It is now 2008, and a number of discerning readers have said and written very nice things

about this historical novel.  So far [1/10/08] there have been no national reviews, and that rather

disappoints, for both of my previous works (Wagner, Descending[a novel]  and In Memory of Hawks

[collection of stories]) received quite good national accolades.  Regarding such a hostile (!) work as

“Wagner”, though a work of humor, I was surprised when the old boy received a strong review in

The Library Journal,  really surprised.  

            The events contained in The War Journal of Lila Ann Smith were never—never—meant

to be a historical novel, but a non-fiction work, book length.  I’d researched it starting in the

mid-1990’s, then really got to work doing so, and by early 2000 I was actively querying agents,

 publishers, etc.  In short, it never “went” in non-fiction format, and all my efforts sat on the shelf. 

Finally, I think it was Tess Gallagher who suggested, or pointed out, that my remaining avenue

was fiction, i.e.  as a historical novel. 

          I sat on that suggestion for a couple of years, then went with it,  beginning the novel in

2003 and finishing it in 2004. 

         It took much out of me, because I was disgusted with the U.S. invasion of Iraq, and it

began during the composition of Lila Ann; here I was writing about war and its stupidity

and cruelty, and here—live, on the radio—was a real war--yet another one, and about as

 stupid and self-serving as war’s come.

            Because of war, the people of Attu lost their village, their island home, their right of

access to the natural resources of their ancestral waters and land, and half of those taken in

 June 1942 lost their lives.  They were initially skewered by the incursion of European/Asian

culture in the 18th and 19th centuries, but somehow survived that on Attu. Actually by 1940,

they had a very good, simple life out there.  They had been rather overlooked by the powers

of industry and state; in fact, so had that entire far-western group of Aleuts (as had the

identical Aleut peoples & linguistic group on the Commander Islands to the west).  

          Unfortunately—tragically—this ended in June of 1942 with the Japanese invasion of

 the western Aleutian Islands.   The best they could have hoped for—the 45 or so inhabitants

 of Chichigof Village by 1942—was evacuation with the other nearly 1,000 Aleuts to god-awful

temporary digs in Southeastern Alaska.  In fact, they were looking forward to this, but unlike

all other Aleuts, evacuation didn’t come at the hands of the Alaska Territorial Government,

ironically and mysteriously it came at the hands of the Japanese in early September, 1942.

       Despite the bungling, paternalism, graft and so forth that took place on the part of the

Territorial Government in the Aleut “camps” in Southeastern, proportionately few died,

compared to those in Otaru.  The two evacuations, in fact, are two different outrages, and

 cannot be compared, and I don’t want to suggest that.  One is a violation of trust and

 responsibility by the  Aleut’s own government, and the other is a violation of territorial and

human rights by an invading Army.  Invading armies often are mean pieces of work, and no

trust is generally extended towards them.  Between 1937 and 1945, Japan was never accused

of being a kindly invader and occupier.

                  The historical record of the Aleuts fate in Otaru, Japan —a tiny group compared to the

800-plus evacuated to Southeastern Alaska—reflects terrible hardship.  “Them guys

 (in Southeastern) had it better than us;  half of us starved to death.” This is how John

Golodoff, survivor of Otaru, put it during an interview with me in 1997.  And this was just the

cruel statement of fact for the Aleuts life on Otaru.  I struggled—I think successfully—to reflect

that hardship in the historical novel—the journal of Lila Ann Smith.

Of course, Lila Ann Smith is a complete fictional narrator and journal keeper, and a very

different woman than the REAL school teacher, Mrs. Etta Jones. But, this device is standard

fare for the historical novelist, for I wanted to take in a far broader sweep of historical

significance, and having Lila Ann—a survivor of four wars be my journal keeper was a

creative temptation to which I gladly yielded.

     One can’t create, take the voice and spirit, of a Lila Ann Smith without loving her,

and I have.  I hope you do also.