The Color of Air: A Journey Through Memory and Healing
From the moment I picked up The Color of Air, I was drawn in by Gail Tsukiyama’s beautifully evocative prose. Historical fiction has a special way of transporting us to a different time and place, and this novel does just that—hallowing the spirit of a Japanese American community against the lush, vibrant backdrop of Hawaii’s sugar plantations. It made me curious about this world and the characters within it, urging me to keep turning pages long into the night.
Set in 1935, we meet Koji Sanada, a man shaped by his childhood in Hilo, Hawaii, where his family arrived as immigrant workers from Osaka in 1895. The island, with its five volcanoes and unpredictable weather, becomes almost a character in itself, enveloping us in its humid and sometimes tempestuous atmosphere. Tsukiyama skillfully interweaves the personal and the historical, offering glimpses into the everyday lives of those who worked the plantations while nurturing their own dreams and relationships.
The heart of the story rests on Koji and his relationships, especially with Mariko Abe, who was a pillar in his life. Mariko’s warmth and wisdom shine through even after her passing, and it’s Koji’s silence in mourning her loss that resonates deeply. Her brother, Daniel, returns from the mainland as a doctor, yet he carries the weight of his own past—a journey shaped by love, mistakes, and a longing for home. The connections between these characters form a network of secrets and past betrayals, and I found myself eagerly unraveling them alongside Koji and Daniel.
Tsukiyama’s writing is nothing short of mesmerizing. Her attention to detail brings the island to life, from the sounds of children playing to the scents wafting from the Okawa Fish Market. One moment that stood out to me was when Koji, having long laid down his sugarcane cutting tools, reflects on the weight of his past. This is a testament to Tsukiyama’s ability to breathe life into her characters through their inner turmoil and their intimate ties to each other and their heritage.
As the story unfolds, the tension rises with the threat of volcanic eruptions, both literally and metaphorically, reflecting the unpredictability of life and the inner struggles of our characters. The lush imagery combined with the poignant themes of memory, forgiveness, and healing left me enchanted, feeling as if I were adrift alongside Koji and Daniel, navigating both the landscape and their emotions.
The Color of Air is a book I would recommend to anyone who cherishes rich, character-driven narratives steeped in cultural history. It’s for readers who appreciate the beauty of deeply woven connections between characters, and the exploration of love and loss within a close-knit community. Tsukiyama’s novel isn’t just a story; it’s an experience—one that lingers in the heart long after the last page.
In reading this book, I felt the warmth of the Hawaiian sun and the cool caress of a gentle breeze, while being reminded of the complexities of the human heart. It’s a celebration of life and memory that calls us to cherish our roots and the stories that shape us. I highly encourage you to dive into this exquisite tale and discover the colors and layers of life that Tsukiyama has so lovingly painted.