This is a fun trip into Vietnamese and American Cultures with a good deal of the mystical and magical. Amid the silliness, there is wisdom. Here is a novel about traditions and learning to see the world in new awareness.
Favorite Passages:
What a drag it was to be limited by reality. Tommy sighed and wished that he could step magically through the pages of his own books . . .
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Again Tommy had the queer sensation that he was riding the bobsled of fate, rocketing down a luge chute toward some destiny he could not begin to understand.
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"Are you a New Age type or something - channel spirits, heal yourself with crystals?"
"No. I merely said reality is perception."
"Sounds New Age," he said, returning to watch her finish her own task.
"Well, it's not. I'll explain someday when we have more time."
"Meanwhile," he said, "I'll wander aimlessly in the wilderness of my ignorance."
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"Relax, Tommy. There's always enough time if you think there is."
"What's that mean?"
"Whatever you expect is what will be, so simply change your expectations."
"I don't know what that means, either."
"It means what it means," she said, enigmatic once more.
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He went to have a closer look, and discovered that the beautiful grain was like rippled ribbons that appeared to undulate as he shifted his head from one side to the other.
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Her eccentricities and her habit of peppering her conversation with cryptic babble and non sequiturs had convinced him that she had a few screws loose in the cranium, but now he suspected that the worst mistake he could make with her would be to write her off as a flake. There were depths to her that he was only beginning to perceive - and swimming in those depths were some strange fish that would surprise him more than anything that he had seen to date.
He recalled another fragment of their conversation, and it seemed to have new import: Reality is perception. Perceptions change. Reality is fluid. So if by "reality" you mean reliably tangible objects and immutable events, then there no such thing . . . . I'll explain someday when we have more time.
He sensed that every screwball statement she made was not, in fact, half as screwball as it seemed. Even in her most airheaded statements, an elusive truth was lurking. If he could just step back from her, put aside the conception of her that he had already formed, he would see her entirely differently form the way that he saw her now. He thought of those drawings by M. C. Escher, which played with perspective and with the viewer's expectations, so a scene might appear to be only a drift of lazily falling leaves until, suddenly, one saw it anew as a school of fast-swimming fish. Within the first picture was hidden another. Within Del Payne was hidden a different person - someone with a secret - who was cloaked by the ditsy image that she projected.
The satori, tidal wave of revelation, loomed, loomed, loomed - and then began to recede without bringing him understanding. He had strained too hard. Sometimes enlightenment came only when it wasn't sought or welcomed.
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Trying to get the discussion back on track, he said, "Are you really an artist?"
Sorting through the other coats in the closet, she said, "Is any of us really anything?"
Exasperated with Del's preference for speaking in cryptograms, Tommy indulged in one himself: "We're anything in the sense that we are everything."
"You've finally said something sensible."
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Although no thunder or lightning had disturbed the night for hours, cataracts still crashed down from the riven sky.
The queen palms hung limp, drizzling from the tip of every blade of every frond. Under the merciless lash of the rain, the lush ferns drooped almost to the point of humble prostration, their lacy pinnae glimmering with thousands upon thousands of droplets that, in the low landscape lighting, appeared to be incrustations of jewels.
Scootie led the way, padding through the shallow puddles in the courtyard. In the quartzite paving, specks of mica glinted around the dog's splashing paws, almost as if his claws were striking sparks from the stone. That phantom fire marked his path along the walkway beside the house as well.
The Art Deco panels of copper were cold against Tommy's hand as he pushed open the gate to the street. The hinges rasped like small whispering voices.
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"Obviously, they were marked for an unnatural extraction."
"Extraction?"
"From this world. If the thing in the fat man hadn't gotten them, then they would have been taken in some other unusual way. Like spontaneous combustion. Or an encounter with a lycanthrope."
"Lycanthrope? Werewolf?" He wasn't able to deal with her weirdness just now, so he changed the subject.
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"What if I told you there are a few nights when I've had missing hours, blank spots, where I just seem to have blacked out, gone into a fugue state or something. All abductees report these missing hours, these holes in their memories where their abduction experiences have been erased or suppressed."
_______
"What about ghosts?" he asked.
"What about them?"
"Do you believe in ghosts?"
"I've even met a few," she said brightly
"What about the healing power of crystals?"
She shook her head. "They can't heal, but they can focus your psychic power."
"Out-of-body experiences?"
"I'm sure it can be done, but I like my body too much to want to leave it even for a short time."
"Remote viewing?"
"That's easy. Pick a town."
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"Everything is more than it seems, but nothing is as mysterious as it appears to be."
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"He's just not prepared for this. He doesn't watch The X-Files."
"You not watch X-Files?" Mrs. Dai asked, astonished.
Shaking her head with dismay, Mother Phan said, "Probably watch junk detective show instead of good educational program."
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"Negative thinking disturbs the fabric of the cosmos."
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"This is reality, tofu man, because reality is what we carry in our hearts, and my heart is full of beauty just for you."