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Some of my shelves are self-evident, while a couple might need explanation. The "political fiction" label refers to "political" in the larger sense, issues larger than party politics. I was torn about the "thriller" label, but added it because of the ending of the book, where we wait to see whether Ishmael (the newspaper man) will do the right rhing, whether the jury and judge will do the right thing, and, most of all, whether Miyamoto will be found guilty of murder and, perhaps, hanged. I was so tense reading this part that it made me physically ill. So I went with the label. Similarly, this is not a "horror" story in the typical sense of the word. But with the the horror of the internment, the virulent racism after the war, yeah, it's a horror story; I might be more attuned to this in our current political climate. Also, the book gets at what we now think of as PTSD, though without naming it, and it is decidedly relevant to the story. I don't have a label for that, though.

I am not good at providing succinct summaries of books, so here is what Amazon and the back cover of the book said (with a wee bit of editing):

"San Piedro Island, north of Puget Sound, is a place so isolated that no one who lives there can afford to make enemies. But in 1954 a local fisherman is found suspiciously drowned [contrary to this, the death first was seen as accidental], and a Japanese American named Kabuo Miyamoto is charged with his murder.

In the course of the ensuing trial, it becomes clear that what is at stake is more than a man's guilt. For on San Pedro, memory grows as thickly as cedar trees and the fields of ripe strawberries—memories of a charmed love affair between a white boy and the Japanese girl who grew up to become Kabuo's wife; memories of land desired, paid for, and lost [legally stolen]. Above all, San Piedro is haunted by . . . what happened to its Japanese residents during World War II, when an entire community was sent into exile while its neighbors watched."

The back cover of the book refers to it as "densely atmospheric". Well, yes and no. Guterson uses a lot of space, detail, and repetition describing the setting and the lives of the people in it. I generally love a book that uses the location such that it almost becomes a character. To my eye, Guterson doesn't do that. He just loves description to the extent that it gets in the way of the story. That is my main criticism and reason for giving it 4, rather than 5, stars. It drove me to distraction!

This book immediately put me in mind of "Blood in the Water: A True Story of Revenge in the Maritimes" by Silver Donald Cameron. Though the books are quite different, both involve a death in the sea, one while fishing, one while lobstering, trials in which suggestion and inuendo pass for evidence, and small-town justice, including relationships between those living in the small town. Cameron's book is more explicitly political (again, large scale, not partisan politics) and gives a reader more of a sense, a feel, of the town, the difficulties and the positives, and the people in it. It led me, a life-long city girl, to think that maybe a small town could be a good place to live. It was, ultimately, much more satisfying than Guterson's.

Guterson does draw solid characters, people a reader cares about, for better or worse. It was heartbreaking to see the Miyamotos separated, dragged off to internment camps, and lose their land. It was sad to see the young love between Ishmael and Katsue fall apart prematurely. To watch the machinations of Etta Heine to keep land that, while legally hers, was not morally hers; she, in particular, is a nasty, racist, piece of work. Reading the courtroom scenes makes one hope for a good lawyer, should I ever need a lawyer and cringe over Kabuo's. It was impossible not to hope that Kabuo and Katsue, after their return to San Piedro Island and starting their family, would be able to regain the land that was rightfully, if not legally, his. The relationship betweens Ishmael and his mother was beautiful & it was good to him him "grow" into himself.

And, no, I will not tell you the ending.