On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous – Ocean Vuong
100-Word (or Less) Synopsis: [adapted from the dustjacket] Little Dog is in his late twenties when he 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.
Expectation: A story about straddling two worlds.
Reality: One of the most beautifully written novels I’ve ever read.
Recommended For: Fans of poetic drama, like Hanya Yanagihara’s writing in “A Little Life.”
Why I Read It: Part of my 2021 Pride month reading and it was almost uniformly praised by friends.
My Take:
There were passages in Ocean Vuong’s debut novel that cut straight to my soul.
That were so poetic in how they turned a phrase and highlighted the social, economic and racial disparities of Little Dog’s, Rose’s and Lan’s experiences they would’ve stopped me in my tracks had I been listening as an audiobook instead of reading it.
Written as a stream-of-consciousness letter of a son to his mother (“I am writing to you from inside a body that used to be yours. Which is to say, I am writing as a son.”), we learn of the ravages of the Vietnam War, of the struggles in cultural assimilation, of coming out, of toxic masculinity and nationalism, of physical abuse, of mental illness, of losing a country, of being surrounded by death.
In other words — it’s not a beach read.
It’s one of the most challenging and beautiful stories I’ve read, and one that leaves me almost at a loss for words because there is no way my words could compare to those that Vuong poured into this “Earth.” His talent is almost otherworldly.
A few samples of the gorgeous yet painful prose:
“A new immigrant, within two years, will come to know the salon is, in the end, where dreams become the calcified knowledge of what it means to be awake in American bones — with or without citizenship — aching, toxic, and underpaid. I hate and love your battered hands for what they can never be.”
“Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined.”
“Isn’t that the saddest thing in the world, Ma? A comma forced to be a period”
Vuong’s words dance through grief and regret and happiness in a way that is both casual and deliberate – enveloping the reader in the experiences of our characters and immersing us in the situation. Your heart races, your tears fall, your fear and pride falter just as it does for the person that is the focus of that section.
Told in three parts, each focusing on a specific aspect of Little Dog’s life (both before his birth and after), I was most taken with Part II, which primarily focuses on Little Dog’s burgeoning same sex attraction and his relationship with the all-American Trevor.
Vuong also infuses a fair amount of Vietnamese culture into the narrative, which was enlightening and added some periods of levity. From Tiger Woods to the role of drag performers in mourning, I was often so caught up in the story that I didn’t realize hours had passed by.
This isn’t going to be a novel that everyone will enjoy. In fact, my husband hated it. But I think that was more a product of him listening to it as an audiobook. The language and non-linear storytelling don’t lend itself to that format – even for expert listeners.
If you liked Hanya Yanagihara’s writing in “A Little Life,” you’ll love this. It is easily one of my top reads of 2021.
Rating (story): 5/5 stars
Rating (narration): N/A
Formats: eBook (library loan)
Dates read: May 23 – June 5, 2021
Multi-tasking: N/A
