A couple of years ago, Hong -- or Suzy, as he called her -- the wife of Oakland, California, cop Robert Ruen, walked out on him after he'd hit her. Later, following their divorce, she reappeared as the wife of a Las Vegas gambler and crook, Sonny, who Robert learned was maltreating her. An attempt by him to "persuade" Sonny to change his ways was an abject failure. Now, though, Sonny is blackmailing him into returning to Vegas and tracking down Hong, who has made herself scarce from a second marriage . . .
At one level this is a superb, helterskelter thriller: I raced through it in a couple of days, and was completely satisfied by the time I turned its final page, even though its ending is ambiguous. But I suspect it's going to hang around in my mind long after most thrillers would have been forgotten, because it presents not the account of the Vietnamese refugee experience in America that I'd been expecting but a portrait of an American failing -- if he even genuinely tries -- to come to terms with the world of the Vietnamese immigrants, and in particular with the Vietnamese immigrant to whom he was married for eight years.
Most of the narrative is related in the first person by Robert, who clearly believes himself to be one of the good guys; as we get to know him better we realize that, while his self-image is somewhat over-flattering, he's not actually a bad guy -- just an unimaginative one. The other main (although far lesser) narrator of the tale is Hong herself: we're treated to her accounts of how she survived, with her small daughter, the trip from Vietnam to the US via a refugee camp in Malaysia. Although these latter lack the element of engrossing mystery present in the main narrative, they're fascinating and moving in their own right.
There are no true heroes in Dragonfish, just flawed people who are or are not doing their best to muddle through in as honorable a way as they can. In that sense the novel refreshingly reflects real life.
I do have a couple of very minor quibbles about the book (I loathe the verb "to ash," as in "he ashed his cigarette into an ashtray," and I could have done without the use of italics for protracted sections of text), but overall it has nothing but my profound admiration: engaging and thought-provoking, it's one of the best and most enjoyable thrillers I've read in a while.