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JM: You were raised the daughter an Anglican priest, and you have described yourself as moving from a fundamentalist Christian position into something more deeply reflective. Can you tell me about that journey and where you find yourself today?

JK: Fundamentalism and liter­alism go together in my mind, and somewhere along the way, the ascendancy and primacy and rigorousness of love as the high­est priority can be abandoned. I remember reading a Jewish dic­tum that said, “Where the laws of God are in conflict with the well­being of people, the well­ being of people shall prevail.”

[My spiritual path] has been unpredictable and is attended by surprise and gratitude. There seems to be a sense of undeserved gift. It’s as if a door is opened from the other side and a shaft of light appears. This kind of thing appears to be shared throughout history, and when we experience it we can recognize the “aha” that countless others have known.

JM: In recent years, your father’s history as a pedophile has come to light. He sexually abused many children through his work as a priest. What does it mean for you to hold the tension between loving someone and recognizing that they have done much harm?

JK: My dad once said to me when I was writing The Rain Ascends, which is about a priest who was a pedophile, that he wished I would write about the good things he did. I replied that God required us to speak truth. Dad then said, “If God is telling you to write truth, then you must do it the best you can.”

He was Jekyll and Hyde, and as a child I adored him, not knowing there was a dark side. The truth is he was both.

We become what we behold. Those who only see the dark are in danger of becoming the dark­ ness that is condemned.

JM: Your work has been lauded as a cultural touchstone for Canadians. As you look back at your literary career, what do you hold up and cherish? What, if anything, do you regret?

JK: I’m amazed that my novel Obasan has become a classic. And that, at this age, a book is forthcoming. My last hurrah. I am more than grateful for this bless­ing and hold it like a soap bubble in my slippery astonished hands.

As for regrets? Hmm. I rarely think about regrets. My kids did not have a normal cookie­-baking mommy, but what a lot of love we have.

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JM: How has the field of CanLit changed since you came onto the scene as the first Japanese Canadian novelist to gain recognition in this country? How have you witnessed publishing in this country change, in your time, for racialized writers?

JK: I think it’s been a while since the assault on white male domi­nance in the arena of writing, and there’s been a lot of headway into multiracial, gender, ethnic, sex­ual variety. The not­ yet seen or heard are alive and active in their many corners, and technology as­sists in democratizing. I’m more or less at the “letting go” stage and often see these as the best years of my life.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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Julie McGonegal is a writer and editor in Guelph, Ont.

This story first appeared in Broadview’s January/February 2024 issue with the title “Joy Kogawa’s ‘Last Hurah.’”

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