The Buried Book

Shumei is fifteen the summer the cities send their fervour down into the grain villages. Her father runs the chapel at the top of the lane — a school on six mornings, a church on the seventh — and he has taught the whole village its characters, gently, completely, as if every child's answer might change everything.

One of those children has come back a man now, wearing the certainty of the new order like a good coat, and he is courteous, and he is sure that what he brings is kindness.

The Bibles begin to burn. The church moves into kitchens. And the offer goes round the village, quiet and reasonable: denounce him, put your foot on the book, say it is only paper, and this all stops.

Some sign. Some refuse. Shumei is learning to tell, for the rest of her life, which is which.