The Buddha in the Attic (Pen/Faulkner Award - Fiction)

The Buddha in the Attic (Pen/Faulkner Award - Fiction)

Julie Otsuka

Language: English

Pages: 144

ISBN: 0307744426

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The Buddha in the Attic (Pen/Faulkner Award - Fiction)

Julie Otsuka

Language: English

Pages: 144

ISBN: 0307744426

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Winner of the PEN/Faulkner Award For Fiction
National Book Award and Los Angeles Times Book Prize Finalist
A New York Times Notable Book

A gorgeous novel by the celebrated author of When the Emperor Was Divine that tells the story of a group of young women brought from Japan to San Francisco as “picture brides” nearly a century ago. In eight unforgettable sections, The Buddha in the Attic traces the extraordinary lives of these women, from their arduous journeys by boat, to their arrival in San Francisco and their tremulous first nights as new wives; from their experiences raising children who would later reject their culture and language, to the deracinating arrival of war. Once again, Julie Otsuka has written a spellbinding novel about identity and loyalty, and what it means to be an American in uncertain times.

Schopenhauer's Encounter with Indian Thought: Representation and Will and Their Indian Parallels (Society for Asian and Comparative Philosophy Monographs)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

celery they thought we could pull this year from the fields. They rarely spoke to their children, or even seemed to remember their names. Tell number three boy not to slouch when he walks. And if things grew too noisy at the table, they clapped their hands and shouted out, “That’s enough!” Their children, in turn, preferred not to speak to their fathers at all. Whenever one of them had something to say it always went through us. Tell Papa I need a nickel. Tell Papa there’s something wrong with

wooden slatted benches in the park while we finished cleaning the houses across the street. Don’t talk to strangers, we told them. Study hard. Be patient. Whatever you do, don’t end up like me. AT SCHOOL they sat in the back of the classroom in their homemade clothes with the Mexicans and spoke in timid, faltering voices. They never raised their hands. They never smiled. At recess they huddled together in a corner of the school yard and whispered among themselves in their secret, shameful

waited to see what would happen next. WE FELT CLOSER to our husbands, now, than we ever had before. We gave them the best cuts of meat at supper. We pretended not to notice when they made crumbs. We wiped away their muddy footprints from the floor without comment. At night we did not turn away from them in bed. And if they yelled at us for failing to prepare the bath the way they liked it, or grew impatient and said unkind things—Twenty years in America and all you can say is “Harro”?—we held

I have bought a beautiful house. You can plant tulips in the garden. Daffodils. Whatever you like. I own a farm. I operate a hotel. I am the president of a large bank. I left Japan several years ago to start my own business and can provide for you well. I am 179 centimeters tall and do not suffer from leprosy or lung disease and there is no history of madness in my family. I am a native of Okayama. Of Hyogo. Of Miyagi. Of Shizuoka. I grew up in the village next to yours and saw you once years ago

ourselves known to them—Mr. Smeesh?—they stared at us in bewilderment, then shrugged their shoulders and walked away. DON’T LET THEM discourage you. Be patient. Stay calm. But for now, our husbands told us, please leave the talking to me. For they already spoke the English language. They understood the American ways. And whenever we needed new underwear they swallowed their pride and walked through the hot blazing fields into town and in perfect but heavily accented English they asked the

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