Throughout the novel, protagonist Henry struggles to communicate with his strict, judgmental father; his first love, Keiko; and eventually his own son, Marty. The ongoing separation and silence between Henry and these characters creates pain, misunderstanding, and alienation. The novel argues that silence is a corrosive force in relationships, and one whose damaging force is compounded over time. Even when personal and public tragedies make it difficult to find the right words, the novel insists that speaking up—saying something, even if it’s not the perfect thing to say—is crucial to preserving not only relationships, but also the individual’s emotional health.
From early on in the story, silence dominates Henry’s life, and the novel shows clearly that this silence chips away at Henry’s relationships with both his parents. In the tense climate of World War II, anti-Japanese sentiment is reaching a fever pitch in Seattle, where the Lee family lives. Even though the Lees are Chinese, not Japanese, Henry’s father is vigilant about making sure his family never does anything that might seem “un-American.” To this end, Henry’s father forbids his son from speaking Cantonese at home. The result is that Henry finds himself virtually unable to communicate with his parents, neither of whom speaks very strong English. Henry’s conversations with his parents (who continue to speak Cantonese to him, even though he is forbidden from answering them in kind) become “lopsided,” like “tidal shores of separate oceans.” Henry already feels alienated from his peers—other Chinese American kids call him baak gwai or “white devil,” while his classmates at his predominantly white school accuse him of sympathizing with Japan, the enemy of the United States. At a time when Henry needs more than ever to feel supported at home, his father’s insistence that he speak only English makes Henry feel as though his parents are speaking to him “from a distant radio station.”
What’s more, the novel shows that once silence has begun to dominate Henry’s relationships, it is incredibly difficult for him to break out of this destructive pattern, even when he desperately wants to. By the time Henry’s father has suffered several strokes that ultimately render him mute, Henry is at a loss for how to re-open communicate with his father. At his father’s sickbed, Henry’s mother implores her son: “Say something, let him know you’re here.” Overwhelmed, Henry thinks: “Say something? What can I possibly say now? And in what language?” Silence has deteriorated their relationship over time, making Henry feel continually more powerless to heal his bond with his father.
Through Henry’s relationship with his own son, Marty, the novel underscores the notion that once a person has succumbed to silence, it becomes increasingly difficult to bridge the painful rifts created by a lack of communication. Even though he has been harmed by such a lack of communication, Henry does not realize how he has allowed the inertia-like force of silence to spread throughout his life—until his son’s fiancée, Samantha, breaks that silence. When Samantha begins to ask questions about Henry’s childhood love, Keiko Okabe, Henry is awakened to the fact that his son doesn’t actually know him. Because Henry has never spoken openly to Marty about his past, Marty sees Henry as “a zealous man, passionate about the old ways and the Old Country,” just like Henry’s own father, a Chinese nationalist who hated Japanese people almost as much as his white neighbors did. Henry, however, does not actually hold these same attitudes; he is much more open and accepting of other races than his own father was. Marty’s mischaracterization of Henry, then, suggests that a lack of communication can cause the same unhealthy patterns to repeat themselves in familial relationships, regardless of the underlying truth that goes unspoken.
Ultimately, the novel insists that it’s crucial to say something to break harmful silences, even if it is not perfect. Samantha’s questions about Keiko are at times awkward and uncomfortable—Marty even apologizes to Henry on his fiancée’s behalf. But saying something turns out to be the only means of combating the destructive force of silence and opening the way to healing. Because of Samantha’s questions, Henry is finally able to wonder what happened to his childhood love, and his ability to speak this wondering aloud is what causes him to eventually reunite with Keiko. This reunion, which concludes the novel, emphasizes yet again the importance of saying something, rather than giving in to silence because one is worried about finding the right words to break that silence. When Henry and Keiko reunite, the first meaningful words they exchange are in Japanese, a language neither of them speaks: oai deki te ureshii desu. This sentence (which translates to “How are you today, beautiful?”) was Henry and Keiko’s catchphrase growing up. It began as an inside joke, but transformed, by the time Keiko was imprisoned in an internment camp, into a shorthand for the deep love between Henry and Keiko. By the time these two characters reunite, they have spent their entire adult lives apart; there are exponentially more years of silence between them than there were between Henry and his father. Yet this simple phrase allows them to reopen their relationship, even though the pure meaning of the phrase is completely trivial, even irrelevant. Thus, at the same time that it acknowledges the fraught nature of navigating difficult relationships, the novel firmly insists that it is vitally important to give voice to the rifts between loved ones—even, or perhaps especially when, the words one reaches for aren’t exactly the perfect ones.
Silence vs. Communication ThemeTracker
Silence vs. Communication Quotes in Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet
He listened to his father during these lopsided, one-way conversations, but he never talked back. In fact, Henry rarely talked at all, except in English to acknowledge his advancing skills. But since his father understood only Cantonese and a little Mandarin, the conversations came as waves, back and forth, tidal shores of separate oceans.
It made Keiko’s situation, while bleak, seem so much more appealing. Henry caught himself feeling a twinge of jealousy. At least she was with her family. For now anyway. At least they understood. At least they wouldn’t send her away.
“[My father]’s disowned me. My parents stopped speaking to me this week. But my mother still sort of acts like I’m around.” The words came out so casually, even Henry was surprised at how normal it felt. But communication in his home had been far from ordinary for almost a year; this was just a new, final wrinkle.