The Diplomat's Daughter
by Karin
Tanabe
GENRE: Historical
Fiction
BLURB:
Author
Karin Tanabe’s Japanese father was three years old when the firebombing of
Tokyo and Yokohama occurred in May of 1945—his very first memory was seeing his
city on fire and hearing the cries of babies on the shore, where they had been
carried for safety. While many Americans associate World War II with a parent
or grandparent who fought bravely in Europe, Karin’s understanding of the war
started with her father being attacked by American bombs.
These memories, as
well as those of a family friend whose own wife and family were interned in a
war relocation center, and additional friends who were born in captivity,
piqued Karin’s curiosity, and spurred her to write a love story born out of one
of the most unlikely places: a mixed-race internment camp. THE DIPLOMAT’S
DAUGHTER is a captivating and informed tale of three young people divided by
the horrors of World War II and their journey back to one another.
Excerpt:
A week later, Helene started to feel
the baby kick. Christian was walking back from his second day at the German
school when he saw his mother approaching. She had a smile on her face that
belied her dismal surroundings. Christian had planned to tell her how his
German abilities did not extend to writing essays in the language, but when he
saw her happiness, he decided to delay the bad news. Within just a few days of
his arrival, he’d learned why he couldn’t attend the American school. The
elected spokesman for their side of the camp was intensely pro-German
and anyone who sent their children
to the American-style Federal School was deemed a traitor. There were whispers
that one family’s food had been withheld for several days because their
daughter, who spoke no German, enrolled there.
“Put your hand here,” Helene said
when she’d reached Christian. She placed his right hand on the top of her
stomach. She was wearing the dress that was given to women when they arrived,
and Christian thought it made her look plain and homespun, definitely more Mrs.
Tomato Soup than Mrs. Country Club.
They waited a few minutes, but
nothing happened. Christian started to fidget, and his mother laughed at him.
“Do you have somewhere to be? Wait to feel the baby.”
So they waited. Mothers walked by
them and smiled, teenagers coming out of school slowed down and whispered, and
finally, when Christian was about to pull his hand away, embarrassed, the baby
kicked.
“I felt it!” he said, pressing his
hand harder against his mother’s belly.
“I told you it would be worth the
wait,” said Helene, her voice full of delight.
Christian thought of the tiny body
inside his mother bursting with life. He imagined the growing organs, the
heartbeat, the developing brain and he felt sorry for it. He wished it could be
born far from loaded guns and barbed wire. At least it would have love, he
thought, looking at his mother’s joyful face.
Helene kissed her son’s hand and
walked off, letting him catch up to the other boys who were making their way
from the school to the German mess hall, where they worked prepping the next
day’s milk delivery. Internees in the camp woke up to a bottle of fresh milk on
their stoop every day, one of the measures that the camp’s warden took to show
that he was going well beyond the laws of the Geneva Convention.
The camp, it was whispered among the
internees, was one President Roosevelt took great pride in, and the guards didn’t
want any suicides or fence jumpers to ruin his vision. “They want happy
prisoners,” his father had told him. “So just remember, it could be much
worse.”
For Christian, sharing seven hundred
square feet with another family and sleeping on floors with scorpions did not
make for a happy prisoner. The view of miles of barbed-wire fencing him in did
not help, either. The orphanage had changed him—he felt it in his newfound
patience. Even gentleness. The way he felt toward Inge, had guarded her on the
train, he was sure the old Christian would not have been as kind. But it didn’t
mean he was elated about his circumstances.
Then there was the camp’s
segregation. In two days, Christian had learned how bad it was. Though he had
seen the large group of Japanese internees when he came in, invisible lines
kept them apart inside. The Germans and Japanese, despite being allies in the
war, occupied separate sections of the camp, ate in separate facilities, worked
different jobs, and played different sports. The only places where they mixed
were the hospital—as illness never discriminated—and the swimming pool. The few
Italians were sprinkled among the Germans, but they kept to themselves, too.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Karin
Tanabe is the author of The Gilded Years,
The Price of Inheritance, and The List. A former Politico reporter,
her writing has also appeared in the Miami
Herald, Chicago Tribune, Newsday, and The Washington Post. She has made frequent appearances as a
celebrity and politics expert on Entertainment Tonight, CNN, and The CBS Early
Show. A graduate of Vassar College, Karin lives in Washington, DC. To learn
more visit KarinTanabe.com and @KarinTanabe.
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2 comments:
Thanks for sharing :)
Such a lovely cover.
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