Where It All Goes Down
Hiroshima, Japan
First of all, before you dig into the book, you have to be aware of where Hersey's story starts, with respect to World War II. Just in case you're not totally up on your World War II history, we'll give you a brief rundown of where we're at when the story opens.
America had entered World War II when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941, and the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and (a few days later) Nagasaki in August 1945 is pretty much credited with bringing World War II to an end.
As Hersey's narrative mentions, the Japanese emperor got on the radio on August 15, just a few days after the bombings, to announce to the Japanese people that they were surrendering to the Allies. So, now that we've gotten the history lesson out of the way, let's dive right in…
Since the setting is the title of the book, you probably got the memo that this subject is kind of a big deal. Hersey details the lives and actions of six residents of the Hiroshima, starting immediately prior to the dropping of the bomb on August 6, 1945 and moving up all the way through the mid-1980s.
The Hiroshima presented at the very very beginning of the book—right before the bomb drops—is totally different from the one that takes center stage for the majority of the story. That later Hiroshima is marked by catastrophic and widespread destruction. Its landscape is filled with the trapped and the dead, and is overrun with injured residents milling around trying to find medical care, safety, and/or missing relatives.
When Mr. Tanimoto is walking around after the explosion, for example, the scene is pure devastation:
After crossing Koi Bridge and Kannon Bridge, having run the whole way, Mr. Tanimoto saw, as he approached the center, that all the houses had been crushed and many were afire. Here the trees were bare and their trunks were charred. He tried at several points to penetrate the ruins, but the flames always stopped him. Under many houses, people screamed for help, but no one helped; in genera, survivors that day assisted only their relatives or immediate neighbors, for they could not comprehend or tolerate a wider circle of misery. The wounded limped past the screams, and Mr. Tanimoto ran past them. (2.33)
So, yeah, not a pretty scene.
As time passes, however, something perhaps even more horrifying happens: the city is suddenly overrun with lush greenery, a bizarre aftereffect of the bomb (which seemed to act like the world's scariest MiracleGro):
Over everything—up through the wreckage of the city, in gutters, along the riverbanks, tangled among tiles and tin roofing, climbing on charred tree trunks—was a blanket of fresh, vivid, lush, optimistic green; the verdancy rose even from the foundations of ruined houses. Weeds already hid the ashes, and wild flowers were in bloom among the city's bones. The bomb had not only left the underground organs of plants intact; it had stimulated them. Everywhere were bluets and Spanish bayonets, goosefoot, morning glories and day lilies, the hairy-fruited bean, purslane and clotbur and sesame and panic grass and feverfew. (4.7)
That may sound really pretty and all, but imagine how completely messed up and out of place all that "optimistic green" would seem in a city suffering the kind of devastation that Hiroshima had just experienced. It would kinda seem like a slap in the face. All this evidence of life amid death and decay would seem super unsettling.
As the book progresses, we learn about the city's efforts to rebuild, but the ghosts of the of destruction loom large throughout the story.