This is a gorgeously written book, the author's use of language and imagery being so precise and evocative. But it was a very slow read for me. And that's taking into account that it's as much of a character study as it is about history and setting.

The story outlines the first person account of a newly retired judge in Malaysia as she attempts to write down the most meaningful chapters of her life before her aphasia wipes out her working mind. Yun Ling Teoh, in her early 60s, is Chinese from the island of Penang, and what we know early on is that she developed a special relationship with a Japanese gardener, Aritomo, on a tea estate in the Cameron Highlands in the aftermath of WWII when she was the lone survivor of a brutal internment camp operated by the Japanese. That experience left her disfigured but, more importantly, the camp cost her the loss of her beloved sister. Now to recount her life, Yun has returned to the tea estate now (mid-1980s) and the Japanese garden she helped create.

It's the relationship between Aritomo (who at one point mysteriously vanished) and the still embittered Yun that lies at the heart of the story. That arc is an interesting one, and carries with it ideas of memory, racial enmity, forgiveness and reconciliation, all woven with lyrical metaphors and imagery and mystery. Yet for me, the pace was slower than expected, sidetracking at times not merely to illustrate principles of Japanese gardening, tattooing, archery and woodblock printing (all interesting in a way, and their point about control and restraint not entirely lost on me) but occasionally vexing. Never more so than the lengthy digression about the woodblock printing expert's love interest that had me scratching my head.

Perhaps if I'd been more sold on the premise of what brought Yun and Aritomo together in spite of their seemingly insoluble differences and suspicions, I might have been more immersed. So while I enjoyed the writing, the story also sometimes got in the way.