The Japanese Lover

Love And A Little Magic

When Isabel Allende’s The House of the Spirits came in 1985, it became an international bestseller. The Chile-born, California-settled author’s sprawling, emotion-soaked epics (most of the 21 novels she has written) have been full of, history, memory, romance and magic realism.  Her new novel The Japanese Lover was eagerly awaited, and it has all the ingredients the reader has come to expect from her work, but somehow, it turns out less than satisfactory, like a dish that looks delicious but lacks that one spice that will make it perfect.

The novel is intriguing and has a fresh twist every few pages, but there is also a rushed, breathless feel to it, as if the writer wanted to cram in a lot more but was hampered by a looming deadline, like this were a first draft waiting for more layering.

The book moves back and forth from the World War II era to the present.  A young Moldovian woman, Irina Bazili, with a terrible secret, comes to work at a home for senior citizens, in San Francisco. Called Lark House, the place is rather jauntily described thus: “Founded in the mid-twentieth century to offer shelter with dignity to elderly persons of slender means, for some unknown reason from the beginning it had attracted left-wing intellectuals, oddballs, and second-rate artists.”

She makes herself indispensable with her hard work and honesty (she refuses the legacy of a French dandy as “ill-gotten” gains) and is summoned by the latest entrant, Alma Belasco. A rich and sophisticated woman, she could afford a better place, but prefers to stay at the humble Lark House, away from her mansion and her caring family.  From being secretary and general helper, Irina becomes a close friend of Alma and attracts the undying love of Alma’s grandson, Seth Belasco.

In putting together the Belasco Family history, as an excuse to get close to Irina,  Seth discovers more about his grandmother’s secrets—most importantly the mysterious Japanese lover, Ichimei Fukuda, whom the old lady still goes off to meet; she receives letters and gifts from him and the reader is told the story of the great love of Alma’s life that transcends all boundaries.

Alma, was sent away by her Polish-Jewish parents to their relatives, Lillian and Isaac Belasco, to protect her from the horrors of impending Holocaust.  Lonely and grieving for her family,  Alma latches on to the Belasco’s compassionate son Nathaniel and the Japanese gardener’s son Ichimei.  (Her wise uncle observes, “Childhood is a naturally unhappy period of our existence, Lillian. It was Walt Disney who invented the notion that it has to be happy, simply to make money”—vintage Allende)

After Pearl Harbour, all Japanese families are thrown into distant camps, maybe not as cruel as the ones the Nazis built for Jews, but just as traumatic for a proud and diligent race. Alma and Ichimei keep in touch through letters and the children’s friendship develops into a romantic passion that consumes them both,  but cannot end in marriage in those racially intolerant times.

While covering the lives of Alma and Ichimei and their families, Irina’s tragic past is also revealed, which prevents her from returning Seth’s love.  It’s heartening to note that most men in Allende’s book are strong, supportive, unselfishly devoted. Most of all Nathaniel, who puts aside his own life so that Alma can thrive. Even a burly black cop who makes a fleeting appearance, is wholesomely kind.

Allende is tempted to put in too many contemporary problems into the novel—from the WW-II concentration camps to illegal abortions, sex slavery, child pornography, homosexuality, the AIDs epidemic; even minor characters are given a back story—but they read like random notes the book could have done without, since the central love story is not given the attention it deserves. In spite of all the adoring adjectives used to describe Ichimei "a wonderful man, a sage, a saint, a pure soul, a delicate, considerate lover,” he hardly ever seems like a real person. At one point Allende writes that he is a fakir who can "control his pulse rate and his temperature” but this astonishing ability is never put to the test, though Ichimei’s training in karate (a bit of a Japan cliché; there’s a samurai sword too!) and his green thumb are emphasized.

In spite of its flaws, the book is very readable and highly recommended. It might goad the reader to look for Allende’s earlier books, some of which are beautiful, robust and magical.

The Japanese Lover

By Isabel Allende

Publisher: Atria Books

Pages: 336