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A deferential account of the Hiroshima bombing. It is told through the lives of six people � two Christian priests, two doctors, a mother of three and a clerk. It is not sensational at all and people who have been numbed by watching too many zombie movies might not enjoy it. John Hershey gives us a short account of the lives of each character and what they were doing on the morning that the bomb hit. These short accounts tell us what Japanese society was like during the war. The Christian priest is terrified by the rampant xenophobia against Japanese Christians. An ageing doctor who owns his own nursing home is enjoying his idyllic life in an underwear when the bomb hits. He likes to drink whiskey in the evening with his friends. The mother of three watches as her neighbor surrenders his house for wartime activities at the behest of the government. All of them live in a constant state of anxiety because Hiroshima is one of the few places that have not been bombed. Their lives are characterized by the preparations for the impending bombing.

Hershey’s tone is measured, whether he is describing misery or bravery or hatred, almost as if he is being weighed down by some great responsibility. I was not entirely convinced by his writing style. I am sure this is because I am used to reading or watching sensationalistic accounts of events, because one of the reasons for reading Hiroshima is the same as why I read books about serial killers. A latent sadism. An eagerness to know what misery befell these victims. What was it like when the atom bomb hit?

In August 2018, Kerala, the state in which I was born was awash after the government was forced to open more than thirty dams when their levels crossed the danger limits. The state had received more than 40% rainfall than it usually did over a period of one month. We in Kochi (located in Southern Kerala), eagerly watched the news while waiting for the water to reach us. False rumors spread on social media. We stocked food (in the book, the Christian priest helps his friend and daughter move valuable stuff to another house in case there is a bombing). The restaurants began to close. The water supply was cut off after one of the pumping stations got flooded. My wife told me to gather certificates of my educational qualifications and proof of all our investments in a file (Mrs.Nakamura, the mother of three similarly writes down account numbers of her bond investments). I went out and bought two bottles of vodka because I feared they would shut down the liquor stores and I would be left dry during the Onam festival period. Between August 15th and 26th, when the floods were at their worst, the Kerala State Beverages Corporation sold alcohol worth $75 million. The water kept coming. Refugee camps were opened. I noticed the long queues and chaos in the camps when they showed pictures on TV (Hershey seems to suggest that the Japanese endured the bombing with great dignity. The Christian priest is struck by how there were no cries from the wounded people who had gathered in a park). We talked nervously about moving to a hotel if the water reached our street (India is not an ordered society like Japan). Relatives living in flooded regions sent terrifying pictures and videos of flooded ground floors and old folk on terraces.

I was scared. But there was also a sadistic aspect to this waiting for doom while being informed through social media about what it would be like. The videos of water taking the roads and cars were entertaining as long as they were not mine. During the annual Mumbai floods, the poor folk living in the slums would come out to the flooded roads to help stranded middle class people. They did this gleefully as if they were celebrating. Their glee fueled no doubt by the knowledge that things were falling apart. The writer Manu Joseph described all this better than me - "I have seen sadists hiding in places of empathy because they need to be close to human suffering, they need to be in the best seats to watch human and animal suffering. They are fascinating. They themselves do believe they are good."

Some of the other reviews suggest that this was a terrifying book. Except for a few instances in the book (their faces were wholly burned, their eyesockets were hollow, the fluid from their melted eyes had run down their cheeks), I did not find it to be terrifying at all. It was almost like a detached account of a terrifying event with the author only occasionally stepping in with his commentary - �There, in the tin factory, in the first moment of the atomic age, a human being was crushed by books.�