Fact-inspired Fiction Reveals Human Truths: THE PHONE BOOTH IN MR. HIROTA'S GARDEN

 

ORCA  BOOK PUBLISHING, 2019

This picture book has been around for several years, yet it crossed my path again recently. It certainly should stay in circulation and I hope this review and recommendation will support that possibility. THE PHONE BOOTH IN MR. HIROTA'S GARDEN is written by Heather Smith and illustrated by Rachel Wada. This fictionalized story mirrors many aspects of the true story that inspired it, an actual gentleman who built a non-working phone booth in his garden to facilitate his private expressions of grief and connection directly to his deceased brother.

The author note indicates the power of hope and resilience revealed by providing a simple space of connection. It is  based on the belief of many that some form of our life-force continues even after physical death. 

The premise in this fictional story combines the loving connections between trusted village neighbors with the historic tsunami disaster that affected millions in Japan. Mr. Hirota's young neighbor visits daily at the edge of a garden overlooking the ocean coast. Together, they watch for Makio's dad and Mr. Hirota's daughter, noting their return ftom fishing to sort, clean, and prepare the catch for sale. This daily spotting practice, or "game", provides a rhythm to their lives that echoes the oceans daily greeting (O-HI-O, the phonetic pronunciation of HELLO in Japanese). The blank, off-white end pages provide no clue of what's to come, and yet their washed-away nothingness does indeed speak volumes. 

On a typical idyllic morning, the final line of the first page bodes disaster: 

"They were playing when the shaking started and the big wave came."

The writing and pacing are impressive in scene-setting, establishing stakes, and investing each character with empathetic value. Then a gigantic-hand-of-a-wave snatched away people as well as Mario's voice. The next several spreads have minimal text, while the soothing limited-color illustrations from early spreads shift to darker shading and tones to reveal intense loss and suggest details of destruction. As Makio and Mr. Hirota, survivors, survey the remaining fragments of life, the residue left behind by the tsunami's destruction, silence replaces their daily chatter and word play. 

Then Makio hears sounds of building, he notices a glass-windowed booth constructed at the edge   of the garden. Then he hears Mr. Hirota's voice, speaking to his missing daughter, Famika. The message was simple:  I miss you.

Makio investigates and finds the booth empty except for its view of the ocean and an old, disconnected phone. But Makio remained silent, except for screaming at the sea to bring the beloved people back. The reply, of course, was only Ocean's relentless greeting- O-HI-O, deepening his sadness. His exhaustion and defeat were so great that he finally summoned his voice to use the lonely phone booth. I miss you, Dad.

Other villagers visit the booth to speak to missing family and friends, too, reporting their daily doings and whispering their deepest feelings. The text remains minimal. No simple resolves are revealed, but each line packs a poetic punch and offers layers in threads of a future we begin to recognize as they weave together in the final pages. No simple (or sappy) resolution is offered, but indicators of healing, rebuilding, and mutual support reassure and ease the tension and ache of immeasurable loss. 

Art choices and superb execution meet the high bar of this magnificent story, elevating emotions while scaffolding the intensity of feelings with sprawling views, personal/positional connections, and intentional color shifts to lead readers through this journey of grief and recovery. Just as a seemingly simple device (a wood and glass box with an unconnected phone) becomes a conduit to inner peace, this direct narrative and limited-palette illustration are effective because of the deep emotional connections that make them resonate with reality: traditional Japanese symbols, techniques, and tools used to capture the spirit and heart of this time, place, and problem. 

Books of grief and loss can be challenging, even avoided. This, though, should be shared widely. It reminds us that strength is found in community, that recovery takes time, that speaking aloud our feelings can be healing. And so much more. Please consider tracking this down, reading it, and sharing it.