John Hersey: Hiroshima

[John Self]

One week on from the 60th anniversary of the dropping of the atom bomb on Hiroshima, and three days before the 60th anniversary of the Japanese surrender in the second world war which many attribute to that titanic act, I read John Hersey's Hiroshima, originally published in 1946 in a special edition of The New Yorker. Or almost: the edition we read today is almost twice as long as the original, supplemented by a new chapter, The Aftermath, which turns out to be the most valuable and interesting part of the book.

Not that the first half is dull and worthless. The book follows six hibakusha (Hiroshima survivors, or in the restrained literal translation from Japanese, "explosion-affected persons") through the moments before, during and after the dropping of the bomb at 8:15 in the morning of 6 August 1945. These are scenes of mayhem and terror, but also of confusion and complacency, as those affected presumed they were the survivors of a cluster of conventional weapons, unaware of the medium- and long-term effects that the bomb, 'Little Boy,' would have on their bodies and minds. This is where the book is disappointing or at least deliberately restricted. Because those affected don't know what has happened, or how widely the city has been affected, Hersey - restricted to telling the story from the point of view of those involved - cannot really convey the enormity (in all the senses) of what has occurred. The best he can do is to let us know how far each person was from the hypocentre of the blast, and yet how powerfully the buildings around them were destroyed and how close they each felt to the 'noiseless flash.' The people are as various as a tailor's widow, a doctor, and a German priest who has come to live in, and to love, Japan. All were civilians going about their daily business, saved by random chance (one looks away from a window at the moment the bomb explodes, another wears white and not black, helping deflect the searing heat from their skin), and affected to varying degrees.

The limited viewpoints combine with the dispassionate narrative to make for a less affecting read than I had anticipated. And yet this is what makes the last part, added by Hershey in 1985, so important and resonant. He follows the six survivors individually, relating the rest of their lives to that date (or the rest of their lives to death) in a dozen or so pages each. We learn facts more horrifying and moving than any yet: that the Japanese government failed to take responsibility for these people for a long time, only in 1957 passing legislation to entitle the hibakusha to medical and financial assistance; or the long decline of health with radiation sickness, only half-understood by those dying from it, and their selfless devotion to others in the face of their own suffering. And the last section of the last chapter, covering the activities of Kiyoshi Tanimoto, is the most brilliant of all, intercutting details of his fund-raising efforts with American and Japanese feelings on the aftermath of the bombing through politicians, the media and the public, with brief accounts of the ominous rise in atomic and hydrogen bomb testing by developed countries around the world, one after another after another. Only then, in the last sentence of the book, does Hersey editorialise ("His memory, like the world's, was getting spotty"), bringing the entire content of the book perfectly together with its natural manifesto of Never again.

Incidentally, one comment on the blurb of this Penguin Modern Classics edition of Hiroshima is worth correcting: it speaks of "the long-term effects of one very small bomb." In fact Little Boy weighed 42 tonnes (94,000lb), equivalent to about 30-odd cars. Not so very small; indeed, entirely proportionate in size and weight to the havoc it wreaked. Nonetheless, Hiroshima itself proves that sometimes, small things can pack a devastating punch.

[gil]

I haven't read the book, but appreciate the review. Perhaps the most amazing thing is that anyone survived.

I was much closer in time than most of us here to the war. I was born in 1941, and my father and all my uncles were combatants. One uncle was a POW of the Japanese, and, like most of them, very badly treated. He survived, but died young. My father was in Burma, very much in contact with the Japanese, as the leader of a "capture and interrogate" group. He saw what they did to anyone they decided to punish.

No-one doubted, at the time, the inhuman cruelty of the Japanese. This cruelty, incidentally, was impartiality meted out to their own people, soldiers and civilians alike, if they appeared to obstruct the war effort. They did not employ the factory-style extermination methods of the holocaust, but they were extremely careless of human life.

Evidence of ill-treatment and torture abounded. So, at the time, there was probably little compunction on the part of Britain and America in killing a very large number of Japanese. Some feel it might have been more merciful to drop the first bomb on a sparsely populated area, or to drop only the first bomb, or to warn Japan to evacuate large targets. However, such was the apparent determination of Japan to fight to the last ditch, for years, if necessary, that none of these lesser alternatives probably seemed likely to be effective, and they didn't have an unlimited supply of bombs.

So, while today it seems incomprehensible that the Allies were responsible for the only nuclear strikes in history, at the time, by ending the Far Eastern war, it probably saved many more lives on both sides than it cost.

[Beth]

Quite by accident, I’ve just returned from a nostalgic flight, courtesy of John Hersey’s 1944 novel, A Bell for Adano. Written in the high flush of an almost propagandistic style, it is the story of one Victor Joppolo, an Italian-American major who assumes governance and responsibility for the small town of Adano, Italy during the Allied occupation. Hersey wastes no time in letting the reader know that Joppolo is good man. Major Joppolo sweeps into Adano, performs a cursory assessment of what needs to be done, and promptly tears up his official directives. He then invites certain townspeople into his confidence and crafts a loose coalition of the willing to get things done in Adano. At Joppolo’s command, an honest, introverted bookkeeper becomes the mayor, the town crier keeps his post because he can sing embellished praises of America, and soon many rather stereotypical characters appear and decorate the tale. The Major extends broad tutelage to these new civil servants, all to a rather embarrassing extent. He scolds them regarding the fatal inadequacies of fascism and inculcates them with democratic principles. All in a morning’s work! He mends the nets of distrust that the locals carry for Americans and soon has the town’s fishermen back to sea, dodging mines and hauling record catches.

Yet, conflict is brewing between the handsome Major and his commander, a vicious General who hates the locals and behaves atrociously towards them, their animals, and their means of livelihood. Joppolo becomes involved somewhat emotionally, not just with a pretty girl, but with the whole town. He intuits their need to replace a 700 year old bell stolen and melted for munitions by order of Mussolini. Upon hearing how intrinsic the bell was to daily life in the small town, Joppolo determines to fulfill the deepest longing of the population by securing another one. His efforts to bring stability and peace to the war torn village flirt with the meandering waves of military bureaucracy which threaten to negate all that the good Major brings about.

It is all simply too much. The rich story material here seems stripped, rushed and flatly told, with neither memorable prose nor birthing of characters. Hersey’s journalistic style merely puts the players on the page with the barest of dimension. In comparison to the sumptuousness that Peter Ho Davies’ The Welsh Girl brings to the occupation of the Welsh countryside, A Bell for Adano seems to impoverish the possibilities for a story with complexity and characterization. The fact that this novel won the 1946 Pulitzer prize was initially surprising for me. But, basking in the glow of victory as they were, it seems that such hubristic fare from American writers was welcomed at the time. As I read, images of John Ford-like scenes from the Italian countryside kept springing to mind. And if John Wayne had been Italian-American, he might have played opposite Gene Tierney in the 1945 film treatment of the novel. A Bell for Adano might make a good read for a young adult or for a reader seeking light entertainment. Perhaps the film is worth watching. But Hersey’s novel lacks real substance and left this reader disappointed.

Originally Posted by gil

I haven't read the book, but appreciate the review. Perhaps the most amazing thing is that anyone survived.

I was much closer in time than most of us here to the war. I was born in 1941, and my father and all my uncles were combatants. One uncle was a POW of the Japanese, and, like most of them, very badly treated. He survived, but died young. My father was in Burma, very much in contact with the Japanese, as the leader of a "capture and interrogate" group. He saw what they did to anyone they decided to punish.

No-one doubted, at the time, the inhuman cruelty of the Japanese. This cruelty, incidentally, was impartiality meted out to their own people, soldiers and civilians alike, if they appeared to obstruct the war effort. They did not employ the factory-style extermination methods of the holocaust, but they were extremely careless of human life.

Evidence of ill-treatment and torture abounded. So, at the time, there was probably little compunction on the part of Britain and America in killing a very large number of Japanese. Some feel it might have been more merciful to drop the first bomb on a sparsely populated area, or to drop only the first bomb, or to warn Japan to evacuate large targets. However, such was the apparent determination of Japan to fight to the last ditch, for years, if necessary, that none of these lesser alternatives probably seemed likely to be effective, and they didn't have an unlimited supply of bombs.

So, while today it seems incomprehensible that the Allies were responsible for the only nuclear strikes in history, at the time, by ending the Far Eastern war, it probably saved many more lives on both sides than it cost.

Your post captures the time, Gil, difficult though it is these days for most to imagine. One had to be there.
Going back a little further, I was born in 1933 and was sitting in the dentist's chair (in Brooklyn) when we both heard the ominous interruption of regular broadcasting and then the official announcement read over the radio. After a brief silence of growing happiness we both spoke the single emphatic word, "Good!"
And, yes, as with your post, that's the way it was. Only years later did I ever become aware, through media reports, of any doubts or second-guessing by anyone else at all. There were never any in my circle.

[John Self]

Originally Posted by Russell

Going back a little further, I was born in 1933

I think that makes you our oldest (declared) Palimpsester, Russell. Well done ... I think!

Many Thanks, John.
Yes, I do still have vivid memories of our times, so doing well I suppose.