KAZUKO

An intimate account of a childhood in Hiroshima before and after the atomic bomb.

As the Second World War rapidly recedes from living memory, memoirs from people who lived through it become fewer and feel more inherently valuable; in her nonfiction debut, Blake has added to that body of work with this slim memoir of her time as an elementary school student in Hiroshima. Her account, filled out with precious family photographs, is largely preoccupied with the normal elements of a little girl’s life: relations with her parents, having a pen pal, going to school and making friends with classmates, and so on. This childhood is gradually shadowed a bit by the war—students are given preparations for responding to a bomb detonation, for instance (“Thumbs in ears, three fingers over eyes, pinkies hold nose, you can breathe through mouth”). But mostly, in the memoir’s first half (the narrative hinges on the explosion of the atomic bomb over the city on August 6, 1945), Blake recalls her day-to-day life and its unexpected interruptions, as when she has an appendectomy in the fifth grade and fondly remembers the kindness of her classmates. Wartime realities intrude at times—the family was forced to think about moving, for example, and there was a growing focus on wartime rationing. (“Looking back, I think my mother was an amazing woman for gathering so many supplies during that time,” the author recalls at one point.) Blake’s tone throughout is more fondly reminiscent than traumatized; the actual atomic explosion is one of the book’s smallest, quickest details (a big bright ball, lasting for an instant), but the impressions of its aftermath have obviously stuck with the author. “Even the chaos I witnessed while rushing home didn’t prepare me for seeing my house destroyed,” she writes. Such simple, straightforward reflections fill this little book with warmth and immediacy.

An involving memoir of ordinary life in WWII-era Hiroshima.