortunately it may be the lesser of two evils? Just my own thoughts. I will never take lightly my families time in Okinawa. This is our home and I love the beautiful people and culture of this tiny island. I feel so blessed to have experienced it. I also think she didn't touch on how the Okinawans were treated by the Japanese during WWII. I went on a tour with a survivor of the Battle of Okinawa. She was a baby, hiding in the caves with her family, and her testimony of what her family experienced at the hands of Japan is gut wrenching. Again, the Okinawans were not treated well by many, but it can't be blamed on one entity.

[Anita · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderful memoir reflecting on Okinawa, her self as a mixed race Asian American, and her parents as a white American soldier and a foreign Japanese woman who met because of U.S. military presence in Okinawa.

Learning about Okinawa's history was quite illuminating, as I made the mistake of considering it simply part of Japan when in reality it has a very complex history and unique culture.

Brina's reflections on both of her parents were heartfelt and deeply emotional. Her father is a strong foundation to her family, and her reflection of him is very kind - even as she acknowledges his overpowering presence at times.
Her thoughts in her mother seem typical - but they are unique in a way that only a foreign mother in America within a military community can be. These reflections resonated deeply with me, and they were poignant. As she's learned more about Okinawa and her mother, Brina has become kinder in thoughts and actions over the years towards her mother, and it was heartwarming and I think recognizable to many (most) millennials that as they age, they understand their mothers better and reflect on their childhood years (and parents) with kinder and wiser eyes.

A wonderful read which also included much history about Okinawa and the conflicts and countries involved on her shores - including America's unwanted continual presence and Japan's indifference.

[Denise · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is one of those books I find excessively hard to rate. Another reviewer compared it to a therapy session, which really is what it feels like - the author trying to sort out her various issues with herself, her parents, the internalized racism and cultural disconnection and disinterest towards her heritage on her Okinawan mother's side she grew up with, and finally moving towards being mature enough to realize that she was, quite frankly, an utterly horrid, selfish and callous child and adolescent who needs to make amends to and reconnect with the mother she used to look down on. It's the portrait of a deeply dysfunctional family made up of three deeply dysfunctional individuals that was at times quite uncomfortable reading.

[Beverly · Rating 5 out of 5]

thoughts coming shortly

[Sachi Argabright · Rating 5 out of 5]

SPEAK, OKINAWA by Elizabeth Miki Brina is a memoir from a biracial woman whose American father met her Okinawan mother while he was stationed on the island. The book discusses details of Brina’s life including her experience as a biracial Asian American living in a predominantly white community, and the dynamics of being in a family who must lean very heavily on patriarch due to language barriers between the 3 members of the household. In contrast, the book also reflects on the history of Okinawa and its complicated past with other countries, especially the U.S.

[ Trigger warnings for war/violence, sexual assault, and rape ]

This memoir spoke to me and my personal experiences so strongly, and it will likely be one of my favorite books of 2021. My parents met when my father was stationed in Japan during his time in the U.S. Navy. Brina’s biracial Asian American experience, and military father / immigrant mother family dynamics resonated with me like no other book I’ve read before. The major difference between Brina’s experience and mine is that my mother is fluent in English, while Brina’s mother was not. It made me deeply empathize with both Brina and her mother, and made me realize that I was so lucky that my mother and I were able to connect more deeply by sharing the same language. While I often complain that I didn’t learn enough Japanese from my mother, Brina illustrates the added frustration she had by not being able to communicate very well with her mother. Brina also notes throughout the book how she often misunderstood her mother when she was younger. Her memories and passages show how much embarrassment she had for her mother, and how she started to look down and devalue her after seeing others in their white community do the same. She also unknowingly held a lot of internalized racism, and tried to hide aspects of her Okinawan features and culture to assimilate.

In addition to the chapters focused on her family and memories, there are also chapters written about Okinawa. And I’ll be honest, I didn’t know much about Okinawa outside of it being a prefecture of Japan that’s very different than mainland Japan. I had no idea about the push and pull between China, Japan, and the U.S. for control of Okinawa. Control that they didn’t ask for. The Okinawan chapters are written in first person, and I found it to be a unique and effective way to depict their history. Brina covers the early history of Okinawa, the effects of WWII on Okinawans, establishment of U.S. military bases, relations between Americans and Okinawans (including interracial marriages, prostitution, and crimes), and the ongoing protests by Okinawans to be a free and independent country. The second to last chapter (named Free Okinawa) was a sobering account of how harmful these military bases have been to their people, culture, and resources – meanwhile, many Americans aren’t event aware of it.

Overall, this book was powerful, enlightening, and likely very difficult and taxing for Elizabeth Miki Brina to write. I want to applaud her, and thank her for penning her experience for all of us to read. It’s a book I will continue to think about, and I highly recommend anyone and everyone to pick it up.

For memoir lovers, readers wanting to read more about the biracial Asian American experience (especially if those readers are biracial themselves, or come from military families), or those looking to learn more about Okinawa.

Thank you to Knopf to for this free review copy!

[Angela · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book caught my eye at our local library as the word Okinawa jumped out at me. I lived in Okinawa for three years while we were stationed there with the Air Force from 2005-2008. My first two children were born there and I absolutely loved living there. When my husband received this as his first assignment out of pilot training, we jumped for joy! And then ran home to look at a map to see exactly where it was. I had no idea this island was so tiny and so removed from the main island of Japan. So as you can imagine, I found Brina's descriptions and history of the island rather fascinating and it made me long to go back.

Interlaced with tidbits of Okinawa are Brina's memories as she works to discover who she is and how her American father and Okinawan mother influenced who she was and is. It was a very candid look into her mind and some times I struggled to see why she made so many decisions that rather showed a lack of self respect. But I think we all have regrets of one type or another and the trick is to see if we can learn from them and become a better person. I believe Brina was able to do this. I loved seeing Brina come to recognize who her mother really is and that she is a strong, amazing woman and seeing that although she may not see eye to eye with her father about politics, she can still recognize his goodness and kind heart. One line I love from the book is:

"Maybe love is choosing to stay. Maybe love is choosing to stay every day until the choice becomes permanent."

Besides giving voice to Brina and her family, this book is a voice for Okinawa. When I arrived in Okinawa it was not only the humidity that surprised me, but also the large number of American servicemen living on island. Brina is not exaggerating the number of bases. I was so happy to be stationed there since this was a part of the world I probably would never have gone to otherwise, but it was a weird feeling to be a part of the group that covers so much of the island. It was also surprising to hear the AFN commercials reminding us to be on the lookout for unexploded ordinance more than 50 years after the Typhoon of Steel. Crazy!

I do hope that Japan and the USA can bring Okinawans more into the decision making for their own island. As my amazing friend Kaori often says, she is not Japanese, she is Okinawan! The Okinawans want to be recognized as their own people and rightly so. Thank you Okinawa for letting me play on your beautiful beaches, climb through your dense jungle forests, visit your shrines and castles, and begin my little family there. You will always hold a special place in my heart.

[Weiling · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Half of me uses the other half to maintain innocence” is the beginning of the end of a bubble. The bubble is a historical construct of identity, consciousness, and ideology whose inhabitants are trained to see separateness only, without being aware of the construct. Connectivity across boundaries is deemed transgression and transgression means bad, ugly, inferior, impure, punishable…to be redeemed by cleansing the non-civil (read: non-white) half. But being biracial is to live that transgression, to live to unveil the absurdity of that bubble.

Speak, Okinawa may be confusing with its title. Instead of a memoir of Okinawa, the brutal battleground in WWII, a more accurate definition of the book is an auto-ethnography. Naming it a memoir—finding history through the self—may risk appropriating the history of Okinawa, the author’s exploration of which only began recently and the beginning stance was none other than a spoiled white person. Here “white” is not skin color, but the cumulative result of maintaining white innocence.

Any scant knowledge of Okinawa will not evade the fact that the small island between Taiwan and Japan was marred by US military bases. The connection to Okinawa through her mother only started to register and strike as she gradually learned to accept her marginality in white America. With a research (okay, it doesn’t have to be academic research, but it's still important for any attempt of spontaneous learning) still in its primary stage, the use of first-person plural pronouns walks a thin line between apologetic self-reflection and appropriation. To counterbalance it, “we” is also adopted in the colonial American side of the story, to which she again doesn’t feel associated. That history is simply physically distant from the author’s own life.

What complicates the “memoir” even more is Brina's acknowledgement in a recent interview that she “just can’t write a story that’s not about [her].” Writing the book is about her, about her looking for her other half that she had tried to deny and reject. As an auto-ethnography, with beautiful language, the book does justice not to the colonial history of Okinawa (first from China, then Japan, and most horribly from the US), but to the continued wave of "decolonizing your education” in the US. It is a self-struggle, done in a critical, reflective, and embodied way, against the political and cultural ills of the US called white supremacy.

[Cat · Rating 5 out of 5]

A really raw and honest book. I ended up crying within the first few chapters but that’s honestly my own mummy issues talking. This novel is really honest - Brina portrays her parent’s actions how they appeared to her as a young child, then clarifies her new understandings that come with growing up. She portrays conflict in a well-rounded way, often writing from the perspective of other characters to give them a stronger voice.

I appreciate how the author wove in chapters with history to give context. Sometimes the historical chapters did come off as a bit fantastical because of the first person language but they were still very engaging.

While reading this novel, i felt a shared sense of shame and regret as her younger self. Upon finishing, I can now hope for the same peace.

[Emi Yoshida · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love this title, the quality writing, the parallel stories - one wartime one contemporary, the themes, the history, the upheaval and the reckoning, absolutely everything about this book except its beginning. Until I realized where it was going I was distracted by how terrible I felt for Kyoko, Elizabeth's Okinawan mom. But I realize that discomfort I went through was vital to the reading experience, which ends up being profoundly moving and rewarding.

As a half-Japanese American myself, I fully relate to much of Brina's mixed feelings about growing up mixed race, traveling between cultures, and the associated linguistic challenges; also brilliance like this: "Half of me uses the other half to maintain innocence". Having lived in Japan for 8 years altogether, and working on news at Japan's national broadcasting network for 4 of them, I thought I had a pretty good working knowledge of Okinawa's history and the mistreatment they endured from mainland Japanese and US occupying forces; but no. Brina's clear and comprehensive timeline-style of highlighting facts and demonstrating actual residual effects via her own family members brings a history of injustice to light, with great and lyrical impact.

Brina's sincerity and honesty are at times mind boggling, but I am so grateful. Even though they're not central to the theme of apology and atonement, I appreciate the brutally open way Brina incorporates ugly factors such as alcohol bingeing, and biased media in to her family story, even admitting to lying on her resume. This book must be read through to its ending, which slayed me with its absolute beauty.

Speak, Okinawa goes on sale Feb 23, 2021 and I thank Edelweiss+ for the ARC.

[Varsha Ravi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Speak, Okinawa by Elizabeth Miki Brina is a haunting, hard-hitting memoir of daughterhood, race, and belonging, of the legacy of trauma and memory, passed down through the generations. Born to an Okinawan mother and a white American father, Elizabeth is a child of two vastly different cultures, growing up, she chooses to identify as much as she can with her American self in order to assimilate with her peers and not be seen as other. Her memoir moves from her personal life growing up under the vigilant eye of her over-protective father to unpacking the turbulent and devastating history of Okinawa, a small island off the coast of Japan, of a peaceful folk who had to endure the wars and influences of Japan, USA, and China.

As a child, Elizabeth inclined her thoughts, beliefs much more in alignment with her father, largely disregarding her mother’s role or the significance of her heritage, feeling instead more embarrassed of her mother’s lack of fluency in English and her understanding of American culture. It is heartbreaking to see the alienation her mother faces within her own family. Brina’s writing is endearingly honest and vulnerable and you see her as an adult regret and reconcile with her mother’s history. The sacrifices her mother made and just her presence which had always been a constant, despite Elizabeth’s own indifferent attitude towards her growing up.

In equal parts, it is a personal reckoning and an excavation of a lesser-known part of history. There’s a kind of gorgeous agony in the author ultimately seeking the forgiveness of her mother, countering the internalized racism, and embracing her mixed heritage. Speak, Okinawa is a really good memoir to pick up and read for those looking to explore and uncover more Asian American experiences.