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240 pages, Hardcover
First published March 21, 2023
In 1978, a Vietnamese father decides to follow his brother and make a new life for his family in the USA. He sends his eldest three children – Anh, Minh and Thanh (16, 13 and 10 respectively) – ahead to Hong Kong, with a promise that the rest of them will arrive in a few weeks. However, an unexpected tragedy leaves the trio orphaned, and young Anh suddenly finds herself as the sole caretaker of her two younger brothers.
As the months and years go by, we see Anh and her brothers live through the refugee camps, and finally settle in a new country. Not the one they wanted but one they need to accept as the best available option. Life in the UK is not a bed of roses, and the thorns seem to come up with greater frequency. Will Anh be able to fulfil the dreams of her late parents and make a better life for her brothers?
The story comes to us across multiple timelines (spanning four+ decades) and character perspectives. We get Anh’s third-person POV, and two other characters’ first-person POV in interludes, one of whom is unidentified for a major chunk of the narrative. There are also some interim snippets from real-life news articles and events, detailing the political situation and refugee policy of the Thatcher government, AND also some recollections from soldiers involved in ‘Operation Wandering Soul.’
There’s a tradition in Vietnamese culture,’ he said. ‘They believe that you need to give your dead a proper burial in their hometown. If not, their souls are cursed to wander the earth aimlessly, as ghosts.’ He looked down at the bottom of his empty glass, his smile slowly fading from his face, a frown forming in its stead. ‘Their soldiers were dying. Every day, more dead than they could keep up with. Just like ours. They couldn’t afford to observe their burial rites. We thought we could take advantage of that. We wanted to scare those gooks, those Viet Congs, I should say. We thought if we played tapes that sounded like they’re dead comrades, they might get scared, or become demoralised.’
Or perhaps I could go further. I could add twists and turns to build in tension. I could write an emotional rollercoaster. I could explore the boat more, for example. Yes, perhaps I should. Or perhaps I could point fingers. I could blame politics. I could blame war and poverty and pirates and the sea and the storm. But the more I go on, the more I realise that nothing is to blame and everything is to blame, intertwined in a medley of cause and effect, history and nature. I am trying to carve out a story between the macabre and the fairy tale, so that a glimmer of truth can appear.