Ocean Vuong

Stunning, I think

Our narrator is writing a letter to his illiterate mother.
”…the very impossibility of your reading this is all that makes my telling it possible.”

This novel is a flow of words that is both poetry and prose. It doesn’t invite you in, it engulfs you, holds you firmly, doesn’t let go.

There is a childhood: with magic that only children know and grandma’s stories; this is welded together with child abuse, poverty, and a family that carries war and their tragedies show more inside them, always. It’s been a while since I’ve read a book that paints the immigrant experience and being Vietnamese in the USA so very vividly.

There is an adolescence: the seeking, the confusion, drugs, first love, and heartbreak. The sexuality is very graphic, and rightly so.

This book left my soul battered. I am grateful.

Quotes:

”He was only nine but had already mastered the dialect of damaged American fathers.”

”Ma, to speak in our mother tongue is to speak only partially in Vietnamese, but entirely in war.”

”Ma. You once told me that memory is a choice. But if you were god, you’d know it’s a flood.”

”The one good thing about national anthems is that we’re already on our feet, and therefore ready to run.” show less

Pick it up. Put it down. Pick it up. Put it down. Not because it’s hard to read. Not because it’s uninteresting. Quite the contrary: I cannot recall reading a book so beautifully written yet so hard to read. The best word I have to describe it is “raw.” Painful. Sensitive. Brittle. Emotionally (and in other ways) graphic. Pick it up. The intensity is so overwhelming that one page, maybe two pages later I have to put it down again. Over and over. I marvel at his talent for writing; I show more am astonished at his depiction of human emotion, his gift for images. The racism; child abuse; sex; the love…for his mother, his grandmother, his boyfriend. Cages. Poverty. Otherness. Pain. Always pain. All of it so open, so raw that it bleeds on the page. Vuong’s metaphors are often completely unexpected and all the more perfect for that. There is little in the book, no matter how apparently unrelated, that he does not connect and illuminate. All that said, the book is not without flaws. There is a level of self-indulgence, self-awareness that I sometimes couldn’t quite accept occasionally. And yet the power of the writing is so undeniable that I simply cannot help but rate the book highly and recommend it. show less

Bleak and heartbreaking, this novel is based on the author's life. He writes to his mother, an immigrant from Vietnam with her own horrifying history. The poetic, haunting writing was my favorite part. It was painful and uncomfortable to read because it puts someone else's raw anguish on full display. As he struggles with abuse from his mom, drug addiction, bullying, his sexuality, and so many other pains, he is honest and vulnerable. Sometimes we need to read books like this to glimpse show more another person's hurt and gain a deeper empathy. Trigger warnings abound. show less

I borrowed this audiobook from the library with barely enough time to listen before it was due. I didn’t finish it, and the story haunted me until my hold came through. It’s a raw, visceral experience, rooted deeply in generational trauma and reflection. It's painful, lyrical, and unrelentingly honest. The narrative unfolds through a letter to a mother, taking us through a grandmother’s history, the impact of America on Vietnam, and a deeply personal coming-of-age story. It's a show more meditation on toxic masculinity, sexual repression, shame, and belonging. It confronts the opioid crisis with a mournful call to action. It feels unpolished and abrasive, yet there’s a breathtaking precision. It captures life's beauty and ugliness, feeling casually strung together and perfectly crafted. The words are direct, slim, and cutting. It hurts to listen to, and thinking back on it makes my chest ache. It lingers, and I highly recommend it if you want to hurt. show less