In the Coda, the author brings the memoir’s arc of loss, displacement, and restoration to a meditative close. After tracing the journey of the netsuke across continents and centuries, and the symbolic significance of the netsuke in supporting the theme of Objects as Vessels of Memory and Continuity, de Waal turns inward, reflecting on the meaning of his discoveries and the moral question of how best to honor his inheritance.

De Waal’s visit to Odessa completes the memoir’s circular geography, returning to the Ephrussi family’s modest origins. The author’s declaration, “I think I’m looking for a beginning” (383), expresses his hope that the trip will provide clarity and coherence to the history of his family’s dramatic rise and fall. However, the Odessa that de Waal encounters is a landscape of absence, as all that remains of the Ephrussis’ home is a faded facade, a gutted interior, and a faint crest on a balcony. The author’s complaint that there is nothing he can “touch here in this stripped-out hulk” (383) underscores the notion of historical and cultural erasure, thematically alluding to The Jewish Diaspora and the Fragility of Assimilation. Nevertheless, de Waal ultimately concludes, “The Efrussi boys are still here” (383), suggesting that the past continues to be tangible even if it cannot be clearly seen. The balcony’s ironwork, the dusty atmosphere, and the view over the Black Sea are sufficient to materialize memory in the present moment.

Another reference to the fragility of Jewish assimilation is the altered spelling of “Efrussi” to “Ephrussi,” which becomes emblematic of the family’s ultimately unsuccessful attempt to gain acceptance within Europe’s dominant culture. Conversely, de Waal’s association of the yellow armchair in Charles Ephrussi’s Paris study with the Seder chair in the Odessa synagogue symbolizes continuity, showing that Charles slyly connected the collection of art and pride in his Jewish cultural heritage. The author’s assertion that Charles’s yellow armchair was “a pun, a Jewish joke” (383) reframes it from an artistic flourish to a gesture of covert remembrance and resistance, asserting its owner’s Jewish identity. Traditionally kept empty for Elijah the Prophet, seder chairs also represent absent loved ones in Jewish culture and, more recently, the commemoration of those who died in the Holocaust. De Waal’s focus on their symbolic meaning reinforces his authorial aim to remember his family’s displacement and suffering.

In admitting to the elusive nature of his research, de Waal addresses the allure and futility of attempting to restore the past in its entirety. Elisabeth’s burning of family letters forces him to accept that some historical evidence is irretrievably lost. Rather than condemning his grandmother’s actions, the author redefines his task as carefully reconstructing what remains. De Waal’s decision to keep the netsuke rather than return them to Japan underscores his notion that art, like his family, is resilient and shaped by the force of displacement. The adaptability of the netsuke makes them ideally suited to crossing continents and adapting to new cultures. The memoir culminates by describing the unlocked vitrine that now displays the netsuke in the author’s London home, highlighting vitrines as a symbol. The final line, “The netsuke begin again” (383), emphasizes their continued journey as vessels of memory. By leaving the case open for his children, the author invites them to actively engage with their family’s history.