SPEAK, OKINAWA

In a debut memoir, the daughter of an Okinawan Vietnam War bride and an American soldier grapples with her complex familial roots.

Brina’s doting father once told her: “Ask me the time and I’ll give you the history of watchmaking.” The author shows a similar tendency to overelaborate in this heartfelt but meandering account of her effort to understand what it means to be an Okinawan American whose mother was born on an island most Westerners only know as the site of a World War II battle. Growing up in the mostly White suburb of Fairport, New York, Brina heard confusing racist slurs. “When I was growing up,” she writes, “White was always what I strived to be, and White always felt just beyond reach. Except I already was White. White was how I viewed the world, looked out at the world, no matter what the world saw when it looked back at me.” Such paradoxes fostered shame, guilt, and an anger toward her lonely mother, who often inadvertently embarrassed her. In adulthood, the author saw links between her family’s conflicts and the tortured past of Okinawa—claimed by turns by the Chinese, Japanese, and Americans—and visited the island with her parents, which helped her reconcile with her mother. Her account of her transformation is lyrical and well observed, and the author is to be commended for her dedication to excavating family history. However, despite the poetic flourishes, the text is too overburdened with literary contrivances, including first-person plural narration (used too frequently, it becomes disorienting), abrupt changes from present to past tense, and nonlinear chronology; one chapter has more than 40 shifts back and forth in time. Especially disorienting is a section that purports to reveal thoughts of a subordinate of Commodore Matthew Perry without revealing the sources for its material or the degree to which it has been fictionalized.