by Vanessa Chan
I knew I was entering dark waters, but I found the darkness in this historical novel of the Japanese occupation of Malaya during WWII even more disturbing than I had expected. The main character, wife and mother Cecelia Alcantaras. would be the one who “made the storm,” to reverse the words in the title. She fancies herself a heroine for the Malayan people to justify her infidelity with a Japanese general to whom she is inexplicably attracted. Ironically, the Japanese occupation of Malaya from 1941-1945 will make the locals welcome the return of British Colonialism at the war’s end.
Cecelia is not a likeable protagonist. She finagles her way into Fujiwara’s arms and other parts by volunteering to work as his informant; her chief source of classified information is her unsuspecting husband, Gordon. Cecelia is shameless in her pursuit of Fujiwara, feigning to faint at a party in order to draw her husband’s attention away from the study, where her lover will be able to snatch a key piece of intel.
Cecelia and Gordon have three children, and their compelling stories are told in alternating chapters. The details are tragic and heartbreaking. Early in the novel eldest daughter Jujube shuts youngest child, sweet Jasmine, in the dark basement to hide her from the soldiers who search out young girls to molest. But it will take more than a bolted door to protect the children of Malaya from the occupying Japanese. The only son Abel, once brave and loving, will endure unspeakable horrors of captivity.
The author successfully ties together various segments of the plot for a somewhat satisfying conclusion. However, there can be no happy ending for the woman who has betrayed the people who loved her most. By the end of the novel, Cecelia has unraveled; she has stopped bathing, eating, caring for her home, and seems to mumble incoherently. Whether from the loss of Fujiwara or from the intense guilt of what she has done is difficult to discern. The author tries to provide some measure of comfort in the form of a pleasant letter from an acquaintance of Jujube, but it is a trifle. Too many blood stained nightgowns, too many dead chickens, and too much filth.
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