Author Hayashi Kyoko is an Atomic bomb victim, and a survivor, or a hibakusha; bearing trauma and possible physical malfunctions since the bomb was dropped on August 9th, 1945 in her hometown Nagasaki, she led a life which seems to reflect her possibly partially auto-biographical fiction “Masks of Whatachamacallit”.

            However, it is hard to clearly define the moral of this work. Just as her title suggests, our author herself might not even be capable to name (or is willing to leave out such freedom to whoever reads it) what’s laying below her seemingly scattered presentation of the life of two female Atomic bomb survivors. Yet this should not hinder anyone from laying their hands on the impactful piece: although published 30 years after the disaster, nothing being described seems faded or reconstructed—all is fresh and alive, just as the Atomic-bomb to the survivors, always alive and together with them, in forms of physical malfunctions, fatal illnesses, mental breakdowns, fear, helplessness, hopelessness.

            Such vividness brings the seemingly random pieces of stories together back to the jigsaw puzzle, creating a cruelly complete picture of suffering. Each story contains a theme we encounter often in our everyday life: hair loss, menstruation, cancer, marriage, childbirth… If these essential experiences were not connected to an ultimate overarching theme of life that one can never get rid of, maybe they would appear as independent from each other. Yet for our narrator and her friend Takako, both A-bomb survivors, all of these events took place under the influence of the same trauma.

            The narrative begins with an immersive depiction of a lifeless, completely silent, and bright environment, in which a character named Takako seeks for signs of life and shades. Then the author never again describes how the A-bomb and radiation were like to actual experiencers but gives a narrative in which a female narrator recounts her exchanges of life story with her friend Takako after they both had survived the bomb. They exchanged moments of discontents, doubts, and despair, yet they also, without making it explicit, give each other a hand in the back and shared their love for life and the slightest sparkles of hope.

            The short reading is unbelievably rich. On the one hand, it only displays the “masks” of things—the “masks” of the shared experience by the entire hibakusha community, of how physical illnesses, mental trauma, and rejection from a society ruled by a “non-A-bomb-victim” population, had constructed the lives and deaths of every victim. But maybe because it is a condensed piece of Hayashi Kyoko’s 30 years after the bomb, maybe it is simply because such a trauma naturally presents itself through every single word carried out by the pen of its host, if you do pay close attention to the writing, you will identify countless metaphors and allegories, and every single word shout at you: “Pain!” “Dilemma!” “Struggle!” “Despair!”, and a small noise possibly yelling “Hope!”

            The piece haunts me now, as to how the bomb haunts Takako and the narrator. Although you may encounter gore and uncomfortably graphic accounts of illnesses and trauma, I am sure the genuine effort these women paid for living life will touch your soul, if you decide to give some care.

Rating: 5/5

Recommend to all compassionate souls or those who are willing to become compassionate, and those who are interested in the history of the Atomic bomb, women and those who care about women, those who wish to step out from their seemingly boring life, those who’d like to step out of their comfort zone and see some other-side reality of the world. It is also great for those who would like to learn how to make an impact on others without crying out loud or yelling imperative sentences at your audience.