As an adult, Naomi faces some of the same stonewalling
that made her childhood so perplexing. When she asks Aunt Emily
about her mother, for example, she gets little more than a pained
stare and a cryptic remark before Emily changes the subject. While
Naomi does not react to this kind of evasion in a direct way, she
is clearly frustrated with her aunt. In part, her irritation stems
from the fact that Emily is more concerned with the broad issues
than with specific people—and in Naomi’s view, a bunch of people
pecking away at outraged letters will have little to no effect on
anyone. She cares about her family members, not about the issues.
In Chapter 29, one of the most
arresting in the novel, Naomi gives full vent to her fury. If remembering
her time in Slocan was bearable, even sometimes enjoyable, remembering
her days on the beet farm is incredibly painful. She lists the hardships
she suffered in an anguished torrent, interweaving them with her
present-day appeals to Aunt Emily. Naomi is furious at the government
and at the cruelty of people, yes, but she is also angry with her
aunt for failing to understand the pain and, ultimately, the uselessness
of reviewing the past. Reliving what happened won’t give Obasan
the youth stolen from her, or bring Uncle back to life. And in Naomi’s
view, it won’t prevent future atrocities. As she says, addressing
Aunt Emily, “Greed, selfishness, and hatred remain as constant as
the human condition, do they not? Or are you thinking that through
lobbying and legislation, speechmaking and storytelling, we can
extricate ourselves from our foolish ways?” In this impassioned,
vivid, cynical, and compelling chapter, Naomi heaps scorn on the
idea that the efforts of energetic optimists will enable victims
to make peace with their pasts, or stop future disasters from occurring.
