I'm not the only person who loved Sarah Bird's extraordinary novel, Above the East China Sea. The Chicago Tribune called it "richly rewarding," and the San Francisco Chronicle said it was "a stunning account of wartime Okinawa. Bird is a wise and sensitive writer." About two teenaged girls, an American and an Okinawan, both teenage girls two teenaged girls, an American and an Okinawan, the novel follows them through 70 years of profound loss and persistent hope.
Sarah is the author of eight other novels. She's been selected for the Barnes & Noble Discover Great Writers series; a
Dobie-Paisano Fellowship; New York Public Library’s 25 Books to Remember
list; Elle Magazine Reader’s Prize; People Magazine’s Page Turners; Library Journal’s Best Novels; and a National Magazine Silver Award for her columns in Texas Monthly. In 2012 Sarah was voted Best Austin Author for the fourth time by the readers of the Austin Chronicle; was
inducted into the Texas Literary Hall of Fame; and received the
Illumine Award for Excellence in Fiction from the Austin Library
Foundation. In 2013 she was selected to be The University of Texas’
Libraries Distinguished Author speaker, and was featured on NPR’s The
Moth Radio Hour.
She has written screenplays for Paramount, CBS, Warner Bros, National Geographic, ABC, TNT, Hemdale Studio, and several independent producers. Sarah’s screen adaptation of her sixth novel, The Flamenco Academy, is currently in development as well as two original screenplays. She has contributed articles to The New York Times, Salon, O Magazine, and is a columnist for Texas Monthly. Sarah, who moved all over the world growing up with her air force family, lives in Austin, Texas.
Besides being an exceptional writer, Sarah is also one of the warmest, kindest people you could ever meet. I think by the time we were through with about four emails to each other, I knew that she was my new best friend. I cannot thank you enough, Sarah for being here!
This is an
extraordinary novel, and though I’ve loved all of your previous work, this one
feels bigger, richer, more complex. It’s racking up tremendous raves, including
my own here. How terrifying was it to write something this complicated?
Thank you,
Caroline, it means so much that a writer I’ve admired for years thinks the best
book I’ll ever write works. What was terrifying about writing it was the sense
of obligation I felt once I accepted that there was no choice, I had to tell this story, the story of the
Okinawan people, that has been with me almost fifty years ever since I lived on
the island in the late sixties with my air force family. The material demanded
that I be a bigger, richer, more complex writer than I was, and, in my own fall away
Catholic girl way, I prayed that I could do this story justice. I actually like
to think that I turned myself over to the kami,
the spirits that guide Okinawan believers’ lives.
It was also
scary to let go of my safety blanket of irony. My default setting is fairly
ironic and this book demanded an open-hearted, unshielded approach. Surrender,
actually.
Did anything
surprise you as you were writing the novel?
I had more
surprises writing this novel than I have had with any other. The biggest was the
unexpected path that opened up and allowed me to weave the book’s two stories
together. I was very committed to telling both the story of what the Okinawan
people have had to endure both as a colony exploited by Japan and, since World
War II, as a pawn of the Pentagon and the story of a contemporary military kid
who has to face different and frequently more difficult challenges than I did.
I really wanted to connect the stories of two girls, one a modern American, one
a World War II-era Okinawan, to show how their country’s hunger for empire
utterly shaped their lives, but I didn’t know exactly how I was going to do
that. The answer that finally came to me did grow out of a colossal amount of
research, but it was also a huge surprise and the finest gift I’ve ever
received.
What was the
research like? I know you grew up on air force bases, so how much of your
own experiences came into your novel?
Yes, my
childhood years on air force bases, especially overseas, was the foundation.
But I was woefully ignorant about Okinawa’s majestic history and her troubled
relationship with both Japan and the United States. Thankfully, I live in a
city with a world-class university library system and was able to lay my hands
on loads of first-person narratives by Okinawans who survived the war, as well
as translations of Okinawan literature. There was nothing on the shelves of any
use about my modern air force kids. My background and impulses are in
journalism, and I might well have flown to Okinawa to do interviews except that
if I’d shown up in all my old lady glory I would have gotten exactly nothing.
Youtube to the rescue! I found an entire channel called Planet Oki dedicated to
the hip-hop scene on Okinawa. These were my kids, my Smokinawans, and I just
let them unfold in front of me. I also came across lots of video diaries of
young recruits going through basic training and those were very useful as well.
I had several other amazing research experiences like drinking habu awamori, a distilled rice liquor
with a deadly, and, obviously very dead, habu
viper coiled at the bottom of the bottle and the magical appearance of the
world’s Okinawa expert, Steve Rabson, who was beyond generous in helping me.
Did you map
out the story ahead of time? How much of the novel did you know before you
started to write?
Oh Caroline, how the writing gods lead us on! I started off
thinking I knew the entire story. I was going to write a simple novel, maybe
even YA if I got it right, about an air force kid newly arrived at Kadena Air
Base on Okinawa. As soon as I started in on that, however, my memories and what
I knew about Okinawa exploded and took me down a path that led to places I
could never have imagined when I started.
Both your
heroines, Luz and Tamiko contemplate suicide, but for very different reasons,
which I found fascinating. Can you talk about this, please?
The issue of
suicide looms large over both Okinawa and the American military. There is a
continuing controversy between Okinawa and Japan about compulsory suicide, the large
numbers of Okinawan civilians that the Japanese forced to commit suicide rather
than surrender to the Americans at the end of World War II. What is not
disputed is that the Japanese propagandized the natives into such a state of
fear that thousands of them killed themselves rather than face the demonic
beasts that they had been led to believe Americans were. I stood at the place
where both girls start their stories. It’s called Suicide Cliffs and is famous
for the huge numbers of Okinawan girls who jumped one hundred and feet down
into the East China Sea from that spot.
Our military
is trying to deal with an epidemic of suicide in its ranks. As my protagonist
Luz, only child of a single mom whose beloved older sister has just been killed
in Afghanistan, learns from an army study one of the major predictors for
suicide is not having an intact family. Bereft about her sister and shorn of
any support or connection, Luz’s discovery of the deep “connectedness” among
Okinawans, not just among the living, but the dead as well, has a profound and
profoundly healing impact on her.
So much of
this gorgeous book is about the ways that culture, time--and human bonds--can
save or transform us when we are facing unimaginable loss. Please talk
about this, too.
Yes, the
experience of deep loss runs through all the characters. Luz has a crush on the
prince of the Smokinawans, Jake Furusato, who is her guide to Okinawan life and
beliefs, especially the belief that the dead remain with us forever, guiding us
and intervening in our lives as long as we, the living, continue to honor them
through rituals like burying them in the proper way and tending their tombs.
“Furusato” means “homesick” in Japanese. In Okinawa this word takes on an added
poignancy when it is applied to the kind of homesickness a person feels for his
village, his ancestral plot of land, the tombs of his ancestors, which were
seized by the U.S. military after World War II to be used for one of the bases
that occupy one fifth of the tiny island. It refers to the special pain of
being able to see where your home once was, now on the other side of a barb
wire fence, yet never being able to return, not even to fulfill your
obligations to your ancestors.
Sorry, that
doesn’t really answer your question. I’ll just say that the mother of my
Okinawan protagonist Tamiko expresses the wisdom that ultimately saves her
daughter and a military kid she never knew. It is contained in the Okinawan
saying Nuchi du takara, life is the
treasure.
What’s your
writing life like? Any rituals? How do you work with the usual anxiety every
writer I know faces?
Because I am
an obsessive sort of person, I always knew that if I were going to be a writer,
I’d have to dive in and be as ritual-free as I possibly could. Being a
journalist also helped me learn not to be too fussy about when and where I
worked. I have to add that my husband would hoot great gales of laughter at what
I’ve just written. And he’d be right. He
retired recently, so after having the house mostly to myself except for when
our son was little for most of the thirty plus years I’ve been a writer,
suddenly there was another presence around. God bless him, he tried to be quiet
and stay out of my way, and I thought I was muddling through. Except for the
fact that nearly every time he’d appear beside my desk I would shriek like a
crazy woman. That was when I became aware of the altered state I go into when
I’m working. Pretty soon, fear of these abrupt awakenings stopped me from
getting into that state, and I wasn’t working, and I wasn’t happy. Really
wasn’t happy. So now, he either occupies himself out of the house or I hole in
a far back bedroom and write in bed like Voltaire.
Thank you
for saying that about all writers being anxiety-ridden! Gads, how do I work
with that? I’m in a rare moment of bliss because there’s nothing more I can do
for Above the East China Sea and
after months of torture and extensive false starts on three entirely different
novels, I’ve finally settled into a new book. It was wonderful once I achieved
that state of grace where I stopped “running ideas by” long-suffering friends
and my editor and the book I was going to write made itself known to me. I was
sure it was The One because I didn’t ask for anyone’s opinion, didn’t care that
it’s not commercial, and almost don’t care if my publisher will buy it, this is
the book I’m going to write. Whew. So, I guess I deal with the anxiety by
hanging onto the memory of moments like these when the fog clears, the gas
wears off, and I remember why I’m a writer and would never be happy doing
anything else in life.
What’s obsessing you now and why?
Eeek,
there’s a dangerous question. Caroline, I think I’m already going really long. I’ll come back to this if
you like, but I’ve probably taken too much space as it is.
Sarah, I
can’t help but noticing how envy-free you are. How did you arrive at such an
elevated state?
Why,
Caroline, I thought you’d never ask. I actually am excited about this. You in
particular seem more evolved than I am and unfailing in your support of other
writers, but I was cursed with being jealous of others good fortune. I hated feeling
that way so much that, a few years ago, I went to a therapist about this problem.
She wanted to dive into whether I’d had to compete for my mother’s love. Given
that I was a shy, neurotic kid with five siblings, I saw this taking a lot
longer than I wanted. So I read self-help stuff and just tried to be a better
person. Not much luck. A friend would get a full-page review in the Times and
it was a knife in my heart. How unattractive is that?
So, here’s
what finally cured me: I found out that envy is not just one of the cardinal sins but often regarded as the worst of the cardinal sins. Perfect.
This information plugged right into my prewired Catholic girl circuitry and,
man, overnight, gone. I also got some technological help in the form of a free
piece of software called LeechBlock. No writer should be without. It’s better
than a total Internet block because don’t we all have to ask Shri Googlenami many
legitimate questions all day long? But now I’ve blocked the sites that seem to
exist solely to foster envy. Yes, Amazon and Facebook, I’m talking about you,
and I’m happier and more productive. And, big bonus, not going to hell.
Caroline,
thanks for the great questions and for being the higher order of writer who is
amazingly supportive of other writers.