Monica Itoi Sune's Nisei Daughter

Sone's vivid and charming depict of her coming of age in the shadow of the Nipponese-American internments of World fight II fulfils the same function. Her search for identity has the added irony of beingness brought to a head by the unjust and racist handcuffs of her people. Born the daughter of a Japanese flop-house owner in Seattle's Skid Row, she was the child of ii vastly cultures who were destined to go to war with each other. The "Nisei" of the title comes from the fact that Sone was the second multiplication daughter of Japanese immigrant p bents (Issei).

In his introduction Miyamoto points out that the differences in language and culture (not to mention race) between Japanese and Americans are considerably greater than between the often competing European immigrant groups inundate to American shores, further compounding the difficulties for establishing valid and functional bi heathenish identity. The social unit theme of Sone's book is her successful integration of these (literally) warring cultural influences in her life. At the end she writes: "I used to notion like a two-headed monstrosity. Now I feel that two heads are better than one" (236). After the bitterness of being the continual target of white racism, which culminated in several geezerhood of internment for the entire Japanese community of Seattle behind thorny wire u

Neither the Japanese nor the Americans come out smelling like roses in her vision. The Japanese are aggressors, and the Americans paranoid racists. The greatest achievement of her book is to score touchingly human portrayals of the people caught up in diachronic events for which they have no more responsibility than being innate(p) Japanese or American.

In spite of war and the psychic tortures we went through, I think the Nisei have attained a clearer consciousness of America and its way of life, and we have learned to value her more. Her ideas and ideals of body politic are based essentially on religious principles and her in truth existence depends on the faith and moral responsibilities of each individual. I used to think of the government as a parental organization. When it failed me, I felt bitter and sullen.

Now I cognise I'm just as responsible as the men in Washington for its actions. Somehow it all makes me feel much more at home in America (237).

Of one subject I was sure. The wire fence was real. I no eight-day had the right to walk out of it. It was because I had Japanese ancestors. It was similarly because some people had little faith in the ideas and ideals of republic (177).

The greatest service Sone's book gives the reader is the education it provides well-nigh a shameful episode of our national past that has until late rarely been mentioned in media or academe. America has always dumped its repellant realities, such as genocide and slavery, down the memory hole. The angle of inclination is easy to see in the mainstream media's coverage of the debacle of the illegitimate invasion of Iraq.

Speaking of drunks, one of the funniest incidents in the book occurs when the family joins the totally community in a tea party on board a visiting Japanese warship. A sake-soaked bluejacket tries to seduce Sone's mother with an invitation to his private room, "his eyes swallowing mother in great big gulps" (64). That phrase alone gives a odor of her charming style.

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