Things We Lost to the Water
introduced by Nguyên Phan Quê Mai
INTRODUCED BY Nguyên Phan Quê Mai author of eleven books, most recently The Mountains Sing, published in 2020 by Algonquin Books.
Growing up in Vietnam, I was discouraged to read literary works by those who fled our country after the war, since they were branded as “traitors.” It took me years to start picking up books by Vietnamese refugees and acknowledge their importance. Things We Lost to the Water by Eric Nguyen is a novel that makes me reflect deeply on the complicated relationships among Vietnamese people: those who had no choice but to abandon the land of their birth and those who were forced to stay. While centering on the Vietnamese American experiences, this novel is a global tale of family, secrets, survival, and hope. Told in the voices of a mother, Hu’o’ng, and her two sons, Tuâ´n and Bình (Ben), who were torn apart by the storms of Vietnam, only to be tested again by the hurricanes of New Orleans, Things We Lost to the Water is a devastatingly beautiful and necessary read. The ending brought me to tears. Eric’s talent radiates via his urgent prose and his ability to sketch the fine line between loyalty and betrayal, between what brings us together and what breaks us apart. More than a powerful book, this novel is an act of reconciliation; therefore I am delighted to have the opportunity to interview Eric for First Fiction 2021.
You have worked for several years as a reviewer and editor of diaCRITICS, profiling the work of writers and artists of the Vietnamese and Southeast Asian diaspora. How did your editorial experiences influence the inception and crafting of your debut novel, Things We Lost to the Water?
I have been a book reviewer for diaCRITICS and am now its editor. Being a critic of Vietnamese diasporic literature has opened my eyes to the diversity of stories Vietnamese writers are telling. Having grown up when there weren’t many such stories being told, I find it thrilling to see what Vietnamese writers are doing. Reading so many of them inspired me to write a book about Vietnamese Americans. These writers gave me permission to tell Vietnamese American stories.
How long did it take you to write this book? If you could turn back time, what would you do differently?
The novel took seven years to write. I wouldn’t change anything about the writing of it. I took the time I needed for this story to develop and mature. One of the best things I learned from this process is that writing takes time.
While reading Things We Lost to the Water I feel that you are reclaiming the many things that Vietnamese refugees lost: the Vietnamese language, the space to tell Vietnamese stories in their own voices, the space to document trauma. Tell us more about your intention with this book.
My parents were silent about their escape from Vietnam after the war, so I thought of this novel as a way to learn more about that experience and what they have been through. Yes, I think this novel is an act of reclamation. Despite so many years having passed since the end of the war, many stories about Vietnam are from non-Vietnamese people. And in the United States, the word Vietnam is synonymous with the war, and that narrative is mostly centered on the American experience of it. This novel—and especially my work with diaCRITICS—is reclaiming that experience of war but also the idea of “Vietnam” in general because Vietnam is not a war, but a country and a culture that has found its way around the world.
Your narrators—Hu’o’ng, Tuân, and Bình (Ben)—did an exceptional job in ascertaining that Vietnam is a country with a complex history and rich culture. Did you always have them as narrators of the novel? What techniques did you use to differentiate their voices and to ensure that their story lines complement one another?
I started with only Hu’o’ng’s voice, but then I felt the other characters had their own stories to tell. So the project of the novel became the telling of not only Hu’o’ng’s story, but the stories of her sons, too. To make sure the story lines complemented one another, I had to understand the characters, their voices, and their desires.
Once I had those nailed down, the way the characters interacted with one another would naturally have some friction in it, and their story lines began to fit together. It has been said that each story has multiple sides to it, and this novel is an exercise in that.
Your novel is impressive in its coverage of historical periods and events: Vietnam during and after the war, the journeys of “boat people,” the settlement of refugees and their struggles to adapt to life in America, the natural disasters in New Orleans, the complex lives of Vietnamese Americans, including their involvement with gangs. How did you carry out your research? Did some elements of your research surprise you and change the course of your novel while you were writing it?
I carried out most of my research in New Orleans when I went to school in Louisiana. From frequently spending time and interacting with people there, I got a sense of the place. I had already loved New Orleans before I started writing this novel, but through my time visiting and writing, I came to a better understanding of the city and the stories it held. What surprised me the most is how much of my life was woven into this book. I never meant it to be autobiographical, but bits and pieces of my life found their way in. For instance, Vietnamese American gangs were part of my childhood in the suburbs, and that made its way into the novel.
Things We Lost to the Water ends with two Vietnamese words (me. dây) that carry the heaviest of emotions. Yet you didn’t translate them into English. The beginning also includes tender words such as cu’ng o’i, which I think are impossible to translate. Your decision to include many Vietnamese words and phrases makes me reflect on what Viet Thanh Nguyen said: “Writers from a minority, write as if you are the majority. Do not explain. Do not cater. Do not translate. Do not apologize.” How do you undertake your responsibility as a minority writer with Things We Lost to the Water?
My responsibility as a minority writer is to center, in my case, the Vietnamese American experience, and to write, as Viet Thanh Nguyen says, as if this experience is easily intelligible for everyone. This is why I didn’t translate some of the Vietnamese language in the novel; code-switching came naturally to me because it’s the way my parents and I talked while I was growing up. By not bringing attention to these moments, our stories, experiences, and the way we inhabit the world become normalized and just part of the American story. Because the Vietnamese American story is an American story. My job as an Asian American writer is to highlight that there is a multitude of American stories and there are many ways to be American.
You and I have the same literary agent, Julie Stevenson at Massie & McQuilkin, who is a fierce champion of minority writers and who has contributed significantly to diversity in literature. How did you find Julie, and what would be your advice for a new writer searching for an agent?
I found Julie by sending out queries to different agents, all within their individual guidelines. I think my best advice for a new writer searching for an agent is to be kind. They have a lot of work and are often juggling multiple things. And reading manuscripts takes time! Be kind and professional to both the agents you sign with and those you don’t.