The Rest of World War II: Hotel on the Corner... and Lost in Shangri-La

Since the last two books that I read were focused on World War II or the run-up to World War II, I think it makes sense to look back at two other books I read this year focused on the same time period. The books, one fiction and one, essentially, journalism are very different from one another with one exception: the war in focus is that with the Japanese, rather than the Germans.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet is the only fictional novel I read this year set during WWII and is a relatively light read about the clash of cultures - Asian and American - on the West Coast during WWII. The author deftly examines what it means to be an American, to be young, to be a child in a country at war, while also exploring fear, both raw, wartime fear, and the more insidious "fear of the other," and what those fears can do to a family and a nation. This book paints an excellent portrait of the brutal, seemingly arbitrary decision to "intern" thousands of Japanese-Americans, many with only distant, tenuous ties to Japan, in camps they were forced to build themselves during World War II. It is a searing portrait of upheaval, loss, and ultimately forgiveness and redemption. Indeed, I would have thought this book really excellent were it not for one small, but important detail: the use, in the book, of the Internet in the mid-1980s. I appreciate poetic license, but even months later find this one, seemingly small, detail continues to nag at me.

In contrast, Lost in Shangri-La is the true story of three members of the U.S. military, including one WAC, who survive a horrific plane crash that kills 21 of their friends and colleagues, deep in the New Guinea jungle. I have a hard time putting my thoughts about this book into words because it is so impossible that it’s hard to believe it really happened. Not only is the setting surreal, deep in a jungle inhabited by virtually unknown, cannibalistic tribes, but the entire idea of an office commanding a flight to gawk at said tribes in the middle of the war is also mind boggling. Add to the mix that three people survived the crash and ensuing inferno and picked their way through the jungle and into the arms of one tribe, and this had to be one of the most improbable, most fascinating episodes of the war.

It is a credit to the writing that the story tells itself so smoothly, but the intricately-researched history (of the area, the tribes – from agricultural techniques to war paints – and of previous European expeditions to the area) contributes greatly to the “it can’t be” sense of place and time that so perfectly imbues Shangri-La. The rescue, too, the “bahala na” attitude of the men asked to carry out this task, amazes. And while Margaret’s gumption is a thing to behold, ultimately John McCollum is the hero of the book. From bandaging the wounded and marking the dead, to signaling for U.S. military planes and befriending tribal chiefs, to his last ultimate high-altitude task, he makes the impossible happen. I believe most of us would hope, on our best day, to muster half the strength, courage, and wherewithal that John exhibits throughout the ordeal.