On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous - Ocean Vuong

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous is a letter from a son to a mother who cannot read. 

Written when the speaker, Little Dog, is in his late twenties, the letter unearths a family's history that began before he was born — a history whose epicenter is rooted in Vietnam — and serves as a doorway into parts of his life his mother has never known, all of it leading to an unforgettable revelation. At once a witness to the fraught yet undeniable love between a single mother and her son, it is also a brutally honest exploration of race, class, and masculinity. Asking questions central to our American moment, immersed  in addiction, violence, and trauma, but undergirded by compassion and tenderness, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous is as much about the power of telling one's own story as it is about the obliterating silence of not being heard.

With stunning urgency and grace, Ocean Vuong writes of people caught between disparate worlds, and asks how we heal and rescue one another without forsaking who we are. The question of how to survive, and how to make of it a kind of joy, powers the most important debut novel of many years.

A story of Mother and daughter(s); daughter and son. Son and Trevor. Sisters Rose and Mai. Grandfather. 

And the Buffalo 

Old Grandma "Her skin had stopped trying, the eyes fallen into her skull, as if peering from inside the brain itself. She resembles a wood carving, shriveled and striated with deep lines. The only indication that she's alive is her favorite yellow blanket, now grey, rising and falling on her chest. 

You say her name the fourth time, and her eyes open, searching each of our faces. 

Every grain of rice you leave behind is one maggot you eat in hell. 

I remember looking at you for a long time and, because I was six, I thought I could simply transmit my thoughts into your head if I stared hard enough. I remember crying in range. How you had no idea. How you put your hand underneath my shirt and scratched my back anyways. I remember sleeping like that, calmed - my crushed cow expanding on the nightstand like a slow-motion color bomb. 

The possession of a name, after all being all they share. 'Lan' meaning Orchid. 

Rose past sense of Rise. 

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

And because I am your son, I said, "Sorry". Because I am your son, my apology had become, by then, an extension of myself. It was my Hello.

Because that's what mothers do. They wait. They stand still untill their children belong to someone else. 

It is no accident, Ma, that the comma resembles a fetus - that curve of continuation. We were all once inside our mothers, saying, with our entire curved and silent selves, more, more, more. I want to insist that our being alive is beautiful enough to be worthy of replication. And so what? So what if all I ever made of my life was more of it?

A comma superimposed by a period  the mouth so naturally makes. Isn't that the saddest thing in the world, Ma? A comma forced to be a period? 

We had decided, shortly after we met, because our friends were already dying from overdoses, to never tell each other goodbye or goodnight. 

What were we before we were we?

What Simone Weil said: Perfect joy excludes even the very feeling of joy, for in the soul filled by the object, no corner is left for saying "I".

To ask what's good? was to move, right away, to joy. It was pushing aside what was inevitable to reach the exceptional. Not great or well or wonderful, but simply good. Because good was more often enough, was a precious spark we sought and harvested of and for one another. 

With stunning grace, Ocean Vuong writes of people caught between disparate worlds, and asks how we heal and rescue one another without forsaking who we are. 

The question of how to survive, and how to make of it a kind of joy, powers the most important debut novel of many years.

Yes there was a war. Yes, we came from its epicenter. In that war, a woman gifted herself a new name -Lan - in that naming claimed herself beautiful, then made that beauty into something worth keeping. From that a daughter was born, and from that daughter, a son. 

All this time I told myself we were born from war - but I was wrong, Ma. We were born from beauty. 

Let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence - but that violence, having passed though the fruit, failed to spoil it. 

As Vuong explains in his 2016 poetry collection, “Night Sky With Exit Wounds,” his grandfather was a U.S. soldier who found a farm girl in Vietnam. “Thus my mother exists,” he writes. “Thus I exist. Thus no bombs = no family = no me.”

What Vuong does in this novel with language and form, how he  moves between poetry and prose, is extraordinary. 

They say if you want something bad enough you'll end up making a god out of it. But what if all I ever wanted was my life, Ma?

I am thinking of beauty again, how some things are hunted because we have deemed them beautiful. If, relative to the history of our planet, an individual life is so short, a blink of an eye, as they say, then to be gorgeous, even from the day you're born to the day you die, is to be gorgeous only briefly. Like right now, how the sun is coming on, low behind the elms, and I can't tell the difference between a sunset and sunrise. The world, reddening, appears the same to me - and I lose track of east and west. The colors this morning have the frayed tint of something already leaving, I think of  the time Trev and I sat on the toolshed roof, watching the sun sink. I wasn't so much surprised by its effect - how, in a few crushed minutes, it changes the way things are seen, including ourselves - but that it was ever mine to see. Because the sunset, like survival, exist only on the verge of its own disappearing. To be gorgeous, you must first be seen, but to be seen allows you to be hunted. 

Reading is a privilege made possible with what you lost. You believe in reincarnation. You'll come here , may be name will be Rose again, and you'll have a room full of books with parents who will read you bedtime stories in a country not touched by war. May be then, in that life and in this future, you'll find this book and you'll know what happened to us. And you'll remember. Maybe. 

In Ocean Vuong's novel "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous," Little Dog is the protagonist and narrator. He is a young Vietnamese-American man who writes a letter to his illiterate mother, reflecting on his life, his family's history, and his own experiences growing up. The name "Little Dog" is symbolic and reflects his vulnerable and marginalized status, as well as his sense of being at the mercy of larger forces beyond his control.

Throughout the novel, Little Dog’s reflections delve into themes of identity, trauma, love, and the search for belonging. His experiences are deeply influenced by his family's history and their immigrant journey, as well as his own struggles with sexuality and personal relationships. The character of Little Dog serves as a vehicle for exploring the novel’s complex themes and emotional depth.

Little Dog's family background includes the experience of fleeing from Vietnam, which plays a significant role in shaping their experiences and the narrative. The novel addresses the impacts of historical and personal trauma on identity and relationships, reflecting broader themes of migration and the refugee experience. Vuong's lyrical prose and poignant storytelling offer a deep, personal reflection on these themes.

The family’s decision to leave Vietnam is influenced by a combination of factors, including the war’s devastating impact and the ongoing struggle for survival in a post-war environment. The novel explores how the trauma and dislocation from the war affect Little Dog’s family and their experiences as immigrants in the United States. The broader context of war and displacement provides a backdrop to the personal and emotional narratives within the novel, highlighting the enduring effects of such upheavals on individuals and families.

In "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous," Little Dog's family includes several key figures who shape his life and experiences:

Mother (Rose): Little Dog's mother, Rose, is a central figure in the novel. She is a complex character who has endured significant hardship, including the trauma of the Vietnam War. Her experiences and struggles with mental health, addiction, and the challenges of immigrant life deeply affect her relationship with Little Dog.

Grandmother (Lan): Little Dog's grandmother, Lan, is another important character. She plays a crucial role in Little Dog's life, particularly in shaping his understanding of his family’s history and their cultural heritage. Her own experiences and wisdom influence Little Dog's reflections and sense of identity.

Grandfather (Ba): Little Dog's grandfather is a more peripheral figure in the novel, but his presence and the legacy of his experiences in Vietnam are felt throughout the story. He represents another link in the chain of family trauma and history.

Father: Little Dog’s father is a relatively minor character in the novel. He is absent for much of the story and is portrayed as having a strained relationship with Little Dog and his mother. His absence and the fractured nature of their relationship contribute to the novel's themes of estrangement and loss.

Mai: Mai is Little Dog's first love interest. She is a young Vietnamese-American woman who is also dealing with her own personal struggles and complexities. Mai's relationship with Little Dog is marked by a deep emotional connection but is also fraught with challenges, including the impact of their respective backgrounds and personal issues.

Trevor: Trevor is another significant figure in Little Dog's life. He is a white working-class young man who becomes romantically involved with Little Dog. Trevor's relationship with Little Dog is characterized by both intimacy and conflict, reflecting broader themes of cultural and personal differences. Their relationship explores issues of race, class, and identity.

Both Mai and Trevor are crucial in exploring Little Dog’s personal growth and his struggles with identity and love. Their interactions with Little Dog highlight the novel's themes of connection, alienation, and the search for understanding within complex personal and social contexts. These family members, each with their own struggles and histories, significantly impact Little Dog’s narrative and his exploration of identity, love, and belonging.

The story of the buffalo is a poignant and symbolic tale told by Little Dog's grandmother, Lan. It serves as a powerful metaphor for resilience, sacrifice, and the complex legacy of trauma and survival.

The buffalo story occurs when Lan recalls her childhood in Vietnam during the war. She tells Little Dog about a buffalo that was killed for food. The villagers needed to butcher the animal to survive, but the buffalo did not die immediately after being struck. Instead, it continued to struggle, and in its final moments, it managed to escape briefly, showing an immense will to live despite its inevitable death.

This story reflects the broader themes of the novel, including the endurance of the Vietnamese people in the face of immense suffering and violence. It also mirrors the personal struggles of the characters, particularly Lan and Little Dog, as they navigate their own painful histories and the challenges of immigrant life in America. The buffalo's resilience and ultimate sacrifice resonate deeply with the characters' experiences of loss, memory, and the search for identity and belonging.

“The past tense of sing is not singed”  - Hoa Nguyen

The past tense of "sing" is "sang," not "singed." While "singed" is a word that means to burn slightly or to scorch, it. John Cardenas.

"Freedom...is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey." ~ Bei Dao's Poem "Accomplices" (The August Sleepwalker)

“All freedom is relative—you know too well—and sometimes it’s no freedom at all, but simply the cage widening far away from you, the bars abstracted with distance but still there, as when they “free” wild animals into nature preserves only to contain them yet again by larger borders. But I took it anyway, that widening.”

There is not a single chapter, page, or verse in this book that did not swing me between emotions.

P.S. 

Vietnam went through prolonged warfare in the 20th century. After World War II, France returned to reclaim colonial power in the First Indochina War, from which Vietnam emerged victorious in 1954. As a result of the treaties signed between the Viet Minh and France, Vietnam was also separated into two parts. The Vietnam War began shortly after, between the communist North Vietnam, supported by the Soviet Union and China, and the anti-communist South Vietnam, supported by the United States. Upon the North Vietnamese victory in 1975, Vietnam reunified as a unitary socialist state under the Communist Party of Vietnam (CPV) in 1976. An ineffective planned economy, a trade embargo by the West, and wars with Cambodia and China crippled the country further. In 1986, the CPV initiated economic and political reforms similar to the Chinese economic reform, transforming the country to a socialist-oriented market economy. The reforms facilitated Vietnamese reintegration into the global economy and politics.

Vuong was born in Vietnam. His grandmother grew up in the Vietnamese countryside, and his grandfather was a white American from Michigan serving in the United States Navy. His grandparents met during the Vietnam War, married, and had three children, including Vuong's mother. His grandfather had gone back to visit home in the U.S. but was unable to return when Saigon fell to communist forces. His grandmother separated his mother and aunts in orphanages, concerned for their survival. They fled Vietnam after a police officer came to suspect that his mother was of mixed heritage, leaving her prone to discrimination by the regime's labour policies at the time.

Two-year-old Vuong and his family eventually arrived in a refugee camp in the Philippines before achieving asylum and migrating to the United States, settling in Hartford, Connecticut, alongside six relatives. His father abandoned the family after this. Vuong was reunited with his paternal grandfather later in life