In her latest novel Nguyen Phan Que Mai looks at the fate of children born to Vietnamese mothers and American military fathers.
Conversations and stories about the Vietnam War often focus on American involvement or the diaspora who fled as refugees.
In her debut English language novel, 2020’s The Mountains Sing, the Vietnamese poet and author Nguyen Phan Que Mai focused instead on the lives of those left behind, beginning from the 1950s land reform, in which the government seized private land and impoverished its owners, to the post-war landscape in the country. It was a refreshing new view of a commonly discussed and dissected period.
Nguyen’s second novel in English, Dust Child, takes a different approach again by centring the Amerasian experience – that is, children born to Vietnamese mothers and American military fathers. This unique perspective was informed by Nguyen’s years of PhD research on the topic, speaking to people with lived experience and blending their stories into the intertwining ones presented here. The title of the book is an interpretation of bui doi, a Vietnamese phrase used to describe vagrant children: the dust of life. It suggests a kind of transience – a lack of belonging.
The story springs from the tale of sisters Trang and Quynh, who, in 1969, leave rural Vietnam to go to the city and work as “bar girls” to earn money to keep their elderly parents alive. There, they discover that the work often involves sex – an exchange that directly contradicts their traditional values. Against a modern understanding of sex work, this subtle morality play can bristle – but given the desperation faced by women in this historical situation, the sisters’ conflicted feelings make sense.
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In 2016, two men are searching for answers regarding their pasts: Phong, a mixed Black and Vietnamese man, does not know who his parents are but needs proof of his Amerasian identity to leave Vietnam and start a new life in the United States. He had once tried to leave the country, but was swindled by opportunistic grifters.
Dan, a white American war veteran, has returned to Vietnam with his wife Linda as a tourist. He has never forgotten Kim, a young Vietnamese woman with whom he had a secret love affair and a child whom he abandoned. Behind his wife’s back, he tries to reconnect with the past.
The narrative swings back and forth through time and place, as each character wrestles with questions of self and memory to find their own emotional truth. Nguyen tackles thorny topics, such as the ethics of modern tourism, the lie of the American dream, and the fetishisation of Asian women by white men.
The slow rot of Dan and Kim’s relationship, as the soldier sinks into a deep depression caused by war and turns to alcohol and subsequently domestic abuse, is especially confronting to read. Nguyen sketches these difficult moments without judgment or hostility, instead offering views into each character’s psyche and emotional centre to not justify, but humanise their actions.
The narrative unspools and the threads between the disparate stories begin to collide in surprising yet sometimes unbelievable ways. The writing is simple but can veer into the overly sentimental. Nguyen saves it with her depth of characterisation, which keeps the reader compelled, invested and hopeful for a positive outcome.
Atypically for historical fiction, these stories, while looping and complex, are easy to follow and understand – this is a more accessible novel than its predecessor, which was heavier on the details. Politics are of course inextricable from these people’s lives, yet Nguyen’s focus is on personhood and dignity despite party affiliations.
As the circle closes near the novel’s conclusion, Nguyen reveals painful truths about the protective nature of love and the sacrifices and white lies that are often necessary. It is love, after all, that drives all of these stories: for family, for the self, for a nation torn apart.
Almost 50 years on from the end of the Vietnam War, its ripple effects continue to be felt. Nguyen’s novels, suffused with kindness and understanding, are an important and accessible tool to delve deeply into the perspectives of those whose lives were changed by the conflict. Her kaleidoscopic view opens doors of empathy and humanity, inviting readers to bear witness to multiple lives that are nothing, and everything, alike.
Nguyen Phan Que Mai is a guest at Sydney Writers’ Festival.
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