I had never seen my grandfather without teeth. A simple thing, but it felt, in that moment, like a violation. Not that he was violating us, but we were violating him. With our naiveté, fear. We were in his house, on his floor, catching him in a private moment, before the bath, in which he was taking himself apart. I was struck with the thought that my grandfather was dead. That he had already died, and had been replaced by a toothless apparition, who was as frightened-of us, of the world that produced children, vaguely familiar permutations of himself as it was frightening. The old man standing above us was not real. That following the removal of his teeth, every part of him could be taken off or out—his limbs, his nose, his eyes, his heart—leaving behind not a man, not my grandfather, but a shelf, more specifically an altar. An altar from which all the relics and offerings had been removed, an altar waiting to be populated, fulfilled. My grandmother was calling him, Midori-san, Midori-san, but she never appeared. She never caught up. The hallway was as long as a lifetime.

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The writing is unconventional, but not in a negative sense—rather, it's intriguing. I expected a straightforward memoir about the author's grandfather, Midori, who passed away in America far from his birthplace near Hiroshima. Instead, the book presented me with fragments of his life: you can see many attachments belonged to him or about him inserted between pages such as documents, emails, a page from a phone book, interviews, and photographs. It took some time to adjust to its almost poetic style, unexpected for non-fiction at least to me. The book felt intently not to have a structure, hence why it blended myth, history, family lore, and research which ultimately connected to Brandon Shimoda's family history. The author delves into his grandfather's generation and his experiences as a Japanese immigrant, from his obscure life as a photographer with peculiar artistic works to his internment during World War II and his eventual struggle with dementia. Undeniably, shimoda managed to contextualise his family within broader historical events, particularly highlighting Hiroshima's significance and its impact on Midori's life. While beautifully written, what resonated most with me were the stories of OKIKU, SADAKO, and ASANO—all women—whose tales of trauma and tragedy left a lasting impression. Overall, this book proved challenging yet rewarding, addressing themes of Japanese Americanness, diaspora, imperialism, aging, ancestors, family narratives, death, and legacy.