Born in the village of Volcano, amidst the misty lava fields and giant tree-ferns of the Big Island, Garrett Hongo left this land before he was old enough to really remember it. After spending a few years on Oahu, his family eventually settled in Los Angeles. And yet, Hongo continued to long for this place—the land of his birth that was just beyond the reaches of his memory.
Whenever he would ask about his past, family members would clam up and change the subject— and so his longing grew. As he himself grew, becoming, as he did a much loved, great American poet. Like many people, his identity is a work in progress. A story of home. And he brings this to Volcano, which is one of the best memoirs I have ever read. If I had to compare it to something, I would say it reminded me most of Sebold’s Rings of Saturn in the way the story meanders in its interrogation of inherited memory— his is an immigrant story of the Japanese who came to the islands to work on the sugar plantations and open local shops. Hongo, in the rich and musical language of a poet, is telling the story of the ghosts of his ancestors’ past. But he is also bringing to life the flowers, birds, and trees of America’s great tropical rain forest.
OLCANO CAME to be a kind of faith to me after a while. We came and went so many times, but it became the place I wanted to come back to, to which I believed I could return. I needed it like an identity, a way to mark myself. “I was born in Volcano…” began the morning chant in my head, like “I am a Jew” or “My parents came from Ennis, county Clare,” to others. Like a pilgrim bowing toward Mecca, I wanted a prayer to be the anchor of my own presence to myself and in a renewable relation to something much greater. So, Volcano—its rain forest, villagers, and calderas—came to mean a preserve of identity and consciousness to me, a thing almost like a faith. I’d meet strangers and say, “I am from Volcano,” and feel my soul bow toward a memory of Mauna Loa rising above a skirt of clouds, bruised at the base with rain.
That is what I want: to dwell in a place where I feel truly embedded.