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Ma and Me
The memoir of a refugee caught between her identity as a gay woman and the love and life debt she owes her mother.
When Putsata Reang was 11 months old, her family fled war-torn Cambodia, spending 23 days on an overcrowded navy vessel before finding sanctuary at an American naval base in the Philippines. Holding what appeared to be a lifeless baby in her arms, Ma resisted the captain's orders to throw her bundle overboard. Instead, on landing, Ma rushed her baby into the arms of American military nurses and doctors, who saved the child's life. "I had hope, just a little, you were still alive," Ma would tell Put in an oft-repeated story that became family legend.
Over the years, Put lived to please Ma and make her proud, hustling to repay her life debt by becoming the consummate good Cambodian daughter, working steadfastly by Ma's side in the berry fields each summer and eventually building a successful career as an award-winning journalist. But Put's adoration and efforts are no match for Ma's expectations. When she comes out to Ma in her twenties, it's just a phase. When she fails to bring home a Khmer boyfriend, it's because she's not trying hard enough. When, at the age of forty, Put tells Ma she is finally getting married--to a woman--it breaks their bond in two.
In her startling memoir, Reang explores the long legacy of inherited trauma and the crushing weight of cultural and filial duty. With rare clarity and lyric wisdom, Ma and Me is a stunning, deeply moving memoir about love, debt, and duty.
When Putsata Reang was 11 months old, her family fled war-torn Cambodia, spending 23 days on an overcrowded navy vessel before finding sanctuary at an American naval base in the Philippines. Holding what appeared to be a lifeless baby in her arms, Ma resisted the captain's orders to throw her bundle overboard. Instead, on landing, Ma rushed her baby into the arms of American military nurses and doctors, who saved the child's life. "I had hope, just a little, you were still alive," Ma would tell Put in an oft-repeated story that became family legend.
Over the years, Put lived to please Ma and make her proud, hustling to repay her life debt by becoming the consummate good Cambodian daughter, working steadfastly by Ma's side in the berry fields each summer and eventually building a successful career as an award-winning journalist. But Put's adoration and efforts are no match for Ma's expectations. When she comes out to Ma in her twenties, it's just a phase. When she fails to bring home a Khmer boyfriend, it's because she's not trying hard enough. When, at the age of forty, Put tells Ma she is finally getting married--to a woman--it breaks their bond in two.
In her startling memoir, Reang explores the long legacy of inherited trauma and the crushing weight of cultural and filial duty. With rare clarity and lyric wisdom, Ma and Me is a stunning, deeply moving memoir about love, debt, and duty.
400 pages, Hardcover
First published May 17, 2022
124 people are currently reading
9670 people want to read
About the author
Putsata Reang
2 books37 followersPutsata Reang is an author and a journalist whose writings have appeared in The New York Times, Politico, The Guardian, Ms, and The Seattle Times, among other publications.
Putsata was born in Cambodia, and raised in rural Oregon, surrounded by berry farms where she and her family hustled to earn their middle class existence. Her memoir Ma and Me explores the glades of displacement felt by children of refugees, and the overlay of emotional exile that comes with being gay.
Putsata has lived and worked in more than a dozen countries, including Cambodia, Afghanistan and Thailand. She is an alum of Hedgebrook, Mineral School, and Kimmel Harding Nelson residencies. She is a 2019 Jack Straw fellow. In 2005, she received an Alicia Patterson Journalism Fellowship that took her back to Cambodia to report on landless farmers. She currently teaches memoir writing at the University of Washington School of Professional & Continuing Education.
Putsata was born in Cambodia, and raised in rural Oregon, surrounded by berry farms where she and her family hustled to earn their middle class existence. Her memoir Ma and Me explores the glades of displacement felt by children of refugees, and the overlay of emotional exile that comes with being gay.
Putsata has lived and worked in more than a dozen countries, including Cambodia, Afghanistan and Thailand. She is an alum of Hedgebrook, Mineral School, and Kimmel Harding Nelson residencies. She is a 2019 Jack Straw fellow. In 2005, she received an Alicia Patterson Journalism Fellowship that took her back to Cambodia to report on landless farmers. She currently teaches memoir writing at the University of Washington School of Professional & Continuing Education.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 264 reviews
June 3, 2022
A fascinating, moving, and beautifully written memoir. Putsata Reang writes with compassion and nuance about her complicated relationship with her mother. Her family escaped Cambodia as the civil war came to a head in the 1970s, leaving just before the genocide began in full force.
Put was only a year old and as their family drifted on a ship throughout Asia trying to find a place that would take them and others as refugees, baby Put appeared lifeless and barely ate for three weeks. The ship's captain suggested her mother throw her overboard so as not to contaminate the overcrowded boat. Her mother, known as Ma throughout the memoir (pronounced in Khmer "Mak"), of course refused and managed to get Put medical care in the Philippines. She saved her baby's life.
Put carries this debt with her her entire life; on top of the already heavy burden as a child of refugees who arrived in the US with nothing, not even knowing any English. She works hard for the first forty years of her life as a journalist in the US and abroad. She lives for a long time in her home country of Cambodia, making her mother proud by becoming fluent in Khmer again and embracing her Cambodian identity.
But she can never be the perfect Cambodian daughter she wants to be: she's gay.
As I said at the beginning, Reang brings so much compassion and nuance to telling her mother's and then her own story. Her mother grew up steeped in a sexist and homophobic culture that hurt her a lot too (notably, in an arranged marriage she did not agree to and which crushed her dreams of continuing her education and career). Severed from her home, Ma clings to traditional Khmer values and feels she has failed as a parent for having a gay kid. Reang holds space for the circumstances and feelings of her mother, while also honouring her own of anger, guilt, shame, defiance, and right to happiness.
Apart from the fascinating story of her family's life leaving Cambodia and establishing themselves in rural Oregon, Put's life as a journalist who lived and worked around the world, including Cambodia, Thailand, and Afghanistan during the war in 2005 is equally fascinating. The interior journey of self actualization and discovery she goes on while she attenpts to run away from herself is also just as compelling.
I will say I was eager for a bit more discussion about her identity and how she's using the word gay. I was a bit confused as to why she only used this label to describe herself (looking back on her childhood up to her adulthood). She writes a few times about meaningful relationships with men she had as an adult and at one point writes "Like me, [April] wasn't hung up on the gender of who she was involved with. She fell in love with the person." I couldn't help but think, the word that describes that is bisexual or pansexual not gay!
Obviously people get to choose their own labels and I want to honour that. But also biphobia is real and it impacts what labels and identities people think are available to them and which are acceptable. I know Reang is bringing the same kind of nuance to her identity as she's applying to her mom and their relationship, I guess I just wanted a more explicit investigation.
Some examples of the great writing are below! Reang's prose is sparse but powerful. The image of her mother casting her overboard as an adult for being gay made me cry.
"To go to the country of your birth on these terms puts joy so adjacent to sadness that they mute each other's edge."
"When you live in one country but belong to another, your feet fall hesitantly upon the earth."
"You really came here (Afghanistan in 2005) to hide, letting a real war distract from the one raging inside you. You don't yet know how terrible an idea this is. You learn."
"When you cannot wrap your daughter in the finest silks, you wrap her in your most elaborate stories."
"Forty years after saving me, the hope we both clung to capsized. Ma had cast me overboard."
Put was only a year old and as their family drifted on a ship throughout Asia trying to find a place that would take them and others as refugees, baby Put appeared lifeless and barely ate for three weeks. The ship's captain suggested her mother throw her overboard so as not to contaminate the overcrowded boat. Her mother, known as Ma throughout the memoir (pronounced in Khmer "Mak"), of course refused and managed to get Put medical care in the Philippines. She saved her baby's life.
Put carries this debt with her her entire life; on top of the already heavy burden as a child of refugees who arrived in the US with nothing, not even knowing any English. She works hard for the first forty years of her life as a journalist in the US and abroad. She lives for a long time in her home country of Cambodia, making her mother proud by becoming fluent in Khmer again and embracing her Cambodian identity.
But she can never be the perfect Cambodian daughter she wants to be: she's gay.
As I said at the beginning, Reang brings so much compassion and nuance to telling her mother's and then her own story. Her mother grew up steeped in a sexist and homophobic culture that hurt her a lot too (notably, in an arranged marriage she did not agree to and which crushed her dreams of continuing her education and career). Severed from her home, Ma clings to traditional Khmer values and feels she has failed as a parent for having a gay kid. Reang holds space for the circumstances and feelings of her mother, while also honouring her own of anger, guilt, shame, defiance, and right to happiness.
Apart from the fascinating story of her family's life leaving Cambodia and establishing themselves in rural Oregon, Put's life as a journalist who lived and worked around the world, including Cambodia, Thailand, and Afghanistan during the war in 2005 is equally fascinating. The interior journey of self actualization and discovery she goes on while she attenpts to run away from herself is also just as compelling.
I will say I was eager for a bit more discussion about her identity and how she's using the word gay. I was a bit confused as to why she only used this label to describe herself (looking back on her childhood up to her adulthood). She writes a few times about meaningful relationships with men she had as an adult and at one point writes "Like me, [April] wasn't hung up on the gender of who she was involved with. She fell in love with the person." I couldn't help but think, the word that describes that is bisexual or pansexual not gay!
Obviously people get to choose their own labels and I want to honour that. But also biphobia is real and it impacts what labels and identities people think are available to them and which are acceptable. I know Reang is bringing the same kind of nuance to her identity as she's applying to her mom and their relationship, I guess I just wanted a more explicit investigation.
Some examples of the great writing are below! Reang's prose is sparse but powerful. The image of her mother casting her overboard as an adult for being gay made me cry.
"To go to the country of your birth on these terms puts joy so adjacent to sadness that they mute each other's edge."
"When you live in one country but belong to another, your feet fall hesitantly upon the earth."
"You really came here (Afghanistan in 2005) to hide, letting a real war distract from the one raging inside you. You don't yet know how terrible an idea this is. You learn."
"When you cannot wrap your daughter in the finest silks, you wrap her in your most elaborate stories."
"Forty years after saving me, the hope we both clung to capsized. Ma had cast me overboard."
August 13, 2022
I do generally enjoy young immigrant memoirs, but this particular one didn’t work for me. Almost certainly in part because it’s not very analytical; I love memoirs by authors who can dig deep into understanding their own and others’ feelings and behaviors, while this one doesn’t go much beyond the surface (although it often comes across like the author thinks it is deep). In part perhaps because at 380 pages, it’s quite long for a memoir, and in my judgment did not need to be. In part perhaps it sells the author’s story as being more dramatic than it is, or because of lack of focus, throwing in everything going on in her life rather than focusing in on a particular theme. And in part likely because it gives off strong vibes of those people I see mostly on the internet who, in reaction to a childhood in which no one was very attentive to their emotional needs, now espouse a toxic individualism in which expecting anyone to help anyone else is somehow morally wrong. For whatever reason, I wound up bored by much of the book, and not liking the author much either.
Rather than go into more detail, I’ll recommend a few memoirs with similar subjects and themes that I liked much better:
On being a refugee who becomes a globetrotting journalist, covers conflict zones, and as an adult has to negotiate a new relationship with her home country: The House at Sugar Beach
On growing up a poor Southeast Asian immigrant in the U.S., and negotiating relationships with one’s parents and their baggage: House of Sticks
On trauma in Asian immigrant families: What My Bones Know
On being a refugee, complicated mother-daughter relationships, and having difficulty settling down anywhere: The Ungrateful Refugee
On getting acquainted with the place one’s family fled, and relationships with the relatives who stayed: Among the Living and the Dead
On untangling the life of a difficult parent and family history across borders, and also being a risk-taking journalist: Crux
And if you’re looking for a young immigrant memoir with bad parenting, strong sibling bonds and pathos, look no further than The Distance Between Us.
Admittedly, if you’re interested in this because you’re looking for a “coming out as gay to immigrant parents and negotiating resulting tensions” story, I don’t currently have an alternate recommendation. (Note that Reang refers to herself as “gay.” I’m not sure others in her position would use the same term—she has romantic relationships with men too, and on her first date with her future wife, they bond over being attracted to the person, not their gender. This comes shortly after she breaks up with a man she considered marrying because she decided she didn’t want to be with a man. But the upshot is that she marries a woman and her mom is upset about it.)
Overall, this just wasn’t a book that did much for me; it isn’t badly written, but it’s a weaker example of the genre than other, similar books, and I wanted it to be over long before it was. Next!
Rather than go into more detail, I’ll recommend a few memoirs with similar subjects and themes that I liked much better:
On being a refugee who becomes a globetrotting journalist, covers conflict zones, and as an adult has to negotiate a new relationship with her home country: The House at Sugar Beach
On growing up a poor Southeast Asian immigrant in the U.S., and negotiating relationships with one’s parents and their baggage: House of Sticks
On trauma in Asian immigrant families: What My Bones Know
On being a refugee, complicated mother-daughter relationships, and having difficulty settling down anywhere: The Ungrateful Refugee
On getting acquainted with the place one’s family fled, and relationships with the relatives who stayed: Among the Living and the Dead
On untangling the life of a difficult parent and family history across borders, and also being a risk-taking journalist: Crux
And if you’re looking for a young immigrant memoir with bad parenting, strong sibling bonds and pathos, look no further than The Distance Between Us.
Admittedly, if you’re interested in this because you’re looking for a “coming out as gay to immigrant parents and negotiating resulting tensions” story, I don’t currently have an alternate recommendation. (Note that Reang refers to herself as “gay.” I’m not sure others in her position would use the same term—she has romantic relationships with men too, and on her first date with her future wife, they bond over being attracted to the person, not their gender. This comes shortly after she breaks up with a man she considered marrying because she decided she didn’t want to be with a man. But the upshot is that she marries a woman and her mom is upset about it.)
Overall, this just wasn’t a book that did much for me; it isn’t badly written, but it’s a weaker example of the genre than other, similar books, and I wanted it to be over long before it was. Next!
Read
August 4, 2022Full disclosure: Putsata Reang has been a judge for the Elizabeth George Foundation, helping to select semi-finalists for grants. This year, she also gave me her memoir. It's wonderful on so many levels that I'm not sure where to start. It's the story of her family's escape from Cambodia's killing fields; the story of her family's life as refugees fleeing the Khmer Rouge; the chronicle of the ways they assimilated and didn't assimilate into their new lives in Oregon; the dawning realization that she--Putsata Reang--is attracted to women; her journey to learn and to embrace who she really is. From Cambodia to Afghanistan, from Corvallis to Seattle, from San Jose to New York, she paints an indelible portrait of her life and her tempestuous relationship with her mother who saved her life during the family's flight and expected a perfect Cambodian daughter in return. It's a wonderful book. I can't recommend it highly enough.
March 1, 2023
update: I am extremely predictable (I read sad memoir by sapphic Southeast Asian, I cry)
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I am extremely predictable (I see memoir by sapphic Southeast Asian, I read immediately)
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I am extremely predictable (I see memoir by sapphic Southeast Asian, I read immediately)
// buddy read with cath!
May 26, 2022
heartachingly composed, with uncomplicated yet gorgeous prose, this is a memoir i will be thinking about for a long time to come. i already want to reread this.
July 18, 2023
3.5 stars. i have always been a sucker for memoirs, and especially a sucker for anything written by a khmer author, but i found this memoir falling flat as it began unraveling halfway through the book and continued to unravel through the end. this is not a comment on the story itself, which i value very much and am thankful to have read. i am only commenting on the literary aspect of this book.
to start, the first half of the book—which covers her mother's story and the mother/daughter relationship while putsata was young—was written very beautifully to me. i could not even read more than pages at a time without welling up with emotion and tears, although that's more of a reflection of our shared lived experiences as khmer american women whose lives have orbited our mothers and genocide.
however, the blurb makes the memoir seem like putsata's gay identity is as central as her mother's history/their mother-daughter relationship. in reality, the second half of the book (where putsata begins to address her queerness) feels hollow in comparison to the first half. her prose is concise and beautiful but can feel restrained; i often felt like i was reading a very surface-level retelling of her life story with barely any interiority. some sections feel like they could've been omitted altogether, e.g. the afghanistan chapter. these same sections felt like each line should've been its own in-depth essay. putsata was often opening doors to various (and admittedly crucial) moments in her life but never actually entering them, which left me feeling a little disgruntled.
for a memoir that was marketed around the mother/daughter relationship AND queerness, the relationship between putsata's queerness and her mother/daughter relationship sometimes felt hurriedly and loosely written, almost as if she was forcing the two topics to connect. i'm frustrated because i know that both pieces DO fundamentally make up her identity and life, but the surface-level storytelling in the second half made it feel rushed and therefore less important. any interiority we did receive from putsata was very expected without any further interrogation or emotion. (the gist: i am gay, i can't confront my gayness to my mother, i'm always going to run away from this, i'm in love now, my homophobic khmer mother doesn't love me anymore, i'm angry, i'm sad.) we didn't even get much about her love and happiness! despite april being The One that putsata fell in love with and ultimately married, even she was written almost like an afterthought. the epilogue was especially disappointing since april's father was introduced very suddenly and far removed from the reader, which made the beginning of putsata & her mother's reconciliation fall incredibly flat. the latter sections of the memoir could've been much less hollow if putsata gave herself a lot more time to process, discover, and write about all of the emotions she felt as she continued to build her life.
of course, i want to give the author grace. i imagine that it was a lot easier to write the first half of the memoir because she was retelling her mother's story, whereas the second half centers more around putsata's life/individuality as she breaks away from her mother the more she recognizes her own queerness. on a very meta level, i wonder how much of the disintegrating writing quality is a reflection of her fractured identity since she truly began to diverge from her mother for the first time. i just wish this memoir was released years later instead of now and that putsata had given herself a lot more time. a part of me also wonders how much putsata was forced to rush her memoir and release it asap since memoirs are very marketable right now (think crying in h mart, i'm glad my mom died, and memoirs that masquerade as autofiction such as ocean vuong's on earth). the memoir market is already oversaturated as is, and putsata's memoir was probably released soon before everyone gets sick of memoirs. the editing seemed sloppy and must have been rushed too—my best friend pointed out that "kombucha squash" was never corrected to "kabocha" squash, among other things.
putsata's story, to me, is an unfathomably important one to tell. i wish it was written and edited with the care that it so deeply deserves.
-
quotes i have kept with me:
"The day a Khmer girl is born is the day she comes into debt, purely by the fact of her existence."
"Without knowing it, for a long time unable to detect my mother's sleight of hand in holding and molding me, I would become the keeper of our culture, the vessel for her secrets and sadness, the captive audience for all her stories."
"But a good Cambodian daughter has duties she cannot escape. It was my mother's duty to get married, have children, extend her family line. It was her duty to honor and respect her parents, to sang khun. No matter how much she resisted, she could not be cleaved from her culture."
"I thought about how trauma has a before and an after. That we cannot be the same as who we were at the start, before trauma burned its brand into our lives. How it ricochets from one generation into the next. And how some of us are bedeviled from the start, burdened with the bad luck to carry more of it than others."
"It is a natural thing to want to stay close to your parents when you are that young. But I felt something more, as if my mother and I were one. Her dreams were my dreams. Her fears were my fears. Her sadness was my sadness, too. I refused to be anywhere far from Ma, as if my existence depended on being within her line of sight, as if there were an invisible cord linking us that supplied me with reliable doses of her love. But something in me knew she needed me, too."
"How could I know then that language was the thing that would set me free? That in that moment when English began to overtake my Khmer, I was starting to travel away from my mother and my culture, entering an in-between world from which I would not reemerge? One foot in each culture, Khmer and American, too young to know that when a language leaves you, it might never return."
to start, the first half of the book—which covers her mother's story and the mother/daughter relationship while putsata was young—was written very beautifully to me. i could not even read more than pages at a time without welling up with emotion and tears, although that's more of a reflection of our shared lived experiences as khmer american women whose lives have orbited our mothers and genocide.
however, the blurb makes the memoir seem like putsata's gay identity is as central as her mother's history/their mother-daughter relationship. in reality, the second half of the book (where putsata begins to address her queerness) feels hollow in comparison to the first half. her prose is concise and beautiful but can feel restrained; i often felt like i was reading a very surface-level retelling of her life story with barely any interiority. some sections feel like they could've been omitted altogether, e.g. the afghanistan chapter. these same sections felt like each line should've been its own in-depth essay. putsata was often opening doors to various (and admittedly crucial) moments in her life but never actually entering them, which left me feeling a little disgruntled.
for a memoir that was marketed around the mother/daughter relationship AND queerness, the relationship between putsata's queerness and her mother/daughter relationship sometimes felt hurriedly and loosely written, almost as if she was forcing the two topics to connect. i'm frustrated because i know that both pieces DO fundamentally make up her identity and life, but the surface-level storytelling in the second half made it feel rushed and therefore less important. any interiority we did receive from putsata was very expected without any further interrogation or emotion. (the gist: i am gay, i can't confront my gayness to my mother, i'm always going to run away from this, i'm in love now, my homophobic khmer mother doesn't love me anymore, i'm angry, i'm sad.) we didn't even get much about her love and happiness! despite april being The One that putsata fell in love with and ultimately married, even she was written almost like an afterthought. the epilogue was especially disappointing since april's father was introduced very suddenly and far removed from the reader, which made the beginning of putsata & her mother's reconciliation fall incredibly flat. the latter sections of the memoir could've been much less hollow if putsata gave herself a lot more time to process, discover, and write about all of the emotions she felt as she continued to build her life.
of course, i want to give the author grace. i imagine that it was a lot easier to write the first half of the memoir because she was retelling her mother's story, whereas the second half centers more around putsata's life/individuality as she breaks away from her mother the more she recognizes her own queerness. on a very meta level, i wonder how much of the disintegrating writing quality is a reflection of her fractured identity since she truly began to diverge from her mother for the first time. i just wish this memoir was released years later instead of now and that putsata had given herself a lot more time. a part of me also wonders how much putsata was forced to rush her memoir and release it asap since memoirs are very marketable right now (think crying in h mart, i'm glad my mom died, and memoirs that masquerade as autofiction such as ocean vuong's on earth). the memoir market is already oversaturated as is, and putsata's memoir was probably released soon before everyone gets sick of memoirs. the editing seemed sloppy and must have been rushed too—my best friend pointed out that "kombucha squash" was never corrected to "kabocha" squash, among other things.
putsata's story, to me, is an unfathomably important one to tell. i wish it was written and edited with the care that it so deeply deserves.
-
quotes i have kept with me:
"The day a Khmer girl is born is the day she comes into debt, purely by the fact of her existence."
"Without knowing it, for a long time unable to detect my mother's sleight of hand in holding and molding me, I would become the keeper of our culture, the vessel for her secrets and sadness, the captive audience for all her stories."
"But a good Cambodian daughter has duties she cannot escape. It was my mother's duty to get married, have children, extend her family line. It was her duty to honor and respect her parents, to sang khun. No matter how much she resisted, she could not be cleaved from her culture."
"I thought about how trauma has a before and an after. That we cannot be the same as who we were at the start, before trauma burned its brand into our lives. How it ricochets from one generation into the next. And how some of us are bedeviled from the start, burdened with the bad luck to carry more of it than others."
"It is a natural thing to want to stay close to your parents when you are that young. But I felt something more, as if my mother and I were one. Her dreams were my dreams. Her fears were my fears. Her sadness was my sadness, too. I refused to be anywhere far from Ma, as if my existence depended on being within her line of sight, as if there were an invisible cord linking us that supplied me with reliable doses of her love. But something in me knew she needed me, too."
"How could I know then that language was the thing that would set me free? That in that moment when English began to overtake my Khmer, I was starting to travel away from my mother and my culture, entering an in-between world from which I would not reemerge? One foot in each culture, Khmer and American, too young to know that when a language leaves you, it might never return."
July 18, 2023
wow, just wow. this memoir was amazing, one of the best memoirs i have ever read.
putsata reang tells two stories intertwined; the story of her life as a gay khmer woman in america, and her mother's life as an immigrant woman who survived genocide. ma wants what is best for put, but cannot accept that her daughter is gay. put writes with such brilliance, folklore from her mother mixed with the cold hard facts she is used to writing in journalism. she has transcribed her mother's stories in perfect detail. both mother and daughter are phenomenal storytellers. this memoir will make you laugh and cry all at once. i cannot reccommend this memoir enough.
putsata reang tells two stories intertwined; the story of her life as a gay khmer woman in america, and her mother's life as an immigrant woman who survived genocide. ma wants what is best for put, but cannot accept that her daughter is gay. put writes with such brilliance, folklore from her mother mixed with the cold hard facts she is used to writing in journalism. she has transcribed her mother's stories in perfect detail. both mother and daughter are phenomenal storytellers. this memoir will make you laugh and cry all at once. i cannot reccommend this memoir enough.
December 18, 2021
Ma and Me is a stunning memoir that wrestles with the question of what we owe the people that gave us life.
Putsata Reang is barely one year old when her family has to flee Cambodia for America. She only survives the perilous journey because of the hope and determination of her mother who she in turn feels indebted to. It is this sense of filial duty to please her mother, to be a good Cambodian daughter, while exploring the opportunities she has in America that causes a rift between them from the moment Putsata comes out as gay, something that her mother cannot accept.
“I would realize that the day a Khmer girl is born is the day she comes into debt, purely by the fact of her existence. That she owes her parents for bringing her into the world, for raising her, and that the only way she can settle the score, or sang khun, is by getting married, when the authority over her is transferred from her parents to her husband”.
As much as Ma and Me is a memoir about forging your own path and the rift that that can cause, it is also an exploration of the trauma of war and how its horrors can trickle down several generations. Putsata often seeks opportunities to travel to Cambodia, and later works there as a journalist to reconcile her family’s past and present: “I needed to figure out what part of the guilt that comes with being an immigrant and a survivor belonged to me, and what belonged to my parents.”
Ma and Me may be a memoir of one person, chronicling one experience, but it asks universal questions about how we are shaped by our parents' past, and how difficult it can be to stay true to yourself even when it means disappointing the people you love. Hands down one of the best memoirs I have read this year and I am hoping that this gets all the buzz it deserves in 2022.
Thank you to Netgalley and FSG for the ARC in exchange for my honest review. I’m very grateful to Putsata for sharing her story and I’m excited for everyone to get their hands on this memoir soon.
Putsata Reang is barely one year old when her family has to flee Cambodia for America. She only survives the perilous journey because of the hope and determination of her mother who she in turn feels indebted to. It is this sense of filial duty to please her mother, to be a good Cambodian daughter, while exploring the opportunities she has in America that causes a rift between them from the moment Putsata comes out as gay, something that her mother cannot accept.
“I would realize that the day a Khmer girl is born is the day she comes into debt, purely by the fact of her existence. That she owes her parents for bringing her into the world, for raising her, and that the only way she can settle the score, or sang khun, is by getting married, when the authority over her is transferred from her parents to her husband”.
As much as Ma and Me is a memoir about forging your own path and the rift that that can cause, it is also an exploration of the trauma of war and how its horrors can trickle down several generations. Putsata often seeks opportunities to travel to Cambodia, and later works there as a journalist to reconcile her family’s past and present: “I needed to figure out what part of the guilt that comes with being an immigrant and a survivor belonged to me, and what belonged to my parents.”
Ma and Me may be a memoir of one person, chronicling one experience, but it asks universal questions about how we are shaped by our parents' past, and how difficult it can be to stay true to yourself even when it means disappointing the people you love. Hands down one of the best memoirs I have read this year and I am hoping that this gets all the buzz it deserves in 2022.
Thank you to Netgalley and FSG for the ARC in exchange for my honest review. I’m very grateful to Putsata for sharing her story and I’m excited for everyone to get their hands on this memoir soon.
February 27, 2022
I read the first 3/4 of this book in one sitting, went to bed, woke up 5 hours later and finished the rest. It's really hard to put down. It is a profound memoir of a Cambodian-American mother and daughter. Putsata has lived an extraordinary life. Her story is both beautiful and sad. Some have said the book is repetitive, but I did not think so. There are recurring themes, such as trying to please her mother and feeling as though she doesn’t fully belong, but it ties all the stories of her life together. It’s just really good writing, not repetitive.
This book not only tells the story of an immigrant family and the complicated and layered relationship between mother and daughter, but it also gave me a chance to learn a lot about Cambodia, a country I admittedly knew very little about. I’m very grateful for that.
There is a parable in this book that I thought was the perfect explanation of Cambodian culture vs American culture. The rabbit and the snail. As soon as I saw it, I thought, “I know this! It’s the same as the rabbit and the tortoise!” But it is not. The snail called all of his friends and family to stand in for him along the trail, and this way, he won. The snails represent the collectivism of Cambodian culture and puts a lot into perspective from her mother’s point of view.
This is one of the best memoirs I have ever read, and I think it will be the memoir of the year. I’m excited for others to read it and to be able to discuss it with them. My only complaint is that I wish she had included more photographs. Looking forward to part two about the next 40 years, Putsata!
Thank you NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for providing me with this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
This book not only tells the story of an immigrant family and the complicated and layered relationship between mother and daughter, but it also gave me a chance to learn a lot about Cambodia, a country I admittedly knew very little about. I’m very grateful for that.
There is a parable in this book that I thought was the perfect explanation of Cambodian culture vs American culture. The rabbit and the snail. As soon as I saw it, I thought, “I know this! It’s the same as the rabbit and the tortoise!” But it is not. The snail called all of his friends and family to stand in for him along the trail, and this way, he won. The snails represent the collectivism of Cambodian culture and puts a lot into perspective from her mother’s point of view.
This is one of the best memoirs I have ever read, and I think it will be the memoir of the year. I’m excited for others to read it and to be able to discuss it with them. My only complaint is that I wish she had included more photographs. Looking forward to part two about the next 40 years, Putsata!
Thank you NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for providing me with this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
Read
January 1, 2022At a time when there are more refugees than ever in history, and borders are places of violence and cruelty, two essential stories of our time converge in Ma and Me: Americanization's multi-generational costs, and the way this converges with lesbian life. Putsata Reang expands both literatures with this open-hearted memoir that grapples emotionally and historically with the profound consequences of displacement on future lives and relationships. A book that opens the door to include queer descendants of war survivors into the growing American library of love.
May 17, 2022
As a daughter of immigrants, I feel as if I am constantly disappointing someone. My overwhelming feeling of failure is absolutely crippling at times. My family has made so many sacrifices for my sake. Do I spend my life in obligation? How can I justify living selfishly?
Putsata Reang grapples with the quandary of inherited guilt in her memoir, Ma and Me. While on a boat fleeing Cambodia holding a sickly baby, a crew member warned Putsata’s mother that if the baby died, she would need to be thrown overboard, abandoned to the sea. Her mother did everything in her power to keep baby Putsata alive on that boat. And that family story repeated hundreds of times over the years became the albatross around Putsata’s neck, driving her to be the perfect Cambodian daughter to justify her mother’s sacrifice. At what cost?
Ma and Me is a memoir that delicately navigates the author’s generational trauma and survivors’ guilt. It is a narrative about finding that impossible balance between inherited culture and transplanted culture. It is about being the only non-white family in town and losing that part of you in a desperate effort to assimiliate. It is about the filial guilt driving you toward perfect until you realize that one part of you, the most important part of you, represents the one thing your parents cannot and will not accept.
Needless to say, I related in an almost unsettling way to Ma and Me. As the queer daughters of a Southeast Asian refugees, there were countless parallels between Putsata’s relationship with her mother and my relationship with my own mother. It honestly felt like I was listening to myself regale my own family history, a series of casual narratives with a warring undertone of resentment and guilt.
I have found so much solace in memoirs lately. I have been able to live vicariously through others’ experiences, to forge connections between different iterations of generational trauma, and to better understand why I am the way I am. Ma and Me was an absolutely necessary perspective in my life, and I am so grateful to have read it.
Thank you MCD for the advanced copy in exchange for an honest review. This comes out today (5/17)!
Putsata Reang grapples with the quandary of inherited guilt in her memoir, Ma and Me. While on a boat fleeing Cambodia holding a sickly baby, a crew member warned Putsata’s mother that if the baby died, she would need to be thrown overboard, abandoned to the sea. Her mother did everything in her power to keep baby Putsata alive on that boat. And that family story repeated hundreds of times over the years became the albatross around Putsata’s neck, driving her to be the perfect Cambodian daughter to justify her mother’s sacrifice. At what cost?
Ma and Me is a memoir that delicately navigates the author’s generational trauma and survivors’ guilt. It is a narrative about finding that impossible balance between inherited culture and transplanted culture. It is about being the only non-white family in town and losing that part of you in a desperate effort to assimiliate. It is about the filial guilt driving you toward perfect until you realize that one part of you, the most important part of you, represents the one thing your parents cannot and will not accept.
Needless to say, I related in an almost unsettling way to Ma and Me. As the queer daughters of a Southeast Asian refugees, there were countless parallels between Putsata’s relationship with her mother and my relationship with my own mother. It honestly felt like I was listening to myself regale my own family history, a series of casual narratives with a warring undertone of resentment and guilt.
I have found so much solace in memoirs lately. I have been able to live vicariously through others’ experiences, to forge connections between different iterations of generational trauma, and to better understand why I am the way I am. Ma and Me was an absolutely necessary perspective in my life, and I am so grateful to have read it.
Thank you MCD for the advanced copy in exchange for an honest review. This comes out today (5/17)!
January 9, 2022
Ma and Me: A Memoir is a personal reckoning of so much: transnational identity, intergenerational trauma and survivor's guilt, queer love and shame, and really what we owe to those we love vs what we owe to ourselves. Putsata presents us with the incredible story of her mother's experience as a young woman first fleeing arranged marriage and then the Cambodian genocide, giving up so much of herself as the interminable immigrant experience wrests her choices from her control. Reang then recounts her upbringing in the US, close relationship with her mother and her suffocating expectations, and emotional exploration of her queerness and her identity as a Cambodian severed from her roots. as the best memoirs do, Ma and Me invites us to peer alongside Reang's life and learn not only of her personal life and relationships, but about a culture and diaspora experience.
regarding the structure, it has an interesting out of sync quality. Reang is a talented writer, and at times draws paragraphs directly from interviews with her mother, including parables, and in other times gives sweeping foreshadowing giving us glimpses of the future of their relationship, tying generations and continents with these references. I think it works, for the most part. we're given threads of phone calls and feelings that stretch and weave together over decades, and I can see how maybe it keeps the narrative going with little pieces of foreshadowing, but it also felt a little repetitive at points.
thank you to Farrar, Straus and Giroux and to netgalley for an advanced copy.
regarding the structure, it has an interesting out of sync quality. Reang is a talented writer, and at times draws paragraphs directly from interviews with her mother, including parables, and in other times gives sweeping foreshadowing giving us glimpses of the future of their relationship, tying generations and continents with these references. I think it works, for the most part. we're given threads of phone calls and feelings that stretch and weave together over decades, and I can see how maybe it keeps the narrative going with little pieces of foreshadowing, but it also felt a little repetitive at points.
thank you to Farrar, Straus and Giroux and to netgalley for an advanced copy.
May 21, 2022
This review is based on an ARC of Ma and Me which I received courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher (Farrar, Straus and Giroux/MCD).
I will never like giving low ratings to memoirs; I feel supremely disrespectful as if I am saying that the author's life story is boring or unworthy of the time spent reading about it. That said, this saga of a memoir is written in quite a monotonous voice, making a story that could have been told in half the pages grow tedious. Much of the book felt repetitive to the point where I ended up skimming--a lot--to get through it.
In the end, sorry to say, I was not moved by the story. Sure, the author and I are fathoms apart in more ways than one, but at the end of the day we are both still human and want to love and be loved, and despite this major similarity I felt no connection.
I get a definite sense of "trying too hard" when thinking back on this book. Reang stated that this narrative is twenty-some years in the making--I believe it. All these thoughts and feelings and events strung across the years, then quickly tied up into one underwhelming package. Upon finishing this read I was more glad to be done with the book than to have read it.
TL;DR Ma and Me was not my cup of tea.
POPSUGAR 2022 Reading Challenge: A book with a tiger on the cover or "tiger" in the title
I will never like giving low ratings to memoirs; I feel supremely disrespectful as if I am saying that the author's life story is boring or unworthy of the time spent reading about it. That said, this saga of a memoir is written in quite a monotonous voice, making a story that could have been told in half the pages grow tedious. Much of the book felt repetitive to the point where I ended up skimming--a lot--to get through it.
In the end, sorry to say, I was not moved by the story. Sure, the author and I are fathoms apart in more ways than one, but at the end of the day we are both still human and want to love and be loved, and despite this major similarity I felt no connection.
I get a definite sense of "trying too hard" when thinking back on this book. Reang stated that this narrative is twenty-some years in the making--I believe it. All these thoughts and feelings and events strung across the years, then quickly tied up into one underwhelming package. Upon finishing this read I was more glad to be done with the book than to have read it.
TL;DR Ma and Me was not my cup of tea.
POPSUGAR 2022 Reading Challenge: A book with a tiger on the cover or "tiger" in the title
did-not-finish
June 24, 2023Quite possibly I’m in a minority of one about this memoir but I am bailing a third of the way in. I was bored to tears. I didn’t like the writing, and there was about 50 pages worth of story in this 400-page book. I am opting to take the nearest exit.
August 12, 2022
While hard to read at times, this was absolutely stunning.
RTC.
RTC.
November 28, 2022
Might be my favorite book of the year???
October 12, 2023
Putsata Reang's memoir, Ma and Me, was born out of a transitional journey from journalist to memoirist. At the behest of her partner and sister, she submitted an essay to the New York Times, which was published in 2016. This essay delved into her complex relationship with her mother and her struggles with survivor's guilt, having almost died in her mother's arms while fleeing Cambodia in 1975. Later on, the essay is extended into this memoir.
The memoir begins with a Khmer folk tale about the crocodile and the tiger—Go in the water, there’s the crocodile; come up on land, there’s the tiger. This tale symbolises the difficult choices her parents were forced to make in their lives. Fleeing the prospect of the Cambodian genocide following the Khmer Rouge’s entry into Phnom Penh, the family of eight eventually settled in rural Corvallis, Oregon, where her mother worked as a janitor and served meals to college students, while her father washed dishes and suffered a nervous breakdown. The strain led her mother to run away several times, sometimes with her children and sometimes alone, only to return because, as she believed "a Khmer wife stays".
As the youngest and the child who nearly died on the boat escaping Phnom Penh, she felt closely tied to her mother and was raised under the principle of "us before I," where family identity took precedence over individuality. She felt indebted to her mother for saving her life and attempted to be the ideal gohn Khmer—Cambodian daughter, a goal she could never fully attain because she was gay. Her desire to avoid tarnishing the image of a perfect Khmer family led her to conceal her true self for years. She struggled with the conflict brewing both within herself and with her mother, resulting in her running away from home as a teenager and attempting suicide in college. As an adult, she continued to flee, working as a journalist in Cambodia, Afghanistan and Thailand. Escape became her coping mechanism.
In 2010, when her father suffered a severe heart attack, she returned to the U.S. from Phnom Penh. This later prompted her mother to finally share the details of her past with her. These conversations, recorded and included in the memoir in italicised font, offer profound insights. She learned that her mother had tried to escape to her brother's house near the Vietnam border, close to where the Khmer Rouge was based at that time, after discovering her father's plan to arrange her marriage. The American B-52 bombings disrupted her refuge, forcing her to abandon her dreams of becoming a businesswoman and traveling the world, ultimately returning home to become a Khmer bride. Her mother considered her wedding day in 1967, the day she relinquished her freedom, as the saddest day of her life, knowing that marriage meant losing her independence forever. Putsata, as the dutiful daughter whose identity is intertwined with her mother's, recognises that she returned to Cambodia as an adult to lead the life her mother might have had if she hadn't been married off. Her struggles, deeply rooted in the past through intergenerational trauma and filial duty, are laid bare in between the chapters of this memoir.
Nevertheless, Putsata breaks free from her family history and shapes her own identity, confronting the difficulties of being gay and her survivor’s guilt. Her joy is captured in the memoir, in falling in love with her future wife, April, and ultimately deciding to return to the U.S. to make her future home. She also recalls that home isn't just a physical manifestation; it encompasses emotional connections and the love we nurture. Ultimately, Putsata’s memoir invites us to recognise that we are more than the sum of our past traumas, and that each of us has our own unique stories and experiences to share with others.
The memoir begins with a Khmer folk tale about the crocodile and the tiger—Go in the water, there’s the crocodile; come up on land, there’s the tiger. This tale symbolises the difficult choices her parents were forced to make in their lives. Fleeing the prospect of the Cambodian genocide following the Khmer Rouge’s entry into Phnom Penh, the family of eight eventually settled in rural Corvallis, Oregon, where her mother worked as a janitor and served meals to college students, while her father washed dishes and suffered a nervous breakdown. The strain led her mother to run away several times, sometimes with her children and sometimes alone, only to return because, as she believed "a Khmer wife stays".
As the youngest and the child who nearly died on the boat escaping Phnom Penh, she felt closely tied to her mother and was raised under the principle of "us before I," where family identity took precedence over individuality. She felt indebted to her mother for saving her life and attempted to be the ideal gohn Khmer—Cambodian daughter, a goal she could never fully attain because she was gay. Her desire to avoid tarnishing the image of a perfect Khmer family led her to conceal her true self for years. She struggled with the conflict brewing both within herself and with her mother, resulting in her running away from home as a teenager and attempting suicide in college. As an adult, she continued to flee, working as a journalist in Cambodia, Afghanistan and Thailand. Escape became her coping mechanism.
In 2010, when her father suffered a severe heart attack, she returned to the U.S. from Phnom Penh. This later prompted her mother to finally share the details of her past with her. These conversations, recorded and included in the memoir in italicised font, offer profound insights. She learned that her mother had tried to escape to her brother's house near the Vietnam border, close to where the Khmer Rouge was based at that time, after discovering her father's plan to arrange her marriage. The American B-52 bombings disrupted her refuge, forcing her to abandon her dreams of becoming a businesswoman and traveling the world, ultimately returning home to become a Khmer bride. Her mother considered her wedding day in 1967, the day she relinquished her freedom, as the saddest day of her life, knowing that marriage meant losing her independence forever. Putsata, as the dutiful daughter whose identity is intertwined with her mother's, recognises that she returned to Cambodia as an adult to lead the life her mother might have had if she hadn't been married off. Her struggles, deeply rooted in the past through intergenerational trauma and filial duty, are laid bare in between the chapters of this memoir.
Nevertheless, Putsata breaks free from her family history and shapes her own identity, confronting the difficulties of being gay and her survivor’s guilt. Her joy is captured in the memoir, in falling in love with her future wife, April, and ultimately deciding to return to the U.S. to make her future home. She also recalls that home isn't just a physical manifestation; it encompasses emotional connections and the love we nurture. Ultimately, Putsata’s memoir invites us to recognise that we are more than the sum of our past traumas, and that each of us has our own unique stories and experiences to share with others.
July 1, 2023
Five months ago, I picked this book out from my favorite local bookstore, saying to myself that I wanted to read more memoirs. Take a step back from nothing but fiction and love stories and read the experiences of someone of whom I could relate to a little. It seems I underestimated that statement. What was an outlet for a new perspective turned into motivation and deep love for a book that I haven't felt in years.
Reang's writing is absolutely gorgeous, her words effortless and captivating; I went into this book blind on the subject of the Cambodian civil war, but was taught from the perspective of a Cambodian daughter and her family that suffered. Her assimilation into America, and the guilt and disconnection and discrimination she felt. I recognize my privilege as a white woman born and raised in America, and I was captivated by the education and insight I received through this book. I admired Reang's openness and vulnerability she shared with not only her readers, but with herself. To ride on that, Reang's deep, meaningful, and almost obsessive relationship with her mother throughout her life was something so expertly written and I found myself understanding a mother-daughter relationship in a whole new light. Her feeling of debt, yet she still lived despite it. Her Ma had saved her so she could live, and Reang soared with that life.
As a young queer woman going into the journalism industry, that part of Reang’s story rang in cadence with mine. She learned how to be perfectly capable by herself, she learned how to honor her culture on her own terms, she learned how to value herself and her mother, even if it meant redefining some things. Reang did an excellent job of showing, not telling, her experience in establishing her place in the Khmer community and how to honor herself as both Khmer and American. I admired her for learning to love herself, for owing it to herself to persevere, and for acknowledging her growth, even if it meant her Ma didn’t grow with her.
The weight of guilt Reang's mother unknowing placed on her daughter from a young age is the overarch of Reang's story; her Ma loved her unconditionally, and saved her life to see her daughter live and grow. Reang did just that, but honored her mother's wishes in the "wrong" way. This perspective is something I am familiar with. The insurmountable debt, yet the liberation and desire to live freely. Which do you choose?
All in all, this book made me cry, on multiple occasions, and this review doesn't even scratch the glass of all I have to say. Putsata's story will stick with me for years to come, and I wish more than anything I could thank her in person for what this book helped me realize and come to terms with, in regards to my relationship with my craft, myself, and most of all, my relationship with my mother.
"One of these days, we'll get tired enough to stop. The anger and hurt will fade, like the light always did in those endless fields and we knew it was quitting time."
Reang's writing is absolutely gorgeous, her words effortless and captivating; I went into this book blind on the subject of the Cambodian civil war, but was taught from the perspective of a Cambodian daughter and her family that suffered. Her assimilation into America, and the guilt and disconnection and discrimination she felt. I recognize my privilege as a white woman born and raised in America, and I was captivated by the education and insight I received through this book. I admired Reang's openness and vulnerability she shared with not only her readers, but with herself. To ride on that, Reang's deep, meaningful, and almost obsessive relationship with her mother throughout her life was something so expertly written and I found myself understanding a mother-daughter relationship in a whole new light. Her feeling of debt, yet she still lived despite it. Her Ma had saved her so she could live, and Reang soared with that life.
As a young queer woman going into the journalism industry, that part of Reang’s story rang in cadence with mine. She learned how to be perfectly capable by herself, she learned how to honor her culture on her own terms, she learned how to value herself and her mother, even if it meant redefining some things. Reang did an excellent job of showing, not telling, her experience in establishing her place in the Khmer community and how to honor herself as both Khmer and American. I admired her for learning to love herself, for owing it to herself to persevere, and for acknowledging her growth, even if it meant her Ma didn’t grow with her.
The weight of guilt Reang's mother unknowing placed on her daughter from a young age is the overarch of Reang's story; her Ma loved her unconditionally, and saved her life to see her daughter live and grow. Reang did just that, but honored her mother's wishes in the "wrong" way. This perspective is something I am familiar with. The insurmountable debt, yet the liberation and desire to live freely. Which do you choose?
All in all, this book made me cry, on multiple occasions, and this review doesn't even scratch the glass of all I have to say. Putsata's story will stick with me for years to come, and I wish more than anything I could thank her in person for what this book helped me realize and come to terms with, in regards to my relationship with my craft, myself, and most of all, my relationship with my mother.
"One of these days, we'll get tired enough to stop. The anger and hurt will fade, like the light always did in those endless fields and we knew it was quitting time."
May 18, 2022
*Thank you to Farrar, Straus and Giroux (FSG) via NetGalley for the ARC*
As a first generation Cambodian American I was beyond excited to read this book. I knew it was going to be insightful and poignant as I’ve previously read the author’s NYT article.
As the title suggests, Ma and Me, centers on Reang and her mother’s relationship. First, as a baby fleeing from Cambodia, then as an adolescent growing up and toiling away on American soil, and finally as an adult, seeking out her own journey, traveling between past and present, country to country. Their lives are stubbornly intertwined, following analogous paths until Reang bravely comes out as gay to her culturally traditional mother and a rift tears their core foundation apart.
Full of folklore and myths, as well as stories of her mom’s life as a youth in pre-war Cambodia, Reang’s memoir is beautifully brutal. The imagery she portrays is crisp and vivid. The horrors she recounts are gut-wrenching. Her mom’s stories presses a tender bruise that I’m sure all Cambodians carry. For any one who’s been affected by a war torn country, who might still live in a battlefield within the four walls of their home. Those who want to know their ancestors’ history, about the refugee experience, who’ve been denied access to those haunting memories that their elders deliberately placed on a high dusty shelf…you’ll find them here. Every chapter packs a punch. There’s hardly any levity until Reang finally finds peace within herself, having struggled with ptsd, conflicting racial/cultural/sexual identities, and familial piety.
It truly was a devastating read, even more so as a fellow Cambodian, when you think about what unspeakable atrocities your own family went through. But I’m grateful to have read this and even more grateful for the representation. I think Reang’s memoir would be the perfect candidate for reading in schools that now require Asian American history curriculum or for anyone who wants to have a better understanding of Cambodian culture. Wishing Reang all the success as a writer/author and hopefully a positive update/sequel for her ma and her. 5/5 solid stars.
As a first generation Cambodian American I was beyond excited to read this book. I knew it was going to be insightful and poignant as I’ve previously read the author’s NYT article.
As the title suggests, Ma and Me, centers on Reang and her mother’s relationship. First, as a baby fleeing from Cambodia, then as an adolescent growing up and toiling away on American soil, and finally as an adult, seeking out her own journey, traveling between past and present, country to country. Their lives are stubbornly intertwined, following analogous paths until Reang bravely comes out as gay to her culturally traditional mother and a rift tears their core foundation apart.
Full of folklore and myths, as well as stories of her mom’s life as a youth in pre-war Cambodia, Reang’s memoir is beautifully brutal. The imagery she portrays is crisp and vivid. The horrors she recounts are gut-wrenching. Her mom’s stories presses a tender bruise that I’m sure all Cambodians carry. For any one who’s been affected by a war torn country, who might still live in a battlefield within the four walls of their home. Those who want to know their ancestors’ history, about the refugee experience, who’ve been denied access to those haunting memories that their elders deliberately placed on a high dusty shelf…you’ll find them here. Every chapter packs a punch. There’s hardly any levity until Reang finally finds peace within herself, having struggled with ptsd, conflicting racial/cultural/sexual identities, and familial piety.
It truly was a devastating read, even more so as a fellow Cambodian, when you think about what unspeakable atrocities your own family went through. But I’m grateful to have read this and even more grateful for the representation. I think Reang’s memoir would be the perfect candidate for reading in schools that now require Asian American history curriculum or for anyone who wants to have a better understanding of Cambodian culture. Wishing Reang all the success as a writer/author and hopefully a positive update/sequel for her ma and her. 5/5 solid stars.
January 9, 2023
MA AND ME takes the readers on a deeply intimate journey through Reang's life, a Cambodian-American queer woman navigating her complicated relationship with her mother. Reang's mom fled an arranged marriage but eventually returned to Cambodia due to the Vietnam War. Her family later escaped the Cambodian genocide and arrived in America, only to face the challenges of losing everything they'd built back home and transitioning to a new culture.
Reang focuses on her complex relationship with her mother and the clashes between cultural and personal values. Due to her mom's homophobic views, Reang has a strained relationship growing up and must accept that her mother's love and acceptance are not unconditional. I was profoundly moved by Reang's realization of her parents' limitations–racism, homophobia, and misogyny–and her attempts to maintain a relationship despite their differences.
Another standout to me was Reang's return to Cambodia to learn more about the genocide, connect with her lost relatives and culture, and the survivor's guilt she suffered from these visits.
MA AND ME is a profoundly moving and intricate memoir of family, identity, and the complexities of love. It is a must-read for anyone looking to learn more about the Cambodian-American experience, especially at the intersection of queer identity.
Reang focuses on her complex relationship with her mother and the clashes between cultural and personal values. Due to her mom's homophobic views, Reang has a strained relationship growing up and must accept that her mother's love and acceptance are not unconditional. I was profoundly moved by Reang's realization of her parents' limitations–racism, homophobia, and misogyny–and her attempts to maintain a relationship despite their differences.
Another standout to me was Reang's return to Cambodia to learn more about the genocide, connect with her lost relatives and culture, and the survivor's guilt she suffered from these visits.
MA AND ME is a profoundly moving and intricate memoir of family, identity, and the complexities of love. It is a must-read for anyone looking to learn more about the Cambodian-American experience, especially at the intersection of queer identity.
November 1, 2024
oh my god i’m bawling in the lunch room rn. review tk when i’m more coherent.
review:
probably my favorite read of this year (thus far), and one that i am sure to think back on again and again. reang's storytelling and language is precise and beautiful, the mark of a true journalist: not one word is wasted. she captures complex dynamics, scenes, and histories with devastating economy. i love the way she weaves together moments across time, the parallels we see between mother and daughter, the way we circle right back to the beginning, the way putsata lived it. the later middle of the book felt a bit lagging and redundant compared to the beginning, but i rationalized it as the difference between spare, early childhood memories that feel definite in the way they have become a part of one's myth-making, versus more recent experiences that one is still trying to work through. and reang wraps up the ending with razor-sharpness, which kind of destroyed any complaints i harbored for what preceded.
review:
probably my favorite read of this year (thus far), and one that i am sure to think back on again and again. reang's storytelling and language is precise and beautiful, the mark of a true journalist: not one word is wasted. she captures complex dynamics, scenes, and histories with devastating economy. i love the way she weaves together moments across time, the parallels we see between mother and daughter, the way we circle right back to the beginning, the way putsata lived it. the later middle of the book felt a bit lagging and redundant compared to the beginning, but i rationalized it as the difference between spare, early childhood memories that feel definite in the way they have become a part of one's myth-making, versus more recent experiences that one is still trying to work through. and reang wraps up the ending with razor-sharpness, which kind of destroyed any complaints i harbored for what preceded.
September 18, 2024
Putsata Reang's memoir details her debt-driven, close relationship to her mother, in which her mother views Reang's behavior as a direct consequence of her own success as a mother. Somehow mutually parasitic, Reang owes her mother her life, if not literally, as a result of their tumultuous escape from the Khmer Rouge and Cambodian genocide. Reang spends her life trying to protect her mother and make her proud, until the only obstacle that cannot be overcome is her mother's refusal to accept Reang's love of a woman. This book is incredibly well-written, with an open ending that left me crying.
It's difficult when your happiness is directly in conflict with your mother's love. For many Asian mothers, children feel like an extension of oneself, and in the desperation to protect them you end up repeating the same cycles that harmed you.
It's difficult when your happiness is directly in conflict with your mother's love. For many Asian mothers, children feel like an extension of oneself, and in the desperation to protect them you end up repeating the same cycles that harmed you.
April 5, 2024
wow wow wow i loved this one
August 27, 2024
4.75/5
The closest I've felt a book deserving a 5 so far. The majority of this book was spectacular. It was rich, raw, and hit me too close to home as a Khmer-American daughter. Truthfully speaking, the overall tone of the book was pretty monotonous, but the way Reang recalled her and her mom's emotions were genuine. The ending though felt a little abrupt. It started getting a tad cliche without much description. Maybe that was due to the way Reang was raised as Khmer-American who had to hide herself for so long. Overall, Ma and Me was one of the best memoirs and books I have read yet.
The closest I've felt a book deserving a 5 so far. The majority of this book was spectacular. It was rich, raw, and hit me too close to home as a Khmer-American daughter. Truthfully speaking, the overall tone of the book was pretty monotonous, but the way Reang recalled her and her mom's emotions were genuine. The ending though felt a little abrupt. It started getting a tad cliche without much description. Maybe that was due to the way Reang was raised as Khmer-American who had to hide herself for so long. Overall, Ma and Me was one of the best memoirs and books I have read yet.
April 17, 2024
I read this in february but am still thinking about this moving memoir! one of the best books i've read all year - Reang's family fled Cambodia/the Khmer Rouge when she was less than a year old. the memoir explores culture, duty, family, her experiences as an international journalist & her queer identity.
It also was a shocking small-world read because reang and her siblings happened to go to the same schools as some of my aunts and uncles in corvallis, oregon in the 80s, which i didn't discover until reading!
It also was a shocking small-world read because reang and her siblings happened to go to the same schools as some of my aunts and uncles in corvallis, oregon in the 80s, which i didn't discover until reading!
June 7, 2024
oooooooh my oh my. picked this up on a whim in the bookstore and i am so glad i did!
sewed together the complexities of love (the debts you feel you owe for sacrifices you did not ask for, the fear of dissapointing loved ones, etc.), generational trauma, and the never-ending web of personal growth and self discovery so seamlessly
! still thinking about it many months later
sewed together the complexities of love (the debts you feel you owe for sacrifices you did not ask for, the fear of dissapointing loved ones, etc.), generational trauma, and the never-ending web of personal growth and self discovery so seamlessly
! still thinking about it many months later
August 31, 2023
i loved this. i learned so much & was captivated the entire time. it’s clear that reang is a journalist because the storytelling was top-notch
i loved how this memoir covered putsata’s life, as well as her mom’s & (to a lesser degree) other family members. the intertwining of stories allowed for really compelling comparisons between women’s roles in khmer/american culture, plus added depth & nuance to the themes of survivor’s guilt, refugee experiences, filial piety, & intergenerational trauma
it was incredibly frustrating to read about the homophobia reata experienced, but it’s clear she has done a lot of work to reflect on those experiences with a ton of strength, hope, & grace — without excusing any harm. she really grapples with her intersecting gay & southeast asian identities & it was an honor to wade through that complexity with her
reata’s memories of her trips to cambodia as a teen & adult probably affected me the most. she captures the feeling of diasporic angst so well, the constant state of feeling unmoored & adrift between two worlds. i anticipate (& dread) experiencing so many of those same emotions when i take my first trip to việt nam
i love continuing to explore se asian stories & see the parallels with my việt khiếu experience, especially with cambodian americans. i especially found it really interesting to read a story capturing the “youngest daughter of asian parents” experience, versus my eldest daughter experience that is more common in media
it’s clear that so much reflection & grace & intentionality was put into telling this story of mother-daughter relationships, refugees living in america, diasporic families with debts across oceans, & queer asian americans. i feel really lucky to have read this & i definitely called my mom as soon as the audiobook ended
quotes:
there is no greater unease than feeling alone in the midst of an entire population that looks like you
you have to go back to cambodia and help…she never said when my debt would be paid
i loved how this memoir covered putsata’s life, as well as her mom’s & (to a lesser degree) other family members. the intertwining of stories allowed for really compelling comparisons between women’s roles in khmer/american culture, plus added depth & nuance to the themes of survivor’s guilt, refugee experiences, filial piety, & intergenerational trauma
it was incredibly frustrating to read about the homophobia reata experienced, but it’s clear she has done a lot of work to reflect on those experiences with a ton of strength, hope, & grace — without excusing any harm. she really grapples with her intersecting gay & southeast asian identities & it was an honor to wade through that complexity with her
reata’s memories of her trips to cambodia as a teen & adult probably affected me the most. she captures the feeling of diasporic angst so well, the constant state of feeling unmoored & adrift between two worlds. i anticipate (& dread) experiencing so many of those same emotions when i take my first trip to việt nam
i love continuing to explore se asian stories & see the parallels with my việt khiếu experience, especially with cambodian americans. i especially found it really interesting to read a story capturing the “youngest daughter of asian parents” experience, versus my eldest daughter experience that is more common in media
it’s clear that so much reflection & grace & intentionality was put into telling this story of mother-daughter relationships, refugees living in america, diasporic families with debts across oceans, & queer asian americans. i feel really lucky to have read this & i definitely called my mom as soon as the audiobook ended
quotes:
there is no greater unease than feeling alone in the midst of an entire population that looks like you
you have to go back to cambodia and help…she never said when my debt would be paid
January 9, 2023
3.5 stars for this thoughtful memoir by former journalist turned author Putsata Reang. My partner bought us copies of this book (we are long distance) after we enjoyed Reang's essay in the New York Times Modern Love column. While that initial essay provided a truncated overview of her family's complicated history and ongoing trauma, this book delves deeper into many different aspects of her life:
- how the Cambodian civil war inflicted deep pain and violence onto her family
- her parent's migration to the United States and support of their extended family
- Reang's childhood, adolescence and early queer experiences
- Reang's career as a journalist and subsequent turn to becoming an author
- Reang's love life and relationship with her partner, as well as her friendships and siblings...
I could go on. The point is, this book is lucidly written and evocative. But it's so ambitious in scope that the brief but many chapters start to weigh heavily. The book is written in countless 4-20 page vignettes, and weighs in at 380 pages. I was rooting for Reang the whole time, and appreciate the ambivalence and nuance she details in her relationship with her titular Ma. I just personally feel that the book could be edited down to fewer life periods, in greater detail. But that's just my preference, maybe other readers like this scene-by-scene way of storytelling.
She told her fascinating story bravely and well. I just think as a book it could pack more of a punch by covering less.
- how the Cambodian civil war inflicted deep pain and violence onto her family
- her parent's migration to the United States and support of their extended family
- Reang's childhood, adolescence and early queer experiences
- Reang's career as a journalist and subsequent turn to becoming an author
- Reang's love life and relationship with her partner, as well as her friendships and siblings...
I could go on. The point is, this book is lucidly written and evocative. But it's so ambitious in scope that the brief but many chapters start to weigh heavily. The book is written in countless 4-20 page vignettes, and weighs in at 380 pages. I was rooting for Reang the whole time, and appreciate the ambivalence and nuance she details in her relationship with her titular Ma. I just personally feel that the book could be edited down to fewer life periods, in greater detail. But that's just my preference, maybe other readers like this scene-by-scene way of storytelling.
She told her fascinating story bravely and well. I just think as a book it could pack more of a punch by covering less.
June 9, 2022
This book contained such a beautifully told story. Despite being a memoir, it also was woven through with the types of themes and imagery (the berry juice, the idea of settling debt etc) you’d expect from a carefully crafted work of fiction, and I was impressed at how Reang was able to characterize her life in such a meaningful and powerful way. The way Reang characterizes her relationship is honest, mature, and full of love. A great read for anyone interested in Cambodian immigrant stories, mother daughter relationships, or LGBT coming of age.
July 31, 2024
Reang’s years of journalistic experience shine in her evocative yet efficient prose. Her storytelling is excellent, and she avoids the problems of poor pacing and organization that are so common in other memoirists. Ma and me is one of the best nonfiction works, and certainly one of the best memoirs, I’ve ever read. The way she explores the debts you might or might not owe to the people who gave you life, and the crushing blows of being queer in a culture where that will forever be viewed as a stain against your family, was touching and thought-provoking and heart-wrenching. This will be a permanent resident on my shelves and recommendation lists.
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