Haruko marries a prince and becomes a princess. Such are the
fanciful dreams of young American girls, as they watch the lives of
Disney’s most well-known fictional heroines. They know, too,
that most of these princesses-by-marriage become so almost against
their humble will, as if the pretty dresses and privileged
lifestyle can only be rightfully placed upon those who don’t
fight for such a crown. In John Burnham Schwartz’s novel, THE
COMMONER, Haruko is no exception.

Born in Japan to a well-off but common family, Haruko attends
private school and a prestigious college, and she defiantly rejects
the arranged proposals of a handful of Japanese men. Playfully
called “Gazelle” by her high school track friend, she
remains active throughout her young adult life by playing tennis as
a semi-professional hobby. Her life changes when the Crown Prince
is set to be her opponent. Against her parents’ wishes, and
most likely the entire country’s, she wins the match. This
graceful victory makes her an increasingly intriguing woman in the
eyes of the Crown Prince, and after many attempts have been made on
his behalf, he wins her hand not on the tennis courts but in
marriage.

Contrary to the reader’s anticipation, this is not a
beautiful beginning to a beautiful life. Haruko is the first
non-royal woman to enter into the bloodline, and though the country
is in an era of progression, her mother-in-law, the Empress of
Japan, is not. Haruko is given one job to do --- to give birth to a
son. Aside from this act, which itself is surrounded by ritual that
is out of Haruko’s hands, she is to be merely a silent idol
for her people. After a nervous breakdown, she becomes reconciled
to the fact that she can never be what she was before entering the
monarchy, and her one consolation is in providing happiness to her
husband and children, who she loves dearly. As the next generation
comes of age, Haruko’s dual feelings of unhappiness and duty
conflict when her son courts another commoner. Haruko wants her son
to be happy, but she does not want to see this outspoken woman
follow in her laden footsteps to be silenced against her
will.

While the specifics in THE COMMONER are entirely made up, Schwartz
based his story off of scant details of the real Crown Princesses
of the 20th century. His pursuit of a degree in East Asian Studies
resulted in living abroad in Tokyo, and he recently returned there
to interview key people for his book, among them the Grand
Chamberlain to the Emperor Akihito. His novel is not a critique of
Japanese culture; instead, it is a critique of any monarchy, and
any such institution that silences and distances its members.
Schwartz gives this critique through the lively Haruko, who is
slowly recreated into a mournful prisoner with each turn of the
page. This recreation is not written through grand explosions of
feeling and remorse but through the subtle intricacies of each
quiet word.

Schwartz uses the brevity of each chapter to make the reader turn
the page for just one more. The jacket, the paper and even the font
are beautiful; it is like holding a tragedy under the guise of
serenity, with the only clue being the rain that falls from the
dark sky on the otherwise enchanting scene on the cover. The author
effortlessly speaks through the eyes of a female born and raised on
foreign soil. He enters her mind and her heart, and he shares them
with us most intimately. And like any story of oppression, the
reader closes the book with a mixture of satisfaction and
sympathy.