It’s hard to know where to start with trying to convey how such a horrifying and truly terrible story can also be described as beautiful, yet it is the author’s ability to convey this apparent contradiction which makes this one of the most powerful stories I’ve ever read about the ongoing psychological struggles experienced by survivors of Hiroshima. The narrative uses a combination of straightforward prose, free verse and haiku poems. To my surprise, I found that this made me slow down the pace of my reading, “forcing” me to take time to reflect on what I was reading, as well as the impact it was having on me. In addition, Natsko Seki’s simple, but starkly bold, illustrations capture such evocative images of the changed world Ichiro, Hiro and Keiko had to negotiate following the devastating effects of the bomb that they added an impressive depth to the storytelling, at times almost taking my breath away. I loved the fact that all the haikus were encircled by bold, red brush strokes because this too made me stop, reflect and then reread each one.
I don’t want to go into any details about the way in which the story develops because its impact lies in the gradual unfolding of Ichiro’s story, the immediate impact his experiences on the day of the bombing of his hometown, the ongoing effects of the trauma throughout the rest of his life, and the way in which his relationship with Mizuki, his caring, determined granddaughter, enables him, eventually, to confront the past and find peace. Not only did I immediately feel an emotional investment in each of these convincingly-portrayed characters, but the descriptions of the unrecognisable, bomb-devastated town teenage friends Ichiro and Hiro must negotiate to find five-year-old Keiko, were so powerful that I felt caught up in the horrific sights they were seeing, in their confusion about what had happened and their visceral fear of what was to come. This is a story about survivor’s guilt, secrets, shame, regret, loss and grief but is, ultimately, about courage, hope, friendship, love and redemption. There were various points in the story when I found myself in tears but I found myself sobbing as I read the beautifully captured emotion in the free verse which concludes Ichiro’s story.
I loved the Japanese legend of having the patience to fold a thousand paper cranes in order to achieve your heart’s desire and admired the creative way in which the author wove this thread throughout the story. The fact that there is a sheet of coloured paper at the end of the book, with detailed instructions on how to make your own origami crane adds something very special to this hauntingly, beautiful story.
In her author’s note Kerry Drewery, in reflecting on the fact that there are some events, some stories, which should never be forgotten, concludes by saying “Fear isn’t exclusive to any decade, gender, country or culture. Neither is guilt. Or love. The Last Paper Crane is about all those things.” I think that in this haunting, intensely moving and beautiful story she has conveyed this message with an intensity which is unforgettable. Just before going to serve in the war, Ichiro’s father had given him a four-volume book and made him promise to read it, saying “there is magic in books”. This is something I experienced in this book and think it’s a story which would appeal to all age groups. I cannot recommend it highly enough … and I cannot imagine that it won’t find a place on my “top ten reads of 2020”.
With many thanks to Readers First and the publisher for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.