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Landbridge: Life in Fragments
In 1980, Y-Dang Troeung and her family were among the last of the 60,000 refugees from Cambodia that Canada agreed to admit. Their landing was widely documented in newspapers, with photographs of the prime minister shaking Troeung’s father’s hand and patting baby Y-Dang’s head. Troeung became a literal poster child for the benevolence of the Canadian refugee project. She returns to this moment forty years later in her arresting memoir Landbridge, where she explores the tension between that public narrative of happy “arrival,” and the multiple, often hidden truths of what happened to her family. In precise, beautiful prose, Troeung moves back and forth in time to tell stories about her parents and two brothers who lived through the Cambodian genocide, about the lives of her grandparents and extended family, about her own childhood in the refugee camps and in rural Ontario, and eventually about her young son’s illness and her own diagnosis with a terminal disease. Throughout this brilliant and astonishing book, Troeung looks with bracing clarity at refugee existence and dares to imagine a better future, with love.
322 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 11, 2024
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 90 reviews
June 2, 2023
unbelievable how great this is. it's pulsing with the energy of quiet revolution in my hands
'landbridge' is not a book, it's life in a beautiful, disparate, transient package
I’m so moved by the experience of sitting with Y-Dang’s story. her efforts to disentangle the complex threads in her mind through separate modes-of-being really did build into a fabulous body of expression
I was lucky enough to have known Y-Dang, however briefly, during her brilliant life - a generous teacher, an incredible mind
coming this fall, @knopfca
'landbridge' is not a book, it's life in a beautiful, disparate, transient package
I’m so moved by the experience of sitting with Y-Dang’s story. her efforts to disentangle the complex threads in her mind through separate modes-of-being really did build into a fabulous body of expression
I was lucky enough to have known Y-Dang, however briefly, during her brilliant life - a generous teacher, an incredible mind
coming this fall, @knopfca
September 14, 2023
Just an absolutely incredible, powerful, and heartbreaking work of nonfiction. This reading experience will stay with me for the rest of my life. The emotional force of Y-Dang's prose sweeps you into her own lifeworld and the stories and lifeworlds of the Cambodian refugees she writes fiercely and passionately of.
This book is about her history and the history of the Cambodian genocide, but it is also about reclaiming and rewriting the narrative made about her upon her and her family's resettlement in Canada. You feel so intensely the weight of trauma that is carried throughout the lives of people that have had to flee their homelands from unspeakable and unimaginable tragedy, violence and genocide.
Rest peacefully, Y-Dang. Her words will continue to inform and inspire the world and I am in awe of the fortitude and resilience her life and work has given me as a reader of this book. A gift.
This book is about her history and the history of the Cambodian genocide, but it is also about reclaiming and rewriting the narrative made about her upon her and her family's resettlement in Canada. You feel so intensely the weight of trauma that is carried throughout the lives of people that have had to flee their homelands from unspeakable and unimaginable tragedy, violence and genocide.
Rest peacefully, Y-Dang. Her words will continue to inform and inspire the world and I am in awe of the fortitude and resilience her life and work has given me as a reader of this book. A gift.
December 20, 2023
I was made aware of this book via an article by the author's friend novelist Madeleine Thien. My knowledge of the details of the Cambodian genocide are limited, I was young at the time. My historical understanding of the wars in Southeast Asia is more informed by Hollywood than the stories of survivors. The onset of war in Gaza inspired me to learn more about other genocides because, as Troeung says here Cambodia was not the first, it will not be the last. And then there was the extra heartbreak of knowing that the author died of cancer (a legacy of her time in utero and her first year of life) before this book was published. But I was not prepared for the power of this work.
Told in fragments, interspersed with letters to her young son, Troeung writes about her family's experience during Pol Pot time, years hiding, working in forced labour camps, starving and, finally, escaping to Thailand. She talks about arriving in Canada at the age of one, growing up in a town in Ontario, life as a refugee, and the effort to reconnect with her homeland, to make sense of who she is and how the legacy of war has scarred her and her loved ones. The story unfolds in pieces, out of time, illustrated with photos and documents and, with the current events in Gaza as a backdrop, it is essential reading. Her voice is quiet, but not calm. Her anger and pain is real. This is history and memoir—a personal journey shared.
A longer version of my review can be found here: https://roughghosts.com/2023/12/20/ou...
Told in fragments, interspersed with letters to her young son, Troeung writes about her family's experience during Pol Pot time, years hiding, working in forced labour camps, starving and, finally, escaping to Thailand. She talks about arriving in Canada at the age of one, growing up in a town in Ontario, life as a refugee, and the effort to reconnect with her homeland, to make sense of who she is and how the legacy of war has scarred her and her loved ones. The story unfolds in pieces, out of time, illustrated with photos and documents and, with the current events in Gaza as a backdrop, it is essential reading. Her voice is quiet, but not calm. Her anger and pain is real. This is history and memoir—a personal journey shared.
A longer version of my review can be found here: https://roughghosts.com/2023/12/20/ou...
October 16, 2023
I kept thinking I might find the words to review this book but it needs no review. Immeasurably beautiful, devastating, and tender. Y-Dang's story lives on. I will feel a lingering sense of her voice in my bones for years to come.
If you've been touched by cancer in any way, this will hurt to read. It completely broke me, many times over.
If you've been touched by cancer in any way, this will hurt to read. It completely broke me, many times over.
April 13, 2024
‘Landbridge’ is more than just a memoir; it is a collection of memories. Written as fragments, Y-Dang Troeung shares with us stories and memories collected from her family’s experiences during the atrocities in Cambodia under Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge between 1975–1979, and their following life in Canada, forever more labelled as refugees.
Y-Dang Troeung was an English professor at the University of British Columbia. She made it her life’s work to research and document stories and experiences of survivors from Pol Pot time, both those still living in Cambodia and refugees across the globe. She died of pancreatic cancer in 2022.
‘Landbridge’ is an exceptional work; not only for its wealth of first-hand experiences of genocide, but also for the exquisite prose. It is a deeply personal, heart-breaking work that frankly I think everyone needs to read.
She writes of the genocide in Cambodia, of her and her family’s experiences of life as refugees and the effects of forever living with that label. She also writes of her cancer diagnosis, and includes letters she wrote to her young son (only 4yrs old at the time of writing), which are profound pieces she knew would only ever be read posthumously. Her diagnosis is significant to the book’s central concerns, as ultimately her cancer was caused by the life-long effects of war.
She draws obvious parallels between the wars in Cambodia to the Syrian refugee crisis which took place at the time of writing; and of course we are all now faced with a devastatingly similar genocide in Gaza.
But the standout element of this work, rather than just a historic account, is Y-Dang Troeung’s ambition to let people’s stories be shared and heard. To give respect and dignity to their experiences and memories.
Y-Dang Troeung was an English professor at the University of British Columbia. She made it her life’s work to research and document stories and experiences of survivors from Pol Pot time, both those still living in Cambodia and refugees across the globe. She died of pancreatic cancer in 2022.
‘Landbridge’ is an exceptional work; not only for its wealth of first-hand experiences of genocide, but also for the exquisite prose. It is a deeply personal, heart-breaking work that frankly I think everyone needs to read.
She writes of the genocide in Cambodia, of her and her family’s experiences of life as refugees and the effects of forever living with that label. She also writes of her cancer diagnosis, and includes letters she wrote to her young son (only 4yrs old at the time of writing), which are profound pieces she knew would only ever be read posthumously. Her diagnosis is significant to the book’s central concerns, as ultimately her cancer was caused by the life-long effects of war.
She draws obvious parallels between the wars in Cambodia to the Syrian refugee crisis which took place at the time of writing; and of course we are all now faced with a devastatingly similar genocide in Gaza.
But the standout element of this work, rather than just a historic account, is Y-Dang Troeung’s ambition to let people’s stories be shared and heard. To give respect and dignity to their experiences and memories.
January 17, 2025
Constantly taken this way and that by this: sometimes finding it irritating and North American and fashionable, sometimes moving, harsh and original. Not sure quite what I thought in the end, but it's powerful and ambitious, and it's appropriately unforgiving, a useful political emotion.
February 5, 2025
hi goodreads..... long time no see.
anyways i loved this. such an amazing story with authentic undertones. it was so beautiful. yes i had to read this for a class but i would've enjoyed it regardless. tragic but beautiful :( !!!
anyways i loved this. such an amazing story with authentic undertones. it was so beautiful. yes i had to read this for a class but i would've enjoyed it regardless. tragic but beautiful :( !!!
December 16, 2024
There are books that feel like an arrival—a bridge between lives, worlds, griefs, and hopes—and Landbridge by Y-Dang Troeung is one such threshold. It is not a book to be simply read; it cleaves open something deep and unexpected, a catharsis I hadn’t realized I was searching for.
Earlier this summer, I attended an event with Viet Thanh Nguyen—brilliant author of The Sympathizer, and once an external examiner for Y-Dang Troeung’s PhD. The conversation that day was anchored by Troeung’s partner, Christopher Patterson. Landbridge was spoken of often, with reverence, love, and subtle grief. Troeung’s genius hovered in that room, and when I finally held her memoir in my hands yesterday, it was as if I had been entrusted with something sacred.
Troeung writes with a devastating grace, turning the history of the Cambodian genocide and the refugee experience into something textured, alive, luminous. Her words flow like water—from Cambodia to Canada, from war to survival—refusing to flatten or compartmentalize. She writes as a mother, a daughter, an academic, and a witness, always with the knowledge that her time is finite but her words might endure.
One passage describing her family’s worm-picking for survival struck me with its stark beauty, echoing Laotian author Souvankham Thammavongsa’s How to Pronounce Knife, that I finished reading just days before. Across generations and geographies, Troeung reminds us of the quiet, invisible work that forms the backbone of so many refugee stories.
There are moments in the book when Troeung writes to her son, Kai—chapters that felt like whispered prayers. To write for a child is an act of eternal hope; it is to carve out a bridge across time, knowing that words might remain when bodies do not. These passages lingered with me the most. I imagined her hands, steady but urgent, forming sentences that Kai would one day hold like an inheritance—a map to his mother’s love, her wisdom, her pain. The tenderness broke me open.
I can’t help but think of Christopher Patterson, who I pass sometimes on my way to work. One day, I might stop to tell him how lucky he is to have been loved by someone who wrote so exquisitely about the world, and about him…
Rest in power, Y-Dang Troeung.
Two hours into another year of my life, I cradle Landbridge like a talisman on my birthday. It is not just a memoir. It is an elegy. A hymn. A bridge to somewhere one might still call home.
Earlier this summer, I attended an event with Viet Thanh Nguyen—brilliant author of The Sympathizer, and once an external examiner for Y-Dang Troeung’s PhD. The conversation that day was anchored by Troeung’s partner, Christopher Patterson. Landbridge was spoken of often, with reverence, love, and subtle grief. Troeung’s genius hovered in that room, and when I finally held her memoir in my hands yesterday, it was as if I had been entrusted with something sacred.
Troeung writes with a devastating grace, turning the history of the Cambodian genocide and the refugee experience into something textured, alive, luminous. Her words flow like water—from Cambodia to Canada, from war to survival—refusing to flatten or compartmentalize. She writes as a mother, a daughter, an academic, and a witness, always with the knowledge that her time is finite but her words might endure.
One passage describing her family’s worm-picking for survival struck me with its stark beauty, echoing Laotian author Souvankham Thammavongsa’s How to Pronounce Knife, that I finished reading just days before. Across generations and geographies, Troeung reminds us of the quiet, invisible work that forms the backbone of so many refugee stories.
There are moments in the book when Troeung writes to her son, Kai—chapters that felt like whispered prayers. To write for a child is an act of eternal hope; it is to carve out a bridge across time, knowing that words might remain when bodies do not. These passages lingered with me the most. I imagined her hands, steady but urgent, forming sentences that Kai would one day hold like an inheritance—a map to his mother’s love, her wisdom, her pain. The tenderness broke me open.
I can’t help but think of Christopher Patterson, who I pass sometimes on my way to work. One day, I might stop to tell him how lucky he is to have been loved by someone who wrote so exquisitely about the world, and about him…
Rest in power, Y-Dang Troeung.
Two hours into another year of my life, I cradle Landbridge like a talisman on my birthday. It is not just a memoir. It is an elegy. A hymn. A bridge to somewhere one might still call home.
September 7, 2024
I often find myself frustrated at my lack of education in world history — particularly that of Southeast and South Asia. Why did my high school insist we learn about the Protestant Reformation and the Defenestration of Prague rather than the U.S.’s involvement in proxy wars under the guise of fighting communism? Well, we all know why.
But now I’m becoming grateful for the opportunity to piece together these histories myself — not from the prescribed curricula of a national agenda but from the narratives of people with firsthand experiences. What better way to learn history than from the people who lived it?
Troeung inhabits so many roles at once: the narrator, the refugee, the scholar, the dying mother, the migrant returning home. All of these identities are shaped by war and having to flee Cambodia within her first year of life. She challenges the narrative of the lucky refugee and recounts the hardships that never go away, even in the land of opportunity. Most of all, she grapples with the pursuit of placemaking when home becomes hostile and your identity turns against you. But she shows there is still beauty in the struggle and the uncertainty, because the place you make with the people you love is yours.
But now I’m becoming grateful for the opportunity to piece together these histories myself — not from the prescribed curricula of a national agenda but from the narratives of people with firsthand experiences. What better way to learn history than from the people who lived it?
Troeung inhabits so many roles at once: the narrator, the refugee, the scholar, the dying mother, the migrant returning home. All of these identities are shaped by war and having to flee Cambodia within her first year of life. She challenges the narrative of the lucky refugee and recounts the hardships that never go away, even in the land of opportunity. Most of all, she grapples with the pursuit of placemaking when home becomes hostile and your identity turns against you. But she shows there is still beauty in the struggle and the uncertainty, because the place you make with the people you love is yours.
November 10, 2023
I finished reading Landbridge a couple weeks ago and it’s remaining in my head and on my heart. Written in short fragments, most a few pages long, it is a stunning piece of writing. Y-Dang Troeung was a brilliant writer, scholar, truth-seeker, wife, mother, sister, daughter. Her life ended prematurely, from cancer, likely brought on by the trauma held in her body. “War lives on in our bodies.”
Troeung’s family were among the refugees escaping the Cambodian genocide who came to Canada in the late 1970’s. As an adult, she investigated what became of her extended family after the brutal regime of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. These fragments are interspersed with sweet letters to her young son, Kai, to be read as he grows up. Growing up in Canada herself, Y-Dang grappled with her adopted country’s expectation of refugees to be eternally grateful. I think it’s we, Canadians, who ought to be grateful that Y-Dang shared her brilliant mind to make this country better.
Thank you Cam, for sending a copy of this very special book. Condolences to Y-Dang’s family, friends, and those who knew her. I hope bringing her words to publication brings them some comfort.
Troeung’s family were among the refugees escaping the Cambodian genocide who came to Canada in the late 1970’s. As an adult, she investigated what became of her extended family after the brutal regime of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. These fragments are interspersed with sweet letters to her young son, Kai, to be read as he grows up. Growing up in Canada herself, Y-Dang grappled with her adopted country’s expectation of refugees to be eternally grateful. I think it’s we, Canadians, who ought to be grateful that Y-Dang shared her brilliant mind to make this country better.
Thank you Cam, for sending a copy of this very special book. Condolences to Y-Dang’s family, friends, and those who knew her. I hope bringing her words to publication brings them some comfort.
Read
November 5, 2023It has stayed in my mind, the experience of generational trauma from Cambodia and of refugee poster-child life. I am grateful to Madeleine Thien for championing her friend Y-Dang’s posthumous work.
June 2, 2024
Sometimes I am struck by how little I know of the world, and of such recent and shocking events. This book is searing and raw and engaging. It bursts at the seams with the struggle for survival and achievement, the urge to understand and to be understood. It’s both a historic and a personal account, and the “poster child” author is in a unique position to write about.
My favourite lines:
I struggle to find a perfect language to define the conditions I am living in, and that of my parents. Perhaps I rely too much on definitions, when so often the speech of refugees is met only with the silence of an unreceptive public.
Our smile is the clothing we present to an icy world; it is how we shield ourselves from cold. Though the smile may stiffen into place, it never feels natural.
You are entering a world whose main ambition is to separate you from others, to make you compete and fight and demean each other for scraps. Do not lose heart, and be kind to those whose only understanding of living and loving is to wrestle others into the mud.
I look at my past life and it looks back at me and we both envy each other. I envy her mental and physical health, her capacity to do so much; she envies my debility, which allows me to do the bare minimum, to focus and be present with my family and friends and to live every day with a heart full of love.
Names are indelible markers of our histories. When we are asked to change our names, we are being asked to erase our histories. But names are more than this, too—they move across our relations. The difficulties in pronouncing our names can create intimate moments, can move casual encounters to sudden struggles to listen and understand each other. Our names are offerings for these intimacies. When a stranger finds our names too difficult or too unintelligible to even try to pronounce, we have learned all we need to know about them.
I don’t know if you have inherited it: the cycles of fury, depression, self-doubt, mad inspiration, depression, and inspiration again. The tireless labour we do in the hopes and fear of getting it right, only realizing in hindsight that this goal is impossible.
My favourite lines:
I struggle to find a perfect language to define the conditions I am living in, and that of my parents. Perhaps I rely too much on definitions, when so often the speech of refugees is met only with the silence of an unreceptive public.
Our smile is the clothing we present to an icy world; it is how we shield ourselves from cold. Though the smile may stiffen into place, it never feels natural.
You are entering a world whose main ambition is to separate you from others, to make you compete and fight and demean each other for scraps. Do not lose heart, and be kind to those whose only understanding of living and loving is to wrestle others into the mud.
I look at my past life and it looks back at me and we both envy each other. I envy her mental and physical health, her capacity to do so much; she envies my debility, which allows me to do the bare minimum, to focus and be present with my family and friends and to live every day with a heart full of love.
Names are indelible markers of our histories. When we are asked to change our names, we are being asked to erase our histories. But names are more than this, too—they move across our relations. The difficulties in pronouncing our names can create intimate moments, can move casual encounters to sudden struggles to listen and understand each other. Our names are offerings for these intimacies. When a stranger finds our names too difficult or too unintelligible to even try to pronounce, we have learned all we need to know about them.
I don’t know if you have inherited it: the cycles of fury, depression, self-doubt, mad inspiration, depression, and inspiration again. The tireless labour we do in the hopes and fear of getting it right, only realizing in hindsight that this goal is impossible.
August 17, 2023
I can't get over how absolutely beautiful this book was. An interwoven story of Y-Dang Troeung's life, the story of her family, and a larger portrait of the Cambodian genocide, migration, and motherhood told in fragments. This was a book that took Y-Dang Troeung her entire life to write, but it has added weight as a book she finished in the final months of her life, directed largely towards her 4 year-old son, trying to capture everything she wants him to know about his family and his heritage that she knows she'll never be able to tell him directly. This reminded me lots of On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous in its poetic language and the way it speaks of war, migration, and family. A rare and precious book that I think everyone should read
January 4, 2024
“Landbridge” by Y-Dang Troeung is a heartbreaking, beautiful book about family, war, and identity.
Subtitled “Life in Fragments” each chapter is a short mediation by the author about her extended family’s life in Cambodia, her immediate family’s experiences during war, genocide, and living in refugee camps, their relocation to Goderich, Ontario (sponsored by a local church), her own personal and professional experiences as an academic, and her diagnosis and death of pancreatic cancer in Vancouver in November 2022 at age 42.
Woven within these chapters are letters to her young child, Kai, imaging him growing up at five and fifteen, and an adult; the last letter which ends the book says, in part: “This book has been about atrocity, pain, and change…I return to Pol Pot time because I do not want to be stranded there, at the end of those mass graves. When we fall into that pit, that dark, swirling place in our minds, we grab hold of our stories for dear life. We hope they will transport us elsewhere, back to our arrival and beyond.”
A land bridge is a connection between two land masses allowing for movement of plants and animals from one place to the other.
Troeung makes connections between tourism and identity, love and war memorials, journalism and history, violence and family. Her family dug ditches for the Khmer Rouge, picked worms in graveyards in Ontario, Troeung taught in Hong Kong during the 2014 protests, and she touches on the war in Syria and the personal impact of the global coronavirus pandemic.
I think her most effective pieces are her consideration of how journalists and academics dehumanize the very subjects and stories they attempt to tell.
At just under 300 pages, it is not long read and can certainly be considered slowly if needed (I read it in an evening because I could not put it down). I would say the exploration of survival and hope made it a moving read rather than a debilitating one even though I went through a box of tissues reading this book. No doubt one of the most memorable works I have read in 2023.
Subtitled “Life in Fragments” each chapter is a short mediation by the author about her extended family’s life in Cambodia, her immediate family’s experiences during war, genocide, and living in refugee camps, their relocation to Goderich, Ontario (sponsored by a local church), her own personal and professional experiences as an academic, and her diagnosis and death of pancreatic cancer in Vancouver in November 2022 at age 42.
Woven within these chapters are letters to her young child, Kai, imaging him growing up at five and fifteen, and an adult; the last letter which ends the book says, in part: “This book has been about atrocity, pain, and change…I return to Pol Pot time because I do not want to be stranded there, at the end of those mass graves. When we fall into that pit, that dark, swirling place in our minds, we grab hold of our stories for dear life. We hope they will transport us elsewhere, back to our arrival and beyond.”
A land bridge is a connection between two land masses allowing for movement of plants and animals from one place to the other.
Troeung makes connections between tourism and identity, love and war memorials, journalism and history, violence and family. Her family dug ditches for the Khmer Rouge, picked worms in graveyards in Ontario, Troeung taught in Hong Kong during the 2014 protests, and she touches on the war in Syria and the personal impact of the global coronavirus pandemic.
I think her most effective pieces are her consideration of how journalists and academics dehumanize the very subjects and stories they attempt to tell.
At just under 300 pages, it is not long read and can certainly be considered slowly if needed (I read it in an evening because I could not put it down). I would say the exploration of survival and hope made it a moving read rather than a debilitating one even though I went through a box of tissues reading this book. No doubt one of the most memorable works I have read in 2023.
January 27, 2024
Thanks to NetGalley, the publisher and everyone that contributed to the existence of this book for providing a free copy in exchange for an honest review!
5⭐
This was a shattering book that brought tears to my eyes multiple times. It was also a beautifully written account of a tragic story that many refugees have to go through. The journal-like structure, build upon entries represented by fragments of history, sayings and stories, letters to her son and images, creates a complete perspective on the life of the author blending with the horrors of the past. I liked how the book started with explaining the title through a definition, while towards the end it came back to it again through a story, like a cycle. I also felt that the poetic style brought even more depth to it.
I felt that going through a terrible illness and writing something like this for the close ones is an emotional, but wholesome and brave gift to leave behind, a chance to pour everything out. Really sad about the death of this author, she seemed to have amazing book ideas that I would have liked to check out if she got to write them.
I would like to wrap up the review with a quote from the book that I really appreciated because of its meaning. I feel that it is a beautiful manner to describe the way in which different people can connect and provide help and support in times of need, teaching us to always be considerate to each other:
5⭐
This was a shattering book that brought tears to my eyes multiple times. It was also a beautifully written account of a tragic story that many refugees have to go through. The journal-like structure, build upon entries represented by fragments of history, sayings and stories, letters to her son and images, creates a complete perspective on the life of the author blending with the horrors of the past. I liked how the book started with explaining the title through a definition, while towards the end it came back to it again through a story, like a cycle. I also felt that the poetic style brought even more depth to it.
I felt that going through a terrible illness and writing something like this for the close ones is an emotional, but wholesome and brave gift to leave behind, a chance to pour everything out. Really sad about the death of this author, she seemed to have amazing book ideas that I would have liked to check out if she got to write them.
I would like to wrap up the review with a quote from the book that I really appreciated because of its meaning. I feel that it is a beautiful manner to describe the way in which different people can connect and provide help and support in times of need, teaching us to always be considerate to each other:
"With only our bodies and our hearts, we build a bridge."
August 13, 2024
Our memory is made up of fragments, of fleeting moments placed alongside one another to create a narrative that comes together over time. I cannot help but think of how fitting it is to think of Landbridge as a life in fragments. Another wonderful recommendation from Dani at Massy Books, this was a devastatingly beautiful read. I continue to be struck by the sheer generosity of its author, who even posthumously, gives us intimate glimpses into her life; Pol Pot times in Cambodia, her family's migratory histories, her identity as a refugee, her fear of misrepresenting these histories, and her terminal illness. Like Dani, I have read nothing quite like it before and I doubt I ever will again. Even as I put it down, I know that I will come back to it, as there is so much within these pages that I can still learn from. This book found me at the right time, and I hope to continue to encounter it again.
November 3, 2023
★★★★★ (4.5)
Since the day I was born, the world has been telling us a story of the refugee.
stunning and reflective, Troeung tells the story of her family's arrival to Canada as refugees of the Cambodian genocide and her own journey as an academic navigating the devastating history and present of her people. I've had the honour of being in proximity to Dr. Troeung and her partner as professors at my institution and bore the collective grief of the faculty at her passing last fall.
Since the day I was born, the world has been telling us a story of the refugee.
stunning and reflective, Troeung tells the story of her family's arrival to Canada as refugees of the Cambodian genocide and her own journey as an academic navigating the devastating history and present of her people. I've had the honour of being in proximity to Dr. Troeung and her partner as professors at my institution and bore the collective grief of the faculty at her passing last fall.
April 23, 2024
The memoir component is important and reads fragmentedly, as the book’s title suggests. The larger social commentary on the displaced lives of Cambodian people is triumphant. Trained to work in academia, Troeung assesses the impact of war (sometimes generally and mostly on the Khmer Rouge) and offers reflections on her research. I found the chapter called The Word particularly wowing. By summarizing her definition of refugee, which she does elegantly, she challenges readers to recognize the dangers of tokenizing and victimizing a person. I wish I could take a class with Troeung.
September 13, 2025
Qu'elle mémoires incroyable, le format du livre composer d'extrait retranscrire très bien cette question de la mémoire douloureuse je trouve. Le texte est simple mais efficace, surtout il parle d'une réalité que j’ai personnellement peut entendu parler mais surtout montre la complexité de la situation. Le livre est très politique mais surtout dénoncer de nombreuse chose tout en ce basant d'un point de vue très personnel.
September 13, 2023
Full review to come.
December 15, 2023
Made me cry several times
Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for my gifted review copy!
Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for my gifted review copy!
November 5, 2023
heartbreakingly powerful & hauntingly relevant. Y-Dang, you were gone too soon.
September 25, 2025
this book was thoughtfully written that reads in a way that feels very vulnerable and intimate. the jumping through time, letters to her son, all intertwined with the context of being a Cambodian refugee speaks on the impacts of multigenerational trauma from a horrific period of time.
May 22, 2024
Wow. Read it.
August 12, 2023
Thank you to NetGalley and Penguin Press UK for accepting me as a pre-publication reviewer of this book. I cannot wait till October for this to be in print!
Wow. This book was truly phenomenal and I feel privileged to have read Troeung’s story. From the preface to the final letter, every part is expertly curated, telling the reader so much about Cambodian history but also the author’s personal past, present and future. The subtitle ‘Life in Fragments’ perfectly encapsulates what the book is trying to do as it acts as part memoir, non-fiction, and personal conversations to her son for him to read in the future with many small ‘chapters’ that really are fragments. This term is the most apt as the narrative is somewhat linear telling the story of her parents and brothers in Cambodia during the war and Pol Pot genocide, escaping to Thailand where she was born, moving to Canada and trying to adapt to life in a new country facing these challenges, and then her more up to date life as an educator in universities, starting a family and dealing with a cancer diagnosis that led to her premature passing. Despite following this path in essence there are many times she backtracks and on the whole it’s very much a fragmented tale - this method of telling her (family’s) story I think was incredible because, like a prominent message Troeung shares throughout, the diluted culture and tormented history of Cambodians from this period has left many in the diaspora community feeling slightly fragmented too.
It’s a hard book to say I loved or enjoyed given the contents but what I didn’t gain pleasure in reading about, I enjoyed being educated in a topic I knew extremely little about and I fell in love with Y-Dang and her family. The balance of memoir and non-fiction is absolutely perfect, I learned so much but also was able to get to grips with the person behind the storyteller, it was truly a reading experience not like anything I’ve come across before. Another thing I loved is that Troeung doesn’t shy away from telling things like it is, she recognises the nuances that come with hindsight and a contemporary lens but can still articulate her point well. Like how ‘many tourists have gaped at the horrors of Pol Pot's Killing Fields, have shaken their heads in astonishment at the sheer brutality of this regime, but few have cared to see the horrors committed before and after Pol Pot's time: the military aid that flowed from China to the Khmer Rouge, the bombs that the United States dropped on Cambodia, the refugees who were turned back at the borders.’ On the topic of refugees, she makes it clear at the start she doesn’t speak for all, for all Cambodians or even her family but she pleads the case for better treatment and acceptance of those fleeing conflict regions in contemporary society, like Syria for example. When refugees settle in a new country there is a lot of expectation they should instantly be thankfully and graceful which an argument can be made but there is a lot of nuance in such situations given the many people one might’ve lost or had to leave behind, not having a home anymore, being something new, not speaking the language and so on. This quote from the book I think perfectly articulates an argument Y-Dang is trying to make and in some essence what the book does achieve: ‘I long to write my story in a way that shows the cracks and fissures beneath the refugee's smile of gratitude. At the same time, I cannot deny that, for the kindness shown to my family, for the opportunities to research and learn and perhaps one day write, I am and continue to be grateful, genuinely grateful.
Struck between the smooth surfaces and the burrowed fissures, I am again stuck.’
Once again this year I did cry whilst reading this book but proudly so, there were many times where Troeung was telling us such heinous, harrowing stories that it’ll be hard to not be impacted. There are many but I’ll just mention three instances. The first was when her grandmother died (or killed as we don’t know) and her mother wasn’t allowed to see her body or perform any proper burial ceremony so her soul/ghost was left to remain alone just wandering around a ravaged country without the peace she deserved. Second was the picture and discussion around the Killing Tree where guards would beat and murder children, I was reading the sign in the photograph and just had to stop for a few minuets to let that sink in, just thinking of such an act is utterly repulsive. And lastly was the letters that Y-Dang began writing to her son Kai. They started so nice and I absolutely loved them with updates on how he was getting on, the struggles yes but things was okay. But then her cancer diagnosis came and she began writing letters for him to read in the future as she knew she’d not be there for him at that time. They chronicled the coming-of-age events like school and starting a family but what she really wanted to tell Kai was she would always be with him as a part of him, that her family will love him with everything and a hope for him to retain his cultural ties and goodness. They were bittersweet I’d say, beautiful but extremely heartbreaking and when I tell you I wept… floods came.
A final point to make was I admired the inclusion of cultural and linguistic aspects and how they held relevance. A key concept that I think I’ll take on board and hope to include in my own life when dealing with personal struggles is that of kamleang chet which her mother translates as ‘emotional survival, turning inward, mental willpower, not giving up.’ This is used as an example of how many learnt to keep quiet at the right time and basically survive, some scholarly work has undermined the genocide or force of Pol Pot’s regime given how some Cambodians ‘gave in’ but they didn’t really, they just internalised the fear and fight to try and get through. In a similar way, the metaphor of becoming ‘like the kapok tree’ is used to show how many kept silent or mute to get through the genocide and adapt to it. Throughout there are lots of references to Khmer words or phrases, many talked about in telling the story of her parents. Another importance is the power of names, Troeung says at the end how if you’re not even bothered to try and pronounce it that says a lot about someone when talking with her cousin. I liked how addressing this can spark conversations around how some people may edit/adapt their name to make it more easy to pronounce or go by a nickname and things but this is really not right given the pride we should take in our names, something our parents chose for a reason and usually holding value - Y-Dang was named for the Khao-I-Dang refugee camp in Thailand where she was born for example.
Wow. This book was truly phenomenal and I feel privileged to have read Troeung’s story. From the preface to the final letter, every part is expertly curated, telling the reader so much about Cambodian history but also the author’s personal past, present and future. The subtitle ‘Life in Fragments’ perfectly encapsulates what the book is trying to do as it acts as part memoir, non-fiction, and personal conversations to her son for him to read in the future with many small ‘chapters’ that really are fragments. This term is the most apt as the narrative is somewhat linear telling the story of her parents and brothers in Cambodia during the war and Pol Pot genocide, escaping to Thailand where she was born, moving to Canada and trying to adapt to life in a new country facing these challenges, and then her more up to date life as an educator in universities, starting a family and dealing with a cancer diagnosis that led to her premature passing. Despite following this path in essence there are many times she backtracks and on the whole it’s very much a fragmented tale - this method of telling her (family’s) story I think was incredible because, like a prominent message Troeung shares throughout, the diluted culture and tormented history of Cambodians from this period has left many in the diaspora community feeling slightly fragmented too.
It’s a hard book to say I loved or enjoyed given the contents but what I didn’t gain pleasure in reading about, I enjoyed being educated in a topic I knew extremely little about and I fell in love with Y-Dang and her family. The balance of memoir and non-fiction is absolutely perfect, I learned so much but also was able to get to grips with the person behind the storyteller, it was truly a reading experience not like anything I’ve come across before. Another thing I loved is that Troeung doesn’t shy away from telling things like it is, she recognises the nuances that come with hindsight and a contemporary lens but can still articulate her point well. Like how ‘many tourists have gaped at the horrors of Pol Pot's Killing Fields, have shaken their heads in astonishment at the sheer brutality of this regime, but few have cared to see the horrors committed before and after Pol Pot's time: the military aid that flowed from China to the Khmer Rouge, the bombs that the United States dropped on Cambodia, the refugees who were turned back at the borders.’ On the topic of refugees, she makes it clear at the start she doesn’t speak for all, for all Cambodians or even her family but she pleads the case for better treatment and acceptance of those fleeing conflict regions in contemporary society, like Syria for example. When refugees settle in a new country there is a lot of expectation they should instantly be thankfully and graceful which an argument can be made but there is a lot of nuance in such situations given the many people one might’ve lost or had to leave behind, not having a home anymore, being something new, not speaking the language and so on. This quote from the book I think perfectly articulates an argument Y-Dang is trying to make and in some essence what the book does achieve: ‘I long to write my story in a way that shows the cracks and fissures beneath the refugee's smile of gratitude. At the same time, I cannot deny that, for the kindness shown to my family, for the opportunities to research and learn and perhaps one day write, I am and continue to be grateful, genuinely grateful.
Struck between the smooth surfaces and the burrowed fissures, I am again stuck.’
Once again this year I did cry whilst reading this book but proudly so, there were many times where Troeung was telling us such heinous, harrowing stories that it’ll be hard to not be impacted. There are many but I’ll just mention three instances. The first was when her grandmother died (or killed as we don’t know) and her mother wasn’t allowed to see her body or perform any proper burial ceremony so her soul/ghost was left to remain alone just wandering around a ravaged country without the peace she deserved. Second was the picture and discussion around the Killing Tree where guards would beat and murder children, I was reading the sign in the photograph and just had to stop for a few minuets to let that sink in, just thinking of such an act is utterly repulsive. And lastly was the letters that Y-Dang began writing to her son Kai. They started so nice and I absolutely loved them with updates on how he was getting on, the struggles yes but things was okay. But then her cancer diagnosis came and she began writing letters for him to read in the future as she knew she’d not be there for him at that time. They chronicled the coming-of-age events like school and starting a family but what she really wanted to tell Kai was she would always be with him as a part of him, that her family will love him with everything and a hope for him to retain his cultural ties and goodness. They were bittersweet I’d say, beautiful but extremely heartbreaking and when I tell you I wept… floods came.
A final point to make was I admired the inclusion of cultural and linguistic aspects and how they held relevance. A key concept that I think I’ll take on board and hope to include in my own life when dealing with personal struggles is that of kamleang chet which her mother translates as ‘emotional survival, turning inward, mental willpower, not giving up.’ This is used as an example of how many learnt to keep quiet at the right time and basically survive, some scholarly work has undermined the genocide or force of Pol Pot’s regime given how some Cambodians ‘gave in’ but they didn’t really, they just internalised the fear and fight to try and get through. In a similar way, the metaphor of becoming ‘like the kapok tree’ is used to show how many kept silent or mute to get through the genocide and adapt to it. Throughout there are lots of references to Khmer words or phrases, many talked about in telling the story of her parents. Another importance is the power of names, Troeung says at the end how if you’re not even bothered to try and pronounce it that says a lot about someone when talking with her cousin. I liked how addressing this can spark conversations around how some people may edit/adapt their name to make it more easy to pronounce or go by a nickname and things but this is really not right given the pride we should take in our names, something our parents chose for a reason and usually holding value - Y-Dang was named for the Khao-I-Dang refugee camp in Thailand where she was born for example.
April 1, 2025
Written in a beautiful, clean and simple voice that turns out to be a necessity for making the dark subject matter readable.
I just wanted to put that warning in the first line for skimmers. I picked it up for the voice but, with this being about Cambodian refugees, I wasn't upset that the content got darker than I foresaw. Since I had to frequently pause to digest each concept, the overall project of finishing the book took longer than I expected.
There aren't graphic scenes because of course that's not necessary in real life as it is in certain kinds of horror fiction. With this being about the ramifications for the family and author, I guess graphic details are beyond the scope of this book. The author does go on museum visitations, and offers plenty of references to history institutions (some of which have YouTube channels) for you to look up on your own time.
The overall structure is in the montage style. How serendipitous that I had just read a book that taught me what the montage style is and what it is for. This is a lot of seemingly disconnected scenes or short groupings of chapters on themes, with a lot of white space to let the readers build their own narratives encompassing the gaps. As such, it's not all in chronological order.
The montage structure is a genius choice on the part of the author. Yes, it gives you more space to imagine your own details. But it also gives you more space to learn. The style encourages pauses regardless of the subject matter, and I had to stop myself from commonplacing what was beginning to feel like the whole book.
It's more than history. It has a lot to say about women's storytelling, and even makes me think about the structure of time and perspective. Very revisitable, and unique.
Have you ever heard the hypothetical question of what book you would take with you if you had to leave all of your belongings and run from a disaster? Most people who ask, say they would take their Bible. And you can get a lot of self-development from the Bible if you actually read the thing instead of using it for a thought-terminating cliche.
But would be thinking about all of the people building a collection, and what kind of variety they would need. Enough people would bring Bibles that I would have access anyways. The topic of "Landbridge" does not have enough coverage. Particularly nuanced perspectives from insider-stakeholders instead of simplistic, racist ones. I'd want to contribute something essential along with all the other people preserving books.
I guess my review doesn't have a conventional structure. But I might never get past digesting mode to make that doable, so this is the review.
I just wanted to put that warning in the first line for skimmers. I picked it up for the voice but, with this being about Cambodian refugees, I wasn't upset that the content got darker than I foresaw. Since I had to frequently pause to digest each concept, the overall project of finishing the book took longer than I expected.
There aren't graphic scenes because of course that's not necessary in real life as it is in certain kinds of horror fiction. With this being about the ramifications for the family and author, I guess graphic details are beyond the scope of this book. The author does go on museum visitations, and offers plenty of references to history institutions (some of which have YouTube channels) for you to look up on your own time.
The overall structure is in the montage style. How serendipitous that I had just read a book that taught me what the montage style is and what it is for. This is a lot of seemingly disconnected scenes or short groupings of chapters on themes, with a lot of white space to let the readers build their own narratives encompassing the gaps. As such, it's not all in chronological order.
The montage structure is a genius choice on the part of the author. Yes, it gives you more space to imagine your own details. But it also gives you more space to learn. The style encourages pauses regardless of the subject matter, and I had to stop myself from commonplacing what was beginning to feel like the whole book.
It's more than history. It has a lot to say about women's storytelling, and even makes me think about the structure of time and perspective. Very revisitable, and unique.
Have you ever heard the hypothetical question of what book you would take with you if you had to leave all of your belongings and run from a disaster? Most people who ask, say they would take their Bible. And you can get a lot of self-development from the Bible if you actually read the thing instead of using it for a thought-terminating cliche.
But would be thinking about all of the people building a collection, and what kind of variety they would need. Enough people would bring Bibles that I would have access anyways. The topic of "Landbridge" does not have enough coverage. Particularly nuanced perspectives from insider-stakeholders instead of simplistic, racist ones. I'd want to contribute something essential along with all the other people preserving books.
I guess my review doesn't have a conventional structure. But I might never get past digesting mode to make that doable, so this is the review.
December 25, 2023
I feel numb after reading this book, and definitely not in a bad way. I'm left with many thoughts and questions yet each time I put this book down throughout my read, I felt comforted.
To articulate this numbness I feel post-reading is probably impossible, but as messy as it is, here it goes: The book is kind of episodic; it doesn't follow a chronological retelling of events, but rather it's a carefully and thoughtfully crafted sharing of her life. Each moment is carefully chosen and flows naturally altogether. With it, the chapters are short, and its length coupled with the tone gives this feeling that she's sitting right there next to you, sharing these stories with you.
You can feel through the words and between the lines how dedicated Dr. Troeung was to the things that captured her thoughts, and how carefully she pondered it all; not just her work, but her family (both blood and chosen), her community in the various spaces she found herself in, and the future. She contemplates what it means to exist as part of something -- be it the world, or your family -- and the intricacies of existing, representing and learning. She doesn't have the answers, nor does she approach this book claiming to or trying to convince you that she does. If anything, she does the opposite: She embraces this uncertainty. It's terrifying, she doesn't deny that, but in this uncertainty there is so much learning (and unlearning, and relearning) to be done.
What's most comforting are her constant affirmations that we are more than just ourselves; we're a collection of histories of those who came before us, of those we interact with in the little and big ways and of those who's impact we may not know but feel.
It's hard to articulate everything that this book has made me contemplate and feel, and to be honest, if you're really looking for my opinion, I'm just going to tell you to read it. However, I pray that this is a book that I will return to in the various seasons of my life, and I'm sure I'll learn more from it each time I read.
To articulate this numbness I feel post-reading is probably impossible, but as messy as it is, here it goes: The book is kind of episodic; it doesn't follow a chronological retelling of events, but rather it's a carefully and thoughtfully crafted sharing of her life. Each moment is carefully chosen and flows naturally altogether. With it, the chapters are short, and its length coupled with the tone gives this feeling that she's sitting right there next to you, sharing these stories with you.
You can feel through the words and between the lines how dedicated Dr. Troeung was to the things that captured her thoughts, and how carefully she pondered it all; not just her work, but her family (both blood and chosen), her community in the various spaces she found herself in, and the future. She contemplates what it means to exist as part of something -- be it the world, or your family -- and the intricacies of existing, representing and learning. She doesn't have the answers, nor does she approach this book claiming to or trying to convince you that she does. If anything, she does the opposite: She embraces this uncertainty. It's terrifying, she doesn't deny that, but in this uncertainty there is so much learning (and unlearning, and relearning) to be done.
What's most comforting are her constant affirmations that we are more than just ourselves; we're a collection of histories of those who came before us, of those we interact with in the little and big ways and of those who's impact we may not know but feel.
It's hard to articulate everything that this book has made me contemplate and feel, and to be honest, if you're really looking for my opinion, I'm just going to tell you to read it. However, I pray that this is a book that I will return to in the various seasons of my life, and I'm sure I'll learn more from it each time I read.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 30, 2023
I feel it is impossible to read this book and not, by the end, to be holding your broken heart in your hands. For in this book, Y-Dang has unspooled all the emotions, travesties, and trappings of life as a refugee, as a woman of one country forced to adjust, comply, and confirm to the expectations of another. On one hand, battling to keep alive the world and culture of the country she has lost, yet in the other, compelled to be perpetually grateful in the country that she has been forced to adopt as home.
Y-Dang was only a child when her parents and her fled the aftermath of Pol Pot’s genocide in Cambodia, eventually finding refuge in Canada. Inadvertently, Y-Dang became the literal poster child for refugees after she was photographed being welcomed by the Canadian Prime Minister as a photo opportunity for the politicians. But this moment – permanently captured as the grateful refugee – Y-Dang uses as the launch point for this vociferous, powerful, and hugely affecting part-memoir, part-non-fiction analysis, on the realities of life as a refugee, and the emotional and physical scars it leaves.
Y-Dang’s writing is profoundly brilliant. She reaches into the past as much as she considers the present – a world where migration and political refugees defines the political climate from Hong Kong to South America, from Syria to North Africa. She considers the political tectonics of such seismic movements as well as what is lost as the West demands refugees bend to their expectations of gratitude and westernisation.
But overriding this whole book is Y-Dang’s own mortality. She was diagnosed with cancer whilst writing this book a died a few months before publication. Framing the book through a series of letters to her young son, Y-Dang’s words are as much a powerful testament and warning to us all as much as a bridge between her and her young boy.
Y-Dang was only a child when her parents and her fled the aftermath of Pol Pot’s genocide in Cambodia, eventually finding refuge in Canada. Inadvertently, Y-Dang became the literal poster child for refugees after she was photographed being welcomed by the Canadian Prime Minister as a photo opportunity for the politicians. But this moment – permanently captured as the grateful refugee – Y-Dang uses as the launch point for this vociferous, powerful, and hugely affecting part-memoir, part-non-fiction analysis, on the realities of life as a refugee, and the emotional and physical scars it leaves.
Y-Dang’s writing is profoundly brilliant. She reaches into the past as much as she considers the present – a world where migration and political refugees defines the political climate from Hong Kong to South America, from Syria to North Africa. She considers the political tectonics of such seismic movements as well as what is lost as the West demands refugees bend to their expectations of gratitude and westernisation.
But overriding this whole book is Y-Dang’s own mortality. She was diagnosed with cancer whilst writing this book a died a few months before publication. Framing the book through a series of letters to her young son, Y-Dang’s words are as much a powerful testament and warning to us all as much as a bridge between her and her young boy.
February 3, 2024
I received an advance review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.
.
Landbridge: Life in Fragments is a memoir written by Y-Dang Troeung and tells the story of her story from being born in a Thailand Refugee camp after her family escaped from Cambodia.
Through her life in Canada as a refugee as well as stories of her family before during and after the Pol Pot Regime in Cambodia and her attempt to deal with its aftermath,
There are times when as a reader where a book appeals to you that is outside of your normal genre because of its subject manner then it drops out of your reading plans then space for the book opens up and you start reading.
This was the case with Y-Dang Troeung Landbridge: Life in Fragments and the book becomes a pleasure to read, not because it discusses an enjoyable subject, but in the way it deals with a memoir that will have an affect on you emotionally.
As a reader who remembers the events at the start of the memoir this filled in a lot of gaps as well as personalising those events, in such a way that brought the reader into the events, depicted both those that the writer lived through and those from her family.
What Landbridge: Life in Fragments by Y-Dang did for me really well was talk about how being a refugee has affected her life with the events that caused this status, how she survived the early years of living in a country with a totally different country.
With a lot of discussion of dealing with going back to the country of your family and how the country has dealt with those events since,
All this makes Landbridge: Life in Fragments by Y-Dang a must read for people who are interest in both Cambodia and its history from the 70’s and how it has affected the country and its refugees.
.
Landbridge: Life in Fragments is a memoir written by Y-Dang Troeung and tells the story of her story from being born in a Thailand Refugee camp after her family escaped from Cambodia.
Through her life in Canada as a refugee as well as stories of her family before during and after the Pol Pot Regime in Cambodia and her attempt to deal with its aftermath,
There are times when as a reader where a book appeals to you that is outside of your normal genre because of its subject manner then it drops out of your reading plans then space for the book opens up and you start reading.
This was the case with Y-Dang Troeung Landbridge: Life in Fragments and the book becomes a pleasure to read, not because it discusses an enjoyable subject, but in the way it deals with a memoir that will have an affect on you emotionally.
As a reader who remembers the events at the start of the memoir this filled in a lot of gaps as well as personalising those events, in such a way that brought the reader into the events, depicted both those that the writer lived through and those from her family.
What Landbridge: Life in Fragments by Y-Dang did for me really well was talk about how being a refugee has affected her life with the events that caused this status, how she survived the early years of living in a country with a totally different country.
With a lot of discussion of dealing with going back to the country of your family and how the country has dealt with those events since,
All this makes Landbridge: Life in Fragments by Y-Dang a must read for people who are interest in both Cambodia and its history from the 70’s and how it has affected the country and its refugees.
December 29, 2023
"Landbridge" is a powerful memoir detailing the life of author, Y-Dang Troeung, and her family who were the last Cambodian refugees admitted to Canada escaping the genocide of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge regime.
The story is told in little vignettes piecing together her family history detailing aspects of lives in Canada including photos and newspaper articles, stories retold by her parents of life before and during Pol Pot's regime and her life as an adult, motherhood, living in Hong Kong, travelling back to Cambodia looking for answers on missing family members and trying to learn more about her identity and her illness following a fatal cancer diagnosis. She has interspersed letters to her son Kai throughout the book so he can learn who his mothee really was.
For me, the most impactful sections were the personal family stories of the refugee experience that Troeung shares and bow these impacted her life. Despite her family having been seen as "good" refugees and there are newspaper photos of Trudeau senior holding her as a baby on their arrival to Canada the family had so little and were digging in graveyards at night looking for worms to sell as bait to fishermen as a way to make ends meet.
It's hard to do justice to a book that so tragic giving such a personal window into the history of Cambodia but it also widens in scope to capture the heartbreaking reality of refugee experiences in warzones worldover and questions what does it take for societies who have experienced collective trauma to heal?
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the opportunity to read this book.
The story is told in little vignettes piecing together her family history detailing aspects of lives in Canada including photos and newspaper articles, stories retold by her parents of life before and during Pol Pot's regime and her life as an adult, motherhood, living in Hong Kong, travelling back to Cambodia looking for answers on missing family members and trying to learn more about her identity and her illness following a fatal cancer diagnosis. She has interspersed letters to her son Kai throughout the book so he can learn who his mothee really was.
For me, the most impactful sections were the personal family stories of the refugee experience that Troeung shares and bow these impacted her life. Despite her family having been seen as "good" refugees and there are newspaper photos of Trudeau senior holding her as a baby on their arrival to Canada the family had so little and were digging in graveyards at night looking for worms to sell as bait to fishermen as a way to make ends meet.
It's hard to do justice to a book that so tragic giving such a personal window into the history of Cambodia but it also widens in scope to capture the heartbreaking reality of refugee experiences in warzones worldover and questions what does it take for societies who have experienced collective trauma to heal?
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the opportunity to read this book.
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