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The Lotus and the Storm
An epic tale of love, loyalty, and war from the acclaimed author of Monkey Bridge
Half a century after it began, the Vietnam War still has a hold on our national psyche. Lan Cao’s now-classic debut, Monkey Bridge, won her wide renown for “connecting... the opposite realities of Vietnam and America” (Isabel Allende). In her triumphant new novel, Cao transports readers back to the war, illuminating events central to twentieth-century history through the lives of one Vietnamese American family.
Minh is a former South Vietnamese commander of the airborne brigade who left his homeland with his daughter, Mai. During the war, their lives became entwined with those of two Americans: James, a soldier, and Cliff, a military adviser. Forty years later, Minh and his daughter Mai live in a close-knit Vietnamese immigrant community in suburban Virginia. As Mai discovers a series of devastating truths about what really happened to her family during those years, Minh reflects upon his life and the story of love and betrayal that has remained locked in his heart since the fall of Saigon.
Half a century after it began, the Vietnam War still has a hold on our national psyche. Lan Cao’s now-classic debut, Monkey Bridge, won her wide renown for “connecting... the opposite realities of Vietnam and America” (Isabel Allende). In her triumphant new novel, Cao transports readers back to the war, illuminating events central to twentieth-century history through the lives of one Vietnamese American family.
Minh is a former South Vietnamese commander of the airborne brigade who left his homeland with his daughter, Mai. During the war, their lives became entwined with those of two Americans: James, a soldier, and Cliff, a military adviser. Forty years later, Minh and his daughter Mai live in a close-knit Vietnamese immigrant community in suburban Virginia. As Mai discovers a series of devastating truths about what really happened to her family during those years, Minh reflects upon his life and the story of love and betrayal that has remained locked in his heart since the fall of Saigon.
400 pages, Hardcover
First published August 14, 2014
48 people are currently reading
1752 people want to read
About the author
Lan Cao
9 books44 followersLan is the co-author (with her teenage daughter) of the forthcoming memoir Family in Six Tones: A Refugee Mother, an American Daughter (Viking, September 15, 2020). She is also the author of the critically acclaimed novel Monkey Bridge, published by Viking in 1997. Her second novel, The Lotus and the Storm will be published by Viking Press in August 2014. She is a graduate of Mount Holyoke College and Yale Law School and worked as a litigation and corporate attorney in New York City for many years until she joined legal academia as a law professor.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 96 reviews
March 21, 2020
No way could I do a comprehensive review on this one, but just some reaction here. First, I truly think it is one of VERY few novels in fiction form that has captured the Vietnam wars and especially their Civil War from 1963 until far beyond the "end" of two Vietnams.
The voice of the novel is primarily that of two different narrators. Mai is one. The second is her father who is an officer under Diem, and then for more than a decade after Diem's murder and overthrow, a high ranking officer within the Southern Vietnamese army. But there are multitudes of under players and figures that are sublimely characterized. And the crux is that we know them all deeply, but yet in uncertain ways. Who they love and who gives them joy/sorrow/jealousy, we know and can feel their strong, secure connections. But do we know their loyalty? Not just loyalty to a government or system, not at all, but in other obtuse measures to a marriage, or friendship, or family connection. And in this particular mix of not so solid association or questioned omissions, plays the fact that this particular Vietnamese core family lives in the Cholon suburb of Saigon, which is in great majority ethnic Chinese.
It's the story of two sisters and two completely different time frames/ eras, as well. We are narrated a tale in jumps (back and forth in random revealing) from 1963-77 and then in much later decades, primarily 2006, but those latter all within another continent and language context.
That is not a format I particularly enjoy, but in this case it captures the dichotomy of personality for Mai, her split- and the spirit of her girlhood sensibilities, superbly. Not to mention the dichotomy of trust and suspicion that is nearly universal to all here.
It's not an easy read. Not only for the war tones, but also for the uncertainty. You will read at least 2/3rds of this book before you "get" much of it. Not only in relationship context, but in any one character's perception to what that relationship might alter. Or to whom one has trusted with full heart and certain knowledge- what that may change. This book is a challenge all around.
It's probably a five star, but I thought the American, James, and some of the other more distant side characters were not captured as the Chinese and Vietnamese were captured. Americans remained fairly anonymous too, except for James.
Phong was five star fictional capture. Mai's father left me mesmerized. What does a good man do when incapable of such duplicitous purpose or cognitions as those who surround him? Her Chinese "Grandmother" becoming Mai's true emotional mother? What does that imply about her own Mother's role? Are any of these "facts" of appearance true or certain? You may get some answers as you read to the end, but you are not going to get all the answers. Always uncertainty and IMHO, that sliver of mistrust. You may read it differently than I did.
Also I am prejudice. I cannot give a 5 star to a tale which is wide and deep but is also cored within the elites' perceptions almost entirely for a picture and American war that was so loaded with both American and peasant Vietnamese death. To be truthful, I am going to reread the last 100 pages of this book again in about a year or so. It tried to give the sense of aftermath and slaughter after take over, but only through the scope of Mai's mother.
But maybe I am wrong. This should almost have been two volumes, perhaps? Mai's return in 2006 had some slants that perplexed me entirely.
But I cannot fail to add that the food language, poetic prose, erotic attraction of forms and other descriptions are pure, and IMHO, lyricly masterful. Lan Cao can write. Nearly a part of every other chapter made you hungry. And instances of violence and horrific physical damage never failed to jar.
4.5 star.
The voice of the novel is primarily that of two different narrators. Mai is one. The second is her father who is an officer under Diem, and then for more than a decade after Diem's murder and overthrow, a high ranking officer within the Southern Vietnamese army. But there are multitudes of under players and figures that are sublimely characterized. And the crux is that we know them all deeply, but yet in uncertain ways. Who they love and who gives them joy/sorrow/jealousy, we know and can feel their strong, secure connections. But do we know their loyalty? Not just loyalty to a government or system, not at all, but in other obtuse measures to a marriage, or friendship, or family connection. And in this particular mix of not so solid association or questioned omissions, plays the fact that this particular Vietnamese core family lives in the Cholon suburb of Saigon, which is in great majority ethnic Chinese.
It's the story of two sisters and two completely different time frames/ eras, as well. We are narrated a tale in jumps (back and forth in random revealing) from 1963-77 and then in much later decades, primarily 2006, but those latter all within another continent and language context.
That is not a format I particularly enjoy, but in this case it captures the dichotomy of personality for Mai, her split- and the spirit of her girlhood sensibilities, superbly. Not to mention the dichotomy of trust and suspicion that is nearly universal to all here.
It's not an easy read. Not only for the war tones, but also for the uncertainty. You will read at least 2/3rds of this book before you "get" much of it. Not only in relationship context, but in any one character's perception to what that relationship might alter. Or to whom one has trusted with full heart and certain knowledge- what that may change. This book is a challenge all around.
It's probably a five star, but I thought the American, James, and some of the other more distant side characters were not captured as the Chinese and Vietnamese were captured. Americans remained fairly anonymous too, except for James.
Phong was five star fictional capture. Mai's father left me mesmerized. What does a good man do when incapable of such duplicitous purpose or cognitions as those who surround him? Her Chinese "Grandmother" becoming Mai's true emotional mother? What does that imply about her own Mother's role? Are any of these "facts" of appearance true or certain? You may get some answers as you read to the end, but you are not going to get all the answers. Always uncertainty and IMHO, that sliver of mistrust. You may read it differently than I did.
Also I am prejudice. I cannot give a 5 star to a tale which is wide and deep but is also cored within the elites' perceptions almost entirely for a picture and American war that was so loaded with both American and peasant Vietnamese death. To be truthful, I am going to reread the last 100 pages of this book again in about a year or so. It tried to give the sense of aftermath and slaughter after take over, but only through the scope of Mai's mother.
But maybe I am wrong. This should almost have been two volumes, perhaps? Mai's return in 2006 had some slants that perplexed me entirely.
But I cannot fail to add that the food language, poetic prose, erotic attraction of forms and other descriptions are pure, and IMHO, lyricly masterful. Lan Cao can write. Nearly a part of every other chapter made you hungry. And instances of violence and horrific physical damage never failed to jar.
4.5 star.
August 4, 2014
1963- A South Vietnamese family of four maintains domestic tranquility despite growing tensions. 2006- Our South Vietnamese family now lives a mundane existence in Virginia. The mother and eldest daughter are absent. The elderly father is crippled by something more than senility, and the youngest sister wears a scarf to cover the bruises on her neck. "The Lotus and the Storm" shows what 40 years of war and grief have done to them.
Lan Cao has the apparently novel idea of telling the Vietnam war though the perspective of the South Vietnamese (this seems like a fairly obvious thing to do, but I only see movies about valiant American GI's). Minh, the father, narrates the sections in Virginia, while Mai, the youngest daughter, describes her childhood in South Vietnam. Cao flips back and forth between 2006 and 1970 every other chapter. Minh is prone to overly detailed flashbacks that fit chronologically with Mai's narrative (how convenient!), so most of the 2006 scenes are only a prelude to Vietnam. Minh was a paratroopher, so his memories are obviously very different than his daughter's. The flashbacks change shape later in the book, fitting revelations about Mai's character.
The best thing about "The Lotus and the Storm" is Lan Cao's Vietnam. The level of world-building in this novel, the sheer attention to detail, is rarely seen outside of speculative fiction. Cao immerses the reader not just in the sights and smells of Saigon, but imparts fascinating facts about Vietnamese culture (for example, names are seen as impersonal and formal, so close family friends are given titles like 'Younger Aunt Number Six the Rice Seller').
Reading a Vietnamese book by a Vietnamese author is essential, and not just for the fun facts. Cao presents a different story than the American canon. In American culture, "Vietnam" means senseless slaughter, an unwinnable quicksand pit of a war, fatal political posturing, and countless young men dying pointlessly. Although Lan Cao shows the horrors of war, she also shows why it was fought. "The Lotus and the Storm" is permeated by fear. Once President Diem falls to a coup, we can feel the terror of the advancing tide of Vietcong soldiers. This is a war where a child can be suddenly shot down in a street, where civilian neighborhoods become the battlefield, where a cultural holiday (Tet) turns so horrifying that its name means something entirely different to Americans.
(Minor spoiler in the next paragraph). After the horrors she experienced during the war, Mai developed dissociative personality disorder. A malevolent presence called Bao (the 'storm' from the title) frequently takes control of Mai's body and pulls them both into a destructive wrath. Bao is the cause of Mai's bruises and the living incarnation of her grief. I'm not sure if this is an accurate representation of dissociative personality disorder, but it is an apt metaphor for the book. "The Lotus and the Storm" is split between Vietnam and America, between past and present, between too little grief and too much, between fiction and nonfiction (Cao and Mai share similar biographical details) between horror and sentimentalism. At the best of times, the split narrative lets Minh's memories add horrifying hindsight to the war. At the worst of times, the split narrative is just jarring. One chapter we might read about Minh's best friend lose his leg to a landmine, and in the next, Mai worries if people are gossiping about her father's caregiver.
Yet overall, I found this a fascinating and empathetic read.
I received a free ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Lan Cao has the apparently novel idea of telling the Vietnam war though the perspective of the South Vietnamese (this seems like a fairly obvious thing to do, but I only see movies about valiant American GI's). Minh, the father, narrates the sections in Virginia, while Mai, the youngest daughter, describes her childhood in South Vietnam. Cao flips back and forth between 2006 and 1970 every other chapter. Minh is prone to overly detailed flashbacks that fit chronologically with Mai's narrative (how convenient!), so most of the 2006 scenes are only a prelude to Vietnam. Minh was a paratroopher, so his memories are obviously very different than his daughter's. The flashbacks change shape later in the book, fitting revelations about Mai's character.
The best thing about "The Lotus and the Storm" is Lan Cao's Vietnam. The level of world-building in this novel, the sheer attention to detail, is rarely seen outside of speculative fiction. Cao immerses the reader not just in the sights and smells of Saigon, but imparts fascinating facts about Vietnamese culture (for example, names are seen as impersonal and formal, so close family friends are given titles like 'Younger Aunt Number Six the Rice Seller').
Reading a Vietnamese book by a Vietnamese author is essential, and not just for the fun facts. Cao presents a different story than the American canon. In American culture, "Vietnam" means senseless slaughter, an unwinnable quicksand pit of a war, fatal political posturing, and countless young men dying pointlessly. Although Lan Cao shows the horrors of war, she also shows why it was fought. "The Lotus and the Storm" is permeated by fear. Once President Diem falls to a coup, we can feel the terror of the advancing tide of Vietcong soldiers. This is a war where a child can be suddenly shot down in a street, where civilian neighborhoods become the battlefield, where a cultural holiday (Tet) turns so horrifying that its name means something entirely different to Americans.
(Minor spoiler in the next paragraph). After the horrors she experienced during the war, Mai developed dissociative personality disorder. A malevolent presence called Bao (the 'storm' from the title) frequently takes control of Mai's body and pulls them both into a destructive wrath. Bao is the cause of Mai's bruises and the living incarnation of her grief. I'm not sure if this is an accurate representation of dissociative personality disorder, but it is an apt metaphor for the book. "The Lotus and the Storm" is split between Vietnam and America, between past and present, between too little grief and too much, between fiction and nonfiction (Cao and Mai share similar biographical details) between horror and sentimentalism. At the best of times, the split narrative lets Minh's memories add horrifying hindsight to the war. At the worst of times, the split narrative is just jarring. One chapter we might read about Minh's best friend lose his leg to a landmine, and in the next, Mai worries if people are gossiping about her father's caregiver.
Yet overall, I found this a fascinating and empathetic read.
I received a free ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
August 24, 2014
I am extremely grateful to have received an ARC copy of this book as a goodreads First Reads giveaway.
Rarely has the full range of human emotions---from the joyous laughter of children playing to the grief that comes with betrayal and the loss of everything important---been captured so eloquently as Lan Cao has done in this extraordinary book. From the first pages depicting the loving relationship between a mother and her two daughters, the author weaves a spell around her readers that doesn't end, taking us through the horrors of the Vietnam War and its aftermath.
I was stunned by some of the insights offered in this book. Lan Cao has managed to capture profound ideas, and present them in a way that both gives her readers deep insights into her characters, and guarantees that her readers will reconsider their own ideas.
Parts of this book are painful to read. Descriptions of the atrocities committed against the South Vietnamese people are not graphic, but the impact on those people is clear. Families were separated, lives destroyed, and truth and honor were nonexistent for a few years. The desperation of people willing to give up everything, risk everything, and often lose their lives, in an attempt to flee the country on rickety boats tells us all we need to know. There are long descriptions of battles, primarily the Tet offensive, that seem, on the surface, to be excessive; in truth, they are necessary to fully understand the actions of several characters.
And yet, there is much in this book that is uplifting, despite the overall tragic nature of the subject. We meet a young American soldier who befriends the sisters, and risks his life to ensure the safety of one of them when snipers are patrolling their neighborhood and the family must flee. We see the strength of the friendships that emerge in Vietnamese refugee communities in America. And we know, in the end, that Vietnam and its people have overcome their tragic past, and will go on with their culture intact.
If I could give this book 10 stars, I would. I have rarely been so moved by a book. It's a definite must-read for anyone interested in history, but I would recommend it to just about everyone without hesitation.
Rarely has the full range of human emotions---from the joyous laughter of children playing to the grief that comes with betrayal and the loss of everything important---been captured so eloquently as Lan Cao has done in this extraordinary book. From the first pages depicting the loving relationship between a mother and her two daughters, the author weaves a spell around her readers that doesn't end, taking us through the horrors of the Vietnam War and its aftermath.
I was stunned by some of the insights offered in this book. Lan Cao has managed to capture profound ideas, and present them in a way that both gives her readers deep insights into her characters, and guarantees that her readers will reconsider their own ideas.
Parts of this book are painful to read. Descriptions of the atrocities committed against the South Vietnamese people are not graphic, but the impact on those people is clear. Families were separated, lives destroyed, and truth and honor were nonexistent for a few years. The desperation of people willing to give up everything, risk everything, and often lose their lives, in an attempt to flee the country on rickety boats tells us all we need to know. There are long descriptions of battles, primarily the Tet offensive, that seem, on the surface, to be excessive; in truth, they are necessary to fully understand the actions of several characters.
And yet, there is much in this book that is uplifting, despite the overall tragic nature of the subject. We meet a young American soldier who befriends the sisters, and risks his life to ensure the safety of one of them when snipers are patrolling their neighborhood and the family must flee. We see the strength of the friendships that emerge in Vietnamese refugee communities in America. And we know, in the end, that Vietnam and its people have overcome their tragic past, and will go on with their culture intact.
If I could give this book 10 stars, I would. I have rarely been so moved by a book. It's a definite must-read for anyone interested in history, but I would recommend it to just about everyone without hesitation.
April 9, 2015
this would have been 3.5. I won’t recount the story here as it’s amply available. I felt as if two people wrote this book.
After a slog of a start of planting tantalizing story threads, the book gained some momentum. I will note that the first 232 pages were written well but contained stilted language and awkward word choices and phrases. E.g., “slumbering silence,” “hesitant emptiness,” “penitential murmurs,” “superstitious dread,” and “neutrally tripped.” What?
From page 233 onwards, the book took on much tighter pacing that intrigued me and held my attention. This part of the book had a different feel. Thankfully the awkward phrases also occurred less here on out. And I found many instances of beautiful writing: “The truth of her life comes out here where she is a stranger to her own history.” “She is all possibility to him, only partially revealed and fully unfulfilled.”
I had the distinct impression of being lectured to at several points. It was relevant, and much of it was intriguing. But it felt heavy handed in tone. The topics included: how a lending collective operates, the underground process for sending money to Vietnam, America’s ambivalent and changing policy in Vietnam, how pho is made, the Paris Peace Accords, etc. (I also found the author referred to several images over and over, e.g., purple traditional Vietnamese dress, the longan pit-like eyes, the starfruit and mango trees, the musculature of a man’s back. These repeated elements didn’t have reading or literary value and added to my wish for stricter editing.)
I was awed by the climax and the resolution of many storythreads.
After a slog of a start of planting tantalizing story threads, the book gained some momentum. I will note that the first 232 pages were written well but contained stilted language and awkward word choices and phrases. E.g., “slumbering silence,” “hesitant emptiness,” “penitential murmurs,” “superstitious dread,” and “neutrally tripped.” What?
From page 233 onwards, the book took on much tighter pacing that intrigued me and held my attention. This part of the book had a different feel. Thankfully the awkward phrases also occurred less here on out. And I found many instances of beautiful writing: “The truth of her life comes out here where she is a stranger to her own history.” “She is all possibility to him, only partially revealed and fully unfulfilled.”
I had the distinct impression of being lectured to at several points. It was relevant, and much of it was intriguing. But it felt heavy handed in tone. The topics included: how a lending collective operates, the underground process for sending money to Vietnam, America’s ambivalent and changing policy in Vietnam, how pho is made, the Paris Peace Accords, etc. (I also found the author referred to several images over and over, e.g., purple traditional Vietnamese dress, the longan pit-like eyes, the starfruit and mango trees, the musculature of a man’s back. These repeated elements didn’t have reading or literary value and added to my wish for stricter editing.)
I was awed by the climax and the resolution of many storythreads.
September 1, 2014
If you were alive during the sixties and seventies, you will remember it as the first time war came into our living rooms every night on the news. Like me, you may have had friends who were sent there, and some never returned. This is a story of one South Vietnamese family over the span of forty years. While it covers some of the major events of the war, it also makes it personal. The characters are well drawn and their emotions are clearly revealed. It is a story of loyalty and betrayal, of hurt and forgiveness, of loss and acceptance.
It is not just the character development and the narrative arc that impressed me. The writing is just plain magnificent. This is not a page turner you want to rush through. I read it slowly to thoroughly soak up the beauty of the written word.
It is not just the character development and the narrative arc that impressed me. The writing is just plain magnificent. This is not a page turner you want to rush through. I read it slowly to thoroughly soak up the beauty of the written word.
September 12, 2014
Centered around a family's drama as pushed forward by the social upheaval built by the Vietnam War, this is a book filled with fascinating characters and subplots. With history and conflict and the heart of the book, Cao's portrayal of a complicated family is balanced against both the present in America (of 2006) and the time of the Vietnam War in Vietnam, culminating in the fall of Saigon and the difficult aftermath.
While the material of the book is fascinating, the downfall is that so very much is attempted. The drama and suspense of the war are overshadowed by the drama of the family's interactions and day-to-day difficulties, and while most of these are directly or indirectly related to the war, many of those connections aren't uncovered until very late in the novel; as a result, readers are torn between sympathizing with the family and gaining insight into history, and neither focus is given real power. So much is built into the work that, though the characters are believable, they aren't fully sympathetic and engaging for readers. Similarly, discussion of the war and socio-political difficulty is so broken up by family drama that that history is not as engaging or narrative-driving as it would be otherwise.
Simply, it felt as if the book was being torn in various directions, and while I appreciated what the author was working for, I often found myself half-bored by what I was reading, as interested as I would be if I were reading history or biography related to something I'm interested in, but no more. Generally, I didn't find the emotion or the entertainment that I expect from a great novel.
So, yes, I appreciated the art of the work, and I enjoyed many passages of Cao's lovely writing. Did I appreciate or enjoy the story? Well, that's a more difficult question, but is perhaps best answered by the acknowledgement that I wouldn't be very likely to pick up more of her work.
If you are interested in family dramas played out on the background of history, or in multi-generational narratives told in complex and politically-aware narratives, this might well be up your alley. If you pick it up because of an interest in war-related literature, however, or expect a novel pulling you forward from page to page with a real suspense...well, this may be too quiet a novel for you to fall into, because on the whole, I'd say it attempted too much, and was perhaps a hundred pages too long for what it did accomplish.
While the material of the book is fascinating, the downfall is that so very much is attempted. The drama and suspense of the war are overshadowed by the drama of the family's interactions and day-to-day difficulties, and while most of these are directly or indirectly related to the war, many of those connections aren't uncovered until very late in the novel; as a result, readers are torn between sympathizing with the family and gaining insight into history, and neither focus is given real power. So much is built into the work that, though the characters are believable, they aren't fully sympathetic and engaging for readers. Similarly, discussion of the war and socio-political difficulty is so broken up by family drama that that history is not as engaging or narrative-driving as it would be otherwise.
Simply, it felt as if the book was being torn in various directions, and while I appreciated what the author was working for, I often found myself half-bored by what I was reading, as interested as I would be if I were reading history or biography related to something I'm interested in, but no more. Generally, I didn't find the emotion or the entertainment that I expect from a great novel.
So, yes, I appreciated the art of the work, and I enjoyed many passages of Cao's lovely writing. Did I appreciate or enjoy the story? Well, that's a more difficult question, but is perhaps best answered by the acknowledgement that I wouldn't be very likely to pick up more of her work.
If you are interested in family dramas played out on the background of history, or in multi-generational narratives told in complex and politically-aware narratives, this might well be up your alley. If you pick it up because of an interest in war-related literature, however, or expect a novel pulling you forward from page to page with a real suspense...well, this may be too quiet a novel for you to fall into, because on the whole, I'd say it attempted too much, and was perhaps a hundred pages too long for what it did accomplish.
December 29, 2014
I received a copy of this book from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
This book was all about atmosphere. The author evokes both 1960's Vietnam and current day America, where the remnants of a Vietnamese family have ended up after the war.
The descriptions are lush, and the book feels almost more like a fairy tale than a story about real people. The characters in the book are so considered, so fantastic, that I really couldn't relate to them. They were beautiful to read about, but I couldn't believe in their emotions.
This book will appeal to those who are willing to go with style more than substance. Not that there wasn't substance in this book, but the emotional weight of every description was more than I wanted. It was almost over the line into melodrama.
However, I like richer chocolate than a lot of people, and some people might like richer reading material than I do. YMMV.
This book was all about atmosphere. The author evokes both 1960's Vietnam and current day America, where the remnants of a Vietnamese family have ended up after the war.
The descriptions are lush, and the book feels almost more like a fairy tale than a story about real people. The characters in the book are so considered, so fantastic, that I really couldn't relate to them. They were beautiful to read about, but I couldn't believe in their emotions.
This book will appeal to those who are willing to go with style more than substance. Not that there wasn't substance in this book, but the emotional weight of every description was more than I wanted. It was almost over the line into melodrama.
However, I like richer chocolate than a lot of people, and some people might like richer reading material than I do. YMMV.
September 2, 2014
After having lived through everything and made a new life on this northern shore, I never thought I would want to revisit the past. But on the recommendation from a friend, I decided to embark on the journey back. A slow and painful one through the beautifully written and deeply humanized account of the Vietnam War. When I finished, I sat and wept for a long time. Thank you Lan Cao for writing this.
September 20, 2014
It's true that there are some AMAZING pieces of literature in the world about the war in Vietnam -- I think that, without a doubt, "The Lotus and the Storm" will become one of those byword novels, like "The Quiet American" and "Saigon," by Anthony Grey.
Similarly, there are many hundreds of incredible novels that have been written about diasporas from various cultures: Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Namesake" comes to mind, to a lesser extent J. M. Coetzee's "Diary of a Bad Year," and in the realm of young adult/children's fiction, Laurence Yep's "Golden Mountain Chronicles." It is my hope that "The Lotus and the Storm" will do for the stories of Vietnamese community in the United States what Lahiri and Yep have done for the stories of Indian and Chinese-American community, respectively.
As the child of immigrants, the tales and struggles of assimilation and community are like a second skin to me, and the diaspora narrative as it plays across cultures is incredibly fascinating to me. Lan Cao brings Vietnamese diaspora -- and all of the dark, unfathomable tragedies associated with it -- to amazingly vivid life in her second novel. She perfectly captures not only the longing and the romanticization of 'home' (particularly when that home is the deeply imperfect pre-Communist South Vietnam) but the difficulties of return when you've spent so long away with all the intimacy and familiarity of one who's experienced it (as I have no doubt that she has) -- and ultimately [spoiler, maybe?] the redemption and absolution that such a 'home' can convey.
But there's more than that in this novel. Those who know will recognize the struggles to find and build community in a United States that is less forgiving to the foreigner and the refugee than many Americans think; the struggles to understand and make sense of deep tragedy; and, particularly meaningful to me, the various and sundry explorations on the theme of love and sacrifice. What force drives what, and whom, and when? Lan Cao builds a mystery into the intertwining stories of the two protagonists, Mai and Mr. Minh, and though the mystery may seem obvious to the reader, the heart aches for the daughter and father who don't discover it until the very end, and find it in themselves to forgive betrayal anyway.
Other reviews have expounded on the importance of this novel as a contribution to Vietnam literature, so I won't do it. Other reviews have commented on pace, so I won't do it at length, but I would suggest that a familiarity with the diaspora literature genre might give one more patience for the slow start -- the journey of 'home', to 'away from home,' to 'returning home' requires a very careful construction of the notion of 'home' for everything else to fall into place. That may not suit all readers' tastes, so if you object, I might recommend approaching another novel in the genre before judging this one for pacing too quickly. In short, I think Lan Cao manages this beautifully.
It's hard not to speak in empty platitudes in a book review, but in general I'd say that Lan Cao's second novel is incredibly vivid and incredibly meaningful, and an incredibly important contribution to the genres both of Vietnam literature and Diaspora literature. I'm going to be running around thrusting the thing under the noses of everybody of my acquaintance and asking them to read it BEFORE they read anything else they have on their ever-longer reading lists, and demanding that they enjoy it.
Similarly, there are many hundreds of incredible novels that have been written about diasporas from various cultures: Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Namesake" comes to mind, to a lesser extent J. M. Coetzee's "Diary of a Bad Year," and in the realm of young adult/children's fiction, Laurence Yep's "Golden Mountain Chronicles." It is my hope that "The Lotus and the Storm" will do for the stories of Vietnamese community in the United States what Lahiri and Yep have done for the stories of Indian and Chinese-American community, respectively.
As the child of immigrants, the tales and struggles of assimilation and community are like a second skin to me, and the diaspora narrative as it plays across cultures is incredibly fascinating to me. Lan Cao brings Vietnamese diaspora -- and all of the dark, unfathomable tragedies associated with it -- to amazingly vivid life in her second novel. She perfectly captures not only the longing and the romanticization of 'home' (particularly when that home is the deeply imperfect pre-Communist South Vietnam) but the difficulties of return when you've spent so long away with all the intimacy and familiarity of one who's experienced it (as I have no doubt that she has) -- and ultimately [spoiler, maybe?] the redemption and absolution that such a 'home' can convey.
But there's more than that in this novel. Those who know will recognize the struggles to find and build community in a United States that is less forgiving to the foreigner and the refugee than many Americans think; the struggles to understand and make sense of deep tragedy; and, particularly meaningful to me, the various and sundry explorations on the theme of love and sacrifice. What force drives what, and whom, and when? Lan Cao builds a mystery into the intertwining stories of the two protagonists, Mai and Mr. Minh, and though the mystery may seem obvious to the reader, the heart aches for the daughter and father who don't discover it until the very end, and find it in themselves to forgive betrayal anyway.
Other reviews have expounded on the importance of this novel as a contribution to Vietnam literature, so I won't do it. Other reviews have commented on pace, so I won't do it at length, but I would suggest that a familiarity with the diaspora literature genre might give one more patience for the slow start -- the journey of 'home', to 'away from home,' to 'returning home' requires a very careful construction of the notion of 'home' for everything else to fall into place. That may not suit all readers' tastes, so if you object, I might recommend approaching another novel in the genre before judging this one for pacing too quickly. In short, I think Lan Cao manages this beautifully.
It's hard not to speak in empty platitudes in a book review, but in general I'd say that Lan Cao's second novel is incredibly vivid and incredibly meaningful, and an incredibly important contribution to the genres both of Vietnam literature and Diaspora literature. I'm going to be running around thrusting the thing under the noses of everybody of my acquaintance and asking them to read it BEFORE they read anything else they have on their ever-longer reading lists, and demanding that they enjoy it.
September 1, 2015
I really loathe the word resplendent. The Lotus and the Storm uses resplendent three times. That may be enough to tell you what I thought of the book.
There are spoilers below. Proceed warily.
The Lotus and the Storm is essentially the mirror of The Sympathizer, which I read a few months ago (also a Netgalley copy). Whereas The Sympathizer gave us the Viet-cong mole perspective, The Lotus and the Storm gives us the South Vietnamese military perspective. Okay. So we're in and out of Vietnam, future in Virginia, back and forth. Typical immigrant/war narrative.
For me, this book had problems: Characters in the narrative seem to be talking to someone who isn't there (one of my notes-in-the-margins is Who is he talking to?), giving lengthy explanations about background that they would already know themselves and would have no need to elaborate on for themselves. A letter detailing a death just so happens to have a lengthy and fortuitous amount of information required to advance the plot. A child uses the term "subcutaneous tissue" (although, growing up in a war zone, this might enter common parlance out of necessity). Someone is secretly a spy -- revealed in as Dramatic A Way as possible.
So a whole suspension of disbelief is required from the reader throughout the entire novel. I think a lot of this story is based on the truth, but I don't believe the story. If it's true, if these things happened, but is written in such a way that obscures the truth, I think that's a problem.
And the big problem (and a big spoiler here): The narrative jumps between different characters points-of-view. About two-thirds in, we are introduced to a new narrative voice, as we find out that one of the main characters has multiple personalities, and our additional narrator is one of these personalities!
Other people loved this book, the ostentatious writing style, the twists, the emotional wrenching. I did not. For me, it was a slog.
The Lotus and the Storm by Lan Cao went on sale August 14, 2014.
I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
There are spoilers below. Proceed warily.
The Lotus and the Storm is essentially the mirror of The Sympathizer, which I read a few months ago (also a Netgalley copy). Whereas The Sympathizer gave us the Viet-cong mole perspective, The Lotus and the Storm gives us the South Vietnamese military perspective. Okay. So we're in and out of Vietnam, future in Virginia, back and forth. Typical immigrant/war narrative.
For me, this book had problems: Characters in the narrative seem to be talking to someone who isn't there (one of my notes-in-the-margins is Who is he talking to?), giving lengthy explanations about background that they would already know themselves and would have no need to elaborate on for themselves. A letter detailing a death just so happens to have a lengthy and fortuitous amount of information required to advance the plot. A child uses the term "subcutaneous tissue" (although, growing up in a war zone, this might enter common parlance out of necessity). Someone is secretly a spy -- revealed in as Dramatic A Way as possible.
So a whole suspension of disbelief is required from the reader throughout the entire novel. I think a lot of this story is based on the truth, but I don't believe the story. If it's true, if these things happened, but is written in such a way that obscures the truth, I think that's a problem.
And the big problem (and a big spoiler here): The narrative jumps between different characters points-of-view. About two-thirds in, we are introduced to a new narrative voice, as we find out that one of the main characters has multiple personalities, and our additional narrator is one of these personalities!
Other people loved this book, the ostentatious writing style, the twists, the emotional wrenching. I did not. For me, it was a slog.
The Lotus and the Storm by Lan Cao went on sale August 14, 2014.
I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 28, 2015
"In the years following 1963, the Americans marched in" (to Vietnam). This book shows cycles of innocence, friendship, betrayal, and redemption -- at a personal, family, and international level. It shows how the things that happened in that place, in that time, haunt to this day, causing individuals, families, and cultures to split into pieces.
It shows how promise and devastation can be kept inside, so that the surface is lotus-like, while storms roil underneath.
It shows how the promise of a mother and a father and two beautiful daughters can be illusory, buffeted by the winds of war, change, belief, and betrayal.
This is, simply, an amazing book. Unbelievably well written, a voice for so much that I had missed: the smell of the trees, the tastes of the food, the stories and assumptions of the culture, the edges of friendship, the limits of the soul, what one does when one freezes and loved ones die. What it feels like to be the one left standing. What it feels like to lie.
This book is about childhood, love, old age, lives overwhelmed and lives re-examined.
One of the best books I've read.
It shows how promise and devastation can be kept inside, so that the surface is lotus-like, while storms roil underneath.
It shows how the promise of a mother and a father and two beautiful daughters can be illusory, buffeted by the winds of war, change, belief, and betrayal.
This is, simply, an amazing book. Unbelievably well written, a voice for so much that I had missed: the smell of the trees, the tastes of the food, the stories and assumptions of the culture, the edges of friendship, the limits of the soul, what one does when one freezes and loved ones die. What it feels like to be the one left standing. What it feels like to lie.
This book is about childhood, love, old age, lives overwhelmed and lives re-examined.
One of the best books I've read.
September 16, 2014
Suspenseful with many plot twists. Evocative with beautiful, poetic passages about the quest for peace and reconciliation. Searing in its portrait of war and the deep scars of wartime trauma. Complex in the depiction of multi-layered dimensions of relationships -- between human beings and countries. Be ready to be introduced to a wholly different perspective on the Vietnam War.
September 8, 2014
A fascinating story of a Vietnamese family during the war years of the 1960s and 1970s in Vietnam and in 2006 in the US. The book presents a perspective on the war that we here in the US don't usually hear much about.
March 15, 2015
This was a 4.5 read for me.
Thoughts coming shortly
Thoughts coming shortly
June 27, 2015
I really liked it but also found it confusing and dry in spots. Maybe I've just read too many heavy books recently. A very good book.
February 20, 2018
ok um! tw:rape would have been a nice warning! if you are sensitive to that please keep in mind it's definitely in this book.
edit: changed from two stars to one star because i keep thinking about this book and getting angrier and angrier when i see how flawed it is.
if you're into the overdramatic, sappy hallmark stories, this is your thing dude. have some fun i guess but i hated it.
i don't know why anyone says this is "powerful" because to me it does not read powerfully. there are so many examples people have listed earlier of lan cao's senseless prose. but also, considering the attentive detail to historical events in this book i wonder why there is no mention of my lai? i cannot even remember if there is a mention of the american war crimes (correct me if i'm wrong) but there is incredible scrutiny of the communists in the novel during the war.
this is not something i would bring up in just any viet book. but in a viet book that tries to be as profound as this (and gives you chapter after chapter of vietnamese history and politics), and seeing northerners/communists are just used as depressing props or enemies, it just reads as...annoying, and biased. i don't know i really hated that. also i can't help but feel that all of these characters are just...flat. i can't really even describe the personalities of mai (or her other personalities l m a o), her father, and her mother without all of them sounding the same. and james is...nice?? like that's it!
and just...that ending. that was so stupid. yes, james, you are a shitty person for not leaving vietnam with your wife and granting her american citizenship because you think vietnam is a "forgiving" place. oh my god man! why didn't you just stay dead! and how he gets with mai in the end? did i just land in hollywood vietnam war territory?? and then how the whole book is suddenly epistolary. holy moly. come on.
(RAPE MENTION BELOW)
the brutal rape scene was incredibly unnecessary and rendered quy's character (and eventually thu's) to the trope of the tragic, demure, self-sacrificial dragon woman. that was so awful my stomach turned. what was the point of doing that to a supposedly "strong" and "resilient" character except to break her down and make her a pitiful asian martyr?
as one other reviewer said--this book definitely feels like it was based off of true stories. but it feels told in a way that obfuscates the truth and that is irritating.
i don't know. i've read so many other wonderful vietnamese novels that cover tragedy and loss and melodrama way better than this did. the gangster we are all looking for by le thi diem thuy defined the relationship between an ARVN vet and his daughter when they came to america much more beautifully than lan cao did. and quan barry's novel, she weeps every time you are born, is significantly better with regard to characterization and attempts to encompass vietnamese history, especially w the way she represented both north and south vietnamese people as...people, and not just random tragedies, like this work does. if you want interesting war drama, literally viet thanh nguyen's the sympathizer is so much better with regards to addressing the conflict between north and south vietnam (and america's severely flawed involvement). duong thu huong's works are crazy dramatic and questionable as all hell but her perspective is so much more interesting. aimee pham is amazing and i'm just plugging her here because i can and i'm tired
this was just...a huge bore, and a huge disappointment.
edit: changed from two stars to one star because i keep thinking about this book and getting angrier and angrier when i see how flawed it is.
if you're into the overdramatic, sappy hallmark stories, this is your thing dude. have some fun i guess but i hated it.
i don't know why anyone says this is "powerful" because to me it does not read powerfully. there are so many examples people have listed earlier of lan cao's senseless prose. but also, considering the attentive detail to historical events in this book i wonder why there is no mention of my lai? i cannot even remember if there is a mention of the american war crimes (correct me if i'm wrong) but there is incredible scrutiny of the communists in the novel during the war.
this is not something i would bring up in just any viet book. but in a viet book that tries to be as profound as this (and gives you chapter after chapter of vietnamese history and politics), and seeing northerners/communists are just used as depressing props or enemies, it just reads as...annoying, and biased. i don't know i really hated that. also i can't help but feel that all of these characters are just...flat. i can't really even describe the personalities of mai (or her other personalities l m a o), her father, and her mother without all of them sounding the same. and james is...nice?? like that's it!
and just...that ending. that was so stupid. yes, james, you are a shitty person for not leaving vietnam with your wife and granting her american citizenship because you think vietnam is a "forgiving" place. oh my god man! why didn't you just stay dead! and how he gets with mai in the end? did i just land in hollywood vietnam war territory?? and then how the whole book is suddenly epistolary. holy moly. come on.
(RAPE MENTION BELOW)
the brutal rape scene was incredibly unnecessary and rendered quy's character (and eventually thu's) to the trope of the tragic, demure, self-sacrificial dragon woman. that was so awful my stomach turned. what was the point of doing that to a supposedly "strong" and "resilient" character except to break her down and make her a pitiful asian martyr?
as one other reviewer said--this book definitely feels like it was based off of true stories. but it feels told in a way that obfuscates the truth and that is irritating.
i don't know. i've read so many other wonderful vietnamese novels that cover tragedy and loss and melodrama way better than this did. the gangster we are all looking for by le thi diem thuy defined the relationship between an ARVN vet and his daughter when they came to america much more beautifully than lan cao did. and quan barry's novel, she weeps every time you are born, is significantly better with regard to characterization and attempts to encompass vietnamese history, especially w the way she represented both north and south vietnamese people as...people, and not just random tragedies, like this work does. if you want interesting war drama, literally viet thanh nguyen's the sympathizer is so much better with regards to addressing the conflict between north and south vietnam (and america's severely flawed involvement). duong thu huong's works are crazy dramatic and questionable as all hell but her perspective is so much more interesting. aimee pham is amazing and i'm just plugging her here because i can and i'm tired
this was just...a huge bore, and a huge disappointment.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 25, 2018
I wanted to like this book more than I did. The subject matter was very real, the portrayal of war, family, trauma, mental illness all quite authentic. I also learned quite a bit of history that I didn't know before, which was helpful.
But the writing, oh, the writing! Cao is a law school professor, and if I know anything, I know legal writing styles are NOT always conducive to clear, concise, well-paced narrative writing. Cao's sentences are so filled with lengthy, florid descriptions and "SAT words" that I had increasing difficulty taking the writing seriously. There was a lot of weird and repetitive over-explaining of how words were pronounced tonally or other cultural aspects that I think a more careful editor would have caught. The use of diacritics to indicate some Vietnamese names at some times but not others without any clear explanation drove me crazy, as well as some misspellings that again, a copyeditor or fact-checker should have noticed.
"After visiting Father, she pilots her car onto the main boulevard, where a coating of snow has cast a preternatural glow on every surface. She hears the crunch of tires against the inevitable imperfections of the road, the granular layers of salt and sand on asphalt. Before her, a pale, misty spire rises from the tentative bend in the road. The falling snow continues its wind-whipped course, giving its fury the illusion of a manic purpose."
Poetic language and descriptions, but a lot of these passages clogged up the narrative for me. The pacing dragged, and dragged - it was such a slog to finish this book.
Conclusion: Cao reveals and explores a lot of the truths in Vietnamese-American experiences. I just wish I didn't have to dig through the extra layers of exposition and florid prose to get to it.
But the writing, oh, the writing! Cao is a law school professor, and if I know anything, I know legal writing styles are NOT always conducive to clear, concise, well-paced narrative writing. Cao's sentences are so filled with lengthy, florid descriptions and "SAT words" that I had increasing difficulty taking the writing seriously. There was a lot of weird and repetitive over-explaining of how words were pronounced tonally or other cultural aspects that I think a more careful editor would have caught. The use of diacritics to indicate some Vietnamese names at some times but not others without any clear explanation drove me crazy, as well as some misspellings that again, a copyeditor or fact-checker should have noticed.
"After visiting Father, she pilots her car onto the main boulevard, where a coating of snow has cast a preternatural glow on every surface. She hears the crunch of tires against the inevitable imperfections of the road, the granular layers of salt and sand on asphalt. Before her, a pale, misty spire rises from the tentative bend in the road. The falling snow continues its wind-whipped course, giving its fury the illusion of a manic purpose."
Poetic language and descriptions, but a lot of these passages clogged up the narrative for me. The pacing dragged, and dragged - it was such a slog to finish this book.
Conclusion: Cao reveals and explores a lot of the truths in Vietnamese-American experiences. I just wish I didn't have to dig through the extra layers of exposition and florid prose to get to it.
November 14, 2021
The period of grief Mai experiences after the loss of someone close to her resonated with me. But unfortunately the rest of it wasn’t my taste as well as these characters who exist only in her head, like, I get if that’s a certain cope for grief but that didn’t hit with me. I’ve read books about women experiencing war and maybe I had too much of a picture in my head what this book’s plot would be like, but in either case it wasn’t for me the writing didn’t make me feel like I was *there* it felt more like an obstacle I had to overcome before I could get to what was happening.
December 5, 2014
I have only just recently completed my reading of a marvelous new novel, “The Lotus and the Storm,” by Lan Cao. And it is splendid in every sense.
The story recalls the impact of the American War in Vietnam upon its intended beneficiaries, told in particular from the perspective of an upper-class Saigon family, and set in three long moments: the first, during the dangerous events that precede and then surround the assassination of the brothers Diem in 1963; and then in the calamitous progress of the expanding conflict during the next dozen years until the final fall of the South in 1975; and finally in the long and elegiac period that follows for the survivors of the Minh family who are destined to spend their final years in a settlement near Washington, DC, with othe expatriates who share in their unending memories of that long-ago war. The father, Minh, is one of the South’s leading generals; his wife, Quy, is the child of a wealthy southern family, itself divided by conflicting loyalties; and their daughters are Khanh and Mai, whose different experiences survive after a fashion, in death or near-madness. There is more, of course, but I need not go further in this precis. The story is delicate, tragic and magnificent, all at once. Lan Cao does full justice to each facet of the unfolding tale.
Having spent a fair amount of time in Vietnam on a number of occasions in the past twenty years, I might have imagined I had some understanding of the exquisite beauty of the country and its people, whom I love, and among whom I number members of my own family – and yet I confess I have had no real sense at all of the very particular nuances Lan reveals so beautifully in the novel. In part this may be because most of my own time there has been spent in the North, which is in some sense almost a separate culture. But I admire the people and the cities of the South as well – and especially Saigon and the sprawling district of Cholon (I have been told the name means roughly, "the place assigned to the Chinese"), which seem to me still today to be very much like the places she remembers in her work. Yet with the exception of a passage at the end of the novel, in which Mai visits her homeland, the world Lan Cao recalls is simply before my time and beyond my own experience. As will no doubt be true for most of her readers, then, I am in her debt for the memories of that now-vanished period before and during the French and American Wars. Marguerite Duras (in “The Lover”) and Graham Greene (in “The Quiet American”) no doubt sketched in some moments worthy of their efforts. But in Lan’s attention to the fragile interiority of extended family life in that time and place I think she simply has no peer.
The tragedy I will not dwell on. I would say it has two faces: one intensely personal; the other no less vividly public. The varying fates of Khanh, and Mai's mother and Minh's wife, and of Mai and Minh themselves, seem to me to capture in the disposition of a handful of characters the destruction of intimacy that war brought upon the land in that time. Again, no one I know of has done half so powerful a job of realizing that in literature. The public tragedy (for both North and South) has been the subject of so many treatments from so many quarters that I think she rightly avoids treating it directly at length. It is enough to document the private losses at close hand, as she does, without elaboration as to context.
The larger story is in any event magnificent for the reason that it is simply too large to be anything less. A culture now vanished, having suffered devastation by conflict, evokes memories of Troy and Carthage and a score of other similarly-fated places that have figured in the millenniums noted in the course of human history. The importance of the very particular story Lan has chosen to record in this work also seems entirely beyond question, and she is right to assume the reader will see it for what it is without being urged on explicitly by the author's voice.
Meanwhile, none of these observations says anything about the architecture of the work. A story like the one Lan offers here calls for a voice beyond the voices of Mai and Minh, who are the main protagonists throughout the novel, but who are not sufficient in themselves to carry the burden of the narrative entirely alone. Another author might have given herself this assignment, as authors often do; but Mai’s tortured mind furnishes a far better device on this occasion: in Mai’s bout with madness her alternative personality, Bao, proves the perfect choice for this extended role. Bao is exactly the interpreter we need in order to move with some assurance among the cultural and emotional perspectives Lan draws upon in order to give life to the work.
The book is beautifully written and designed. I paused often to appreciate the delicacy in a passage that seemed to find some new way to realize even a moment I might have supposed I had known before, but would never have thought to express as the author had done. And I was enchanted throughout by the ghostly little graphic markers on the printed page that signaled some shift in time or perspective.
I think "The Lotus and the Storm" is a treasure – a stunning achievement of which Lan Cao must be justly proud. I wish I had the power to do a better job of saying just how fine a work I think this is.
The story recalls the impact of the American War in Vietnam upon its intended beneficiaries, told in particular from the perspective of an upper-class Saigon family, and set in three long moments: the first, during the dangerous events that precede and then surround the assassination of the brothers Diem in 1963; and then in the calamitous progress of the expanding conflict during the next dozen years until the final fall of the South in 1975; and finally in the long and elegiac period that follows for the survivors of the Minh family who are destined to spend their final years in a settlement near Washington, DC, with othe expatriates who share in their unending memories of that long-ago war. The father, Minh, is one of the South’s leading generals; his wife, Quy, is the child of a wealthy southern family, itself divided by conflicting loyalties; and their daughters are Khanh and Mai, whose different experiences survive after a fashion, in death or near-madness. There is more, of course, but I need not go further in this precis. The story is delicate, tragic and magnificent, all at once. Lan Cao does full justice to each facet of the unfolding tale.
Having spent a fair amount of time in Vietnam on a number of occasions in the past twenty years, I might have imagined I had some understanding of the exquisite beauty of the country and its people, whom I love, and among whom I number members of my own family – and yet I confess I have had no real sense at all of the very particular nuances Lan reveals so beautifully in the novel. In part this may be because most of my own time there has been spent in the North, which is in some sense almost a separate culture. But I admire the people and the cities of the South as well – and especially Saigon and the sprawling district of Cholon (I have been told the name means roughly, "the place assigned to the Chinese"), which seem to me still today to be very much like the places she remembers in her work. Yet with the exception of a passage at the end of the novel, in which Mai visits her homeland, the world Lan Cao recalls is simply before my time and beyond my own experience. As will no doubt be true for most of her readers, then, I am in her debt for the memories of that now-vanished period before and during the French and American Wars. Marguerite Duras (in “The Lover”) and Graham Greene (in “The Quiet American”) no doubt sketched in some moments worthy of their efforts. But in Lan’s attention to the fragile interiority of extended family life in that time and place I think she simply has no peer.
The tragedy I will not dwell on. I would say it has two faces: one intensely personal; the other no less vividly public. The varying fates of Khanh, and Mai's mother and Minh's wife, and of Mai and Minh themselves, seem to me to capture in the disposition of a handful of characters the destruction of intimacy that war brought upon the land in that time. Again, no one I know of has done half so powerful a job of realizing that in literature. The public tragedy (for both North and South) has been the subject of so many treatments from so many quarters that I think she rightly avoids treating it directly at length. It is enough to document the private losses at close hand, as she does, without elaboration as to context.
The larger story is in any event magnificent for the reason that it is simply too large to be anything less. A culture now vanished, having suffered devastation by conflict, evokes memories of Troy and Carthage and a score of other similarly-fated places that have figured in the millenniums noted in the course of human history. The importance of the very particular story Lan has chosen to record in this work also seems entirely beyond question, and she is right to assume the reader will see it for what it is without being urged on explicitly by the author's voice.
Meanwhile, none of these observations says anything about the architecture of the work. A story like the one Lan offers here calls for a voice beyond the voices of Mai and Minh, who are the main protagonists throughout the novel, but who are not sufficient in themselves to carry the burden of the narrative entirely alone. Another author might have given herself this assignment, as authors often do; but Mai’s tortured mind furnishes a far better device on this occasion: in Mai’s bout with madness her alternative personality, Bao, proves the perfect choice for this extended role. Bao is exactly the interpreter we need in order to move with some assurance among the cultural and emotional perspectives Lan draws upon in order to give life to the work.
The book is beautifully written and designed. I paused often to appreciate the delicacy in a passage that seemed to find some new way to realize even a moment I might have supposed I had known before, but would never have thought to express as the author had done. And I was enchanted throughout by the ghostly little graphic markers on the printed page that signaled some shift in time or perspective.
I think "The Lotus and the Storm" is a treasure – a stunning achievement of which Lan Cao must be justly proud. I wish I had the power to do a better job of saying just how fine a work I think this is.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 19, 2017
This was a hard book to read. It's subject matter is dark but provided revelations into the Vietnam war and its failures. I feel I understand the culture in a way I never had before. The language of this book was rich and flowery while also remaining grounded to its characters. I would give it between 3-4 stars. Sometimes I felt stunted by the language and the slow story telling. But I loved learning about the Vietnam war and it was a beautiful story of love, loss, and self preservation.
January 12, 2018
Was dethering on whether to give the book a 3 or a 4. Overall it's a touching story, well-woven and in many instances heart wrenching. The language is fluid for the most part, although it sometimes gets overly sentimental and too flowery. I struggled in the beginning with the languid pace, but past the midway point the book gets interesting. I thought the split personality part was annoying and perhaps unessesary.The worse part of the book was the ending. The final two chapters (epilogue?) completely disrupts the mood of the story and almost ruin the book.
April 6, 2020
I loved the author’s poetic style and the detail of the Vietnam War. I was s child during the war and remember the ‘boat people’ and kids who came to my school as refugees. But I never knew much about the war. I’ve worked with immigrants and refugees throughout my career. This account gave me a deeper understanding of the true nature of their experience & the resulting trauma. And even though it is a tragic tale, it is full of beauty, sensuous, and comforting in the end.
February 1, 2022
This book shows tragedy and triumph. Here are my favorite phrases, "we have but one heart, there is no second one that can serve as a reserve when the first is stricken by sorrow."
"She will not eat because she cherishes the feeling of emptiness in her stomach."
"We might have howled but we don't. Instead we collapse into silence."
Page 336 - title of book
"She will not eat because she cherishes the feeling of emptiness in her stomach."
"We might have howled but we don't. Instead we collapse into silence."
Page 336 - title of book
October 30, 2022
This book is hauntingly beautiful. It’s told from the perspective of a Vietnam soldier from the Vietnam war and his daughter who survived the attack on Saigon. Although it is a work of fiction I think this book gives very good perspective into the events of the war and how devastating it truly was.
June 8, 2018
Almost done. Another book that's not quite pulling me in. Do enjoy the distinctive S. Vietnamese voice, since this is not perspective o f other books I've read--even if it's not believable--N. Vietnamese are a little too dastardly, Americans too nice.
August 23, 2019
Parts of this book were okay and there’s lovely story about conflict, hurt, and how the loss of love destroys our souls. But... this book is long and boring. The writing style is numbing at times. I read a lot and there were nights I could only get through two pages of this.
July 27, 2020
Strange and lengthy descriptions that made it unnecessarily difficult to get to the gist of a paragraph. They made the narrative lose its focus. The overly poetic language, or attempts at it, detracted from the meaning and poignancy of the novel at times.
April 5, 2023
Beautiful and haunting, I learned more about the Vietnam War from this book then any class in high-school and the vivid descriptions truly put the reader in every scene. Also the presentation of DID was incredible and not villifying! Seriously, cannot recommend enough.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 25, 2024
I really couldn't get into this book. This writer is very poetic in description and spends pages on description but to me it was just too slow and painstaking. I felt time was wasted on this description I wasn't reading a painting.
October 14, 2025
Brutal and devastating, but poetic and beautiful as well. It was really hard for me to get through it because of the material, not because of the writing. Some scenes were really hard to read, but the entire novel as a whole was incredibly moving.
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