Saturday, October 21, 2023

about my novel daughters of the river huong

 

 
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On the occasion of Mother's Day:
My novel Daughters of the River Huong got its name from my mother, who is a native of Hue and former viet-lit teacher at Lycee Dong Khanh.
The original name for the novel was "the Coffins of Cinnamon" or, later in deliberation with the publisher, "Memory of a Black Rose" (concept derived from a poem by Baudelaire from Fleurs du Mal).
The novel's predecessor was my short story, "The Young Woman Who Practiced Singing," written in 1998. When this short story was circulated, two bar associations published it in their journal and both gave me a writing award in the same year. I did not expect anything like that!
DORH was not my first novel, only the first published (by an independent publisher who only picked up literary titles and non-fiction. The publisher sought me out. The second edition was purchased by Amazon Corporation in 2011).
The novel was written based on my personal knowledge and experience (my knowledge of Hue and my ancestors, plus my travels as a lawyer in Vietnam during and after the lifting of the U.S. trade embargo). But, it was a work of fiction. The character "Cinnamon" was a tribute to my grandmother, bearing her name sake, but the family in the novel was not my family in real life.
It might not be my best work (not yet, i hope), yet in my opinion the most comprehensive so far as history and symbolism were concerned, dedicated to my home culture and roots.
Several themes, including moral ambivalence in the course of fate, destiny, and the wheel of history, were never explored by quality reviews or critiques for the reading public.
Structurally, it was written like an epic film, motivated after I saw Catherine Deneuve's Indochine in the early 90s -- I realized then that an epic Vietnam-film (or film-like novel) should be written (and produced) by an authentic Vietnamese Hue girl, an immigrant, standing outside the culture to observe the heartbroken influence of Vietnam's Marxist transition, on her way homeward.
The Vietnamese translation is not available for sale, except by contacting me directly, or simply stopping by Nam Giao restaurant in Houston.

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