Stories of who I am: an "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous" review
Literary fiction seems like such a fickle genre. Writing is valued just as much as characters and story, perhaps even more so, but readers can get lost amidst the imagery and symbolism of the narrative. Some of its tendencies have crossed over into middle grade and young adult, and although literary publications have given these novels starred reviews, its core audience tends to feel disconnected. While I've been guilty of that reaction with past titles, I tend to enjoy literary fiction because I love writing that takes me on a journey, that unravels my mind and pieces it back together. Ocean Vuong's prose debut looked no different. I first read Ocean Vuong in the fall of 2018, a collection of poetry called Night Sky with Exit Wounds. My Asian American Literature professor recommended it for a project I was working on that highlighted queer Asian American writers. It was a fantastic read, one where Vuong painted verses into stunning poems about his experience as a gay Vietnamese immigrant living in America. To see a novel expanding on that experience through a fictional character, done in a letter, was thrilling. After receiving the novel as a Christmas present, I began reading it immediately, wanting to see where Vuong's imagination took him.
It was a great decision. Although I didn't love On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, it's a powerful story that resonated with me. Little Dog's words to his mother cut and heal, explore the depth of language and pain, reveal how it is as a queer Vietnamese immigrant in America, and how family can hurt and restore someone. Vuong's writing is rich and evocative throughout, figurative language that pulls no punches and makes a reader think. The characters are alive on each page, their decisions painful and human through Vuong's abstracted connections with deeper and symbolic history. Its breadth transcends. When I read this book, I became part of it, and that's all I want as a reader: to intertwine with a story. Vuong got me there, and I appreciate that with all my heart.
Little Dog begins again. He's writing a letter to his mother, a woman who can't read because her education was halted by the Vietnam War. Memories spill out of the pages of this message, beginning with Little Dog's mother's horror at a taxidermied buck at a rest stop, cutting to monarch butterflies migrating across the country, and then back and forth, to other moments known and unknown between writer and receiver. The times when Little Dog's mother hit her son, PTSD rattling her bones. The times when Little Dog was bullied, pink paint getting scraped off a bike or bruises collecting around eyes. The summers working at a tobacco plant, falling in love with a boy named Trevor, who liked him back but struggled with internalized homophobia the entire time they were together. The moments with his grandmother and grandfather. The nail salon, drug-fueled hazes with Trevor, enacting the story of his grandmother being held at gunpoint in Vietnam with his mom as a baby in her arms, a monkey's brain getting scooped out of its skull while being chained to a table, the history of Tiger Woods: nothing is off-limits to Little Dog in his letter. But will his story ever be heard outside of this paper that his mother will never read? Is this enough?
The first strength present throughout this piece is Vuong's prose. He has a gift. That's the simple truth, so allow me to expand on that. His ability to convey such depth of emotion and rich detail through each sensation that passes by, and capture the intricacies of dialogue that carry many meanings is absolutely stunning. I turned each page with the feeling that the floor was falling out from under me, molecules vibrating all the while. Vuong is the kind of writer whose prose fills you with energy, creating a vivid image in a reader's mind. There are pointed passages that hit home, beautiful moments that create powerful scenes, and pieces throughout the letter carried by Little Dog and not, when he's mentioning experiences and people that affected him, that resonate. Even the moments where Vuong is reaching for outside influence work out. You wouldn't think an entire chapter dedicated to Tiger Woods' father would hold any weight in fiction, but it does, particularly with how it relates to Little Dog, the Vietnam War, and being Vietnamese in America.
I also love how Vuong approaches On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous. The novel is so much more than just a letter. It's a legacy, a saga, a generational story that reveals the harrowing journey of not only being an immigrant in America but how the strain of mental illness and being queer can impact those experiences. Little Dog's grandmother has schizophrenia, while Little Dog's mom has PTSD. Vuong spends time with both women, showing Little Dog's experience with them but also how his mom's PTSD developed during the war. The decisions these women make are impacted by their mental illnesses, and a reader understands the reasoning and the ramifications, humanizing instead of the opposite. They also don't know a lot of English, so Little Dog makes sure he can be their interpreters so what they want can be achieved. This duty of the children of first-generation immigrants seems to be expected by America in order for families to thrive, which upsets me. Rather than accommodate, the US expects people to learn English in order to create a united whole.
Just as stark is the dissection of being a queer immigrant. Vietnamese culture is not kind to those part of the LGBTQ+ community, and in America in the late 1990's and early 2000's, that was also the case. The bullying Little Dog faces is disheartening but no less real, and the relationship with Trevor, although it has its sweet moments, faces that same treatment. Toxic masculinity has become such an integral part of American society that some boys and men are afraid that even being friends with a guy, much less in a relationship like how Little Dog and Trevor end up, appears "gay." It hurt to see Trevor believe he was horrible just because of his connection with Little Dog, and even with the love they shared, there was still some distance between them. It's reflective of the taboo nature queer relationships had around this period and still do in some parts of the country, even with some queer people out of those places. I'm glad Vuong included it, and even through the lit joints and lines and other drugs the two boys tried together, it didn't feel romanticized. Those decisions helped Little Dog grow and realize how much addiction can affect a world.
However, I didn't love this book. Part of that has to do with some moments that weirded me out while I was reading despite my understanding of why they were there. The rest...perhaps I did face that disconnection at parts that prevented me from fully loving this novel. Regardless, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous is a tour de force of a novel, one that sketches its own place among literary greats. Vuong's vivid characters, prose, and scope is truly impressive, and I can't wait to see where he goes from here.