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Perfume River
Perfume Dreams: Reflections on the Vietnamese Diaspora
$14.95
Paperback
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BOOK DETAILS

  • Paperback
  • Oct.01.2005
  • 9781597140201
  • Heyday Books

Andrew gives an overview of the book:

Along the Perfume River there lives an old woman who has never left her village, who has raised children and grandchildren never having seen the other side of the river. A nightclub owner from Saigon travels the world, hobnobbing with international celebrities. A young man goes to college in America, only to return to the Perfume River with made-up stories and forged photographs of himself with President Clinton. And another grows up both an American teenager and a Vietnam warrior’s son…the author himself. In his long-overdue first collection of essays, noted journalist and NPR commentator Andrew Lam explores his lifelong struggle for identity as a Viet Kieu, or a Vietnamese national living abroad. At age eleven, Lam, the son of a South Vietnamese general, came to California on the eve of the fall of Saigon to communist forces. He traded his Vietnamese name for a...
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Along the Perfume River there lives an old woman who has never left her village, who has raised children and grandchildren never having seen the other side of the river.

A nightclub owner from Saigon travels the world, hobnobbing with international celebrities.

A young man goes to college in America, only to return to the Perfume River with made-up stories and forged photographs of himself with President Clinton.

And another grows up both an American teenager and a Vietnam warrior’s son…the author himself.

In his long-overdue first collection of essays, noted journalist and NPR commentator Andrew Lam explores his lifelong struggle for identity as a Viet Kieu, or a Vietnamese national living abroad. At age eleven, Lam, the son of a South Vietnamese general, came to California on the eve of the fall of Saigon to communist forces. He traded his Vietnamese name for a more American one and immersed himself in the allure of the American dream: something not clearly defined for him or his family.

Reflecting on the meanings of the Vietnam War to the Vietnamese people themselves—particularly to those in exile—Lam picks with searing honesty at the roots of his doubleness and his parents’ longing for a homeland that no longer exists.

Read an excerpt »

So far from home, Mother nevertheless took her reference points in autumn, her favorite season. Autumn, the dark season, came in the form of letters she received from relatives and friends left behind. Brown and flimsy thin, like dead leaves, recycled who knows how many times, the letters threatened to dissolve with a single tear. The letters unanimously told of tragic lives: Aunty and her family barely survived; Cousin is caught for the umpteenth time trying to escape; Uncle has died from heart failure while being interrogated by the Viet Cong; yet another Uncle is indefinitely incarcerated in a malaria-infested reeducation camp; and no news yet of Cousin and family who disappeared in the South China Sea. The letters went on to inquire as to our health then timidly asked for money, for antibiotics, for a bicycle and, if possible, for sponsorship to America. The letters confirmed what my mother, who had lived through two wars, had always known: Life is a sea of suffering, and sorrow gives meaning to life. Then, as if to anchor me in Old World tragedy, as if to bind me to that shared narrative of loss and misery, mother insisted that I, too, read those letters.

What did I do? I skimmed. I skipped. I shrugged. I put on a poker face and raked autumn in a pile and pushed it all back to her. “That country,” I slowly announced in English, as if to wound, “is cursed.”

That country, mind you, no longer mine. Vietnam was now so far away—an abstraction; America was now so near—outside the window, blaring on TV, written in the science fiction books that I devoured like a mad teenager—a seduction. Besides, what could a scrawny refugee teenager living in America do to save Uncle from that malaria-infested re-education camp? What could he do for Cousin and her family lost somewhere in the vast South China Sea? He could, on the other hand, pretend amnesia to save himself from grief.

My mother made the clucking sounds of disapproval with her tongue as she shook her head. She looked into my eyes and called me the worst thing she could muster, “You’ve become a little American now, haven’t you? A cowboy.” Vietnamese appropriated the word “cowboy” from the movies to imply selfishness. A cowboy in Vietnamese estimation is a rebel who, as in the spaghetti westerns, leaves town, the communal life, to ride alone into the sunset.

 

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Note from the author coming soon...

About Andrew

Andrew is a syndicated writer and an editor with the Pacific News Service, a short story writer, and a commentator on National Public Radio's "All Things Considered." He co-founded New America Media, an association of over 2000 ethnic media in America. 

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Published Reviews

Feb.21.2009

Lam is a journalist by profession, but he writes with the delicacy and intensity of a poet. At a Vietnamese restaurant in San Francisco, he contemplates two wooden clocks, one in the shape of Vietnam and...

Feb.22.2009

Andrew Lam is one of the premier interpreters of the Vietnamese diaspora in the United States. He is not only a highly talented and perceptive writer but also a personal participant in the drama played out...

Author's Publishing Notes

“Lam confronts the barriers of language, experience and aspiration that separate his Vietnamese origins from his American destiny… Lam is a journalist by profession, but he writes with the delicacy and intensity of a poet.” -Jonathan Kirsch, LA Times Book Review “Some people who have seen what Andrew has seen would foreswear humor or recoil from it thereafter. Whereas Andrew has cultivated wit—repartee, sarcasm, irony, the writer’s knowledge that words can be constructed so as to topple on cue.” -Richard Rodriguez, News Hour Commentator, Author of Brown: The Last Discovery of America “The Vietnam that writer Andrew Lam left at age 11 has moved on without him. Fortunately for us, Lam has held that Vietnam close to his heart as he navigated between two cultures.” Asian Week “Andrew Lam’s description of what he faced as an 11-year-old in a refugee camp is so powerful that I literally stopped people on the street and insisted that they read these pages. Perfume Dreams brings a fresh, provocative perspective to our understanding of Vietnam—as a country, culture, war and emblem of American public policy failure—all the while reminding us that the U.S. is not at the center of this narrative.”—Elaine Mar, author of Paper Daughter “Andrew Lam writes with the honesty of a true journalist and the feeling of a born storyteller. On his many journeys between Vietnam and the U.S., he sees first-hand the global consequences of war. Perfume Dreams is a meaningful book for our times.”—Maxine Hong Kingston, author of The Fifth Book of Peace and Woman Warrior “Much will be made—and rightly so—of the eloquent commentary Andrew Lam’s essays provide on Vietnam and the Vietnamese. But his collected essays have a far deeper reach. Lam brilliantly illuminates the universal issues of self and home and human striving. Andrew Lam speaks to each of us quite individually and personally, with wit and compassion, about the things that connect us all at the deepest level. Perfume Dreams is a fascinating and important book by a truly gifted writer.”—Robert Olen Butler, author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain “In this powerful collection of essays, Lam, a syndicated columnist and National Public Radio commentator, explores his identity as a Viet Kieu (a Vietnamese national living abroad) residing in the United States. On April 28, 1975, 11-year-old Lam and his family fled Saigon aboard a crowded C130 cargo plane just two days before the fall of Saigon to Communist forces (a day Lam would come to know as an "American rebirth"). His father, a respected South Vietnamese general, followed soon after, reuniting with the family in California, where they would begin at the bottom rung as they struggled to fulfill the American Dream. Looking deep within himself and his fellow Viet Kieu, Lam seeks to "marry two otherwise dissimilar and often conflicting narratives." He cites cultural critic Edward Said as he shows that to transcend one's national limits one must not reject attachments to the past but work through them. Lam, who grows to realize that home is "portable if one is in commune with one's soul," embraces the journey of self-discovery and concludes that one's identity is not fixed but "open-ended." What results is a cohesive presentation with broad appeal, allowing non-Viet Kieu to understand Lam's experiences…”- Library Journal