Quotes from Viet Thanh Nguyen

is the last word (I hope) on the horrors of the Vietnamese re-education camps that our allies were sentenced to when we left them swinging in the wind.

Her routine was as predictable as the rotation of the earth.

Todas las botellas llenas de alcohol tienen un mensaje dentro, una sorpresa que uno no descubre hasta que se las bebe…»

My bus carried at least a few soldiers in civilian disguise, although the rest of the General's in-laws and cousins were mostly women and children. These passengers murmured among themselves, complaining of this or that, which I ignored. Even if they found themselves in Heaven, our countrymen would find occasion to remark that it was not as warm as Hell.

Desarmar a un idealista era fácil. Solamente hacía falta preguntarle por qué no estaba en el frente de la batalla concreta que hubiera elegido.»

el dinero no vivía hasta que no lo gastabas, y en especial en compañía de amigos…»

and while the list could go on and on and on, the point was simply this: the most important thing we could never forget was that we could never forget. When

We threatened the sanctity and symmetry of a white and black America whose yin and yang racial politics left no room for any other color, particularly that of pathetic little yellow-skinned people pickpocketing the American purse.

All of us who are living are dying. The only ones not dying are the dead. To live was to be haunted by the inevitability of one's own decay, and to be dead was to be haunted by the memory of living.

blurring the lines between us and them can be a worthy behavior.

Here's to you, Claude, I said, raising my glass to him. Congratulations. For what? he said, raising his own. Now you know what it feels like to be one of us. His laugh was short and bitter. I was thinking the exact same thing.

Writing was entering into fog, feeling my way for a route from this world to the unearthly world of words, a route easier to find on some days than others.

It proceeds from the idea that all wars are fought twice, the first time on the battlefield, the second time in memory. Any

Telling these kinds of stories, or learning to read, see and hear family stories as war stories, is an important way to treat the disorder of our military-industrial complex. For rather than being disturbed by the idea that war is hell, this complex thrives on it.

They started this war, and now that they're tired of it, they've sold us out, he said, pouring me another drink. But who is there to blame but ourselves? We were foolish enough to think they would keep their word. Now there's nowhere to go but America.

As with the Westerner, the Easterner was never so bored as he was when on his own shores.

So it was that we soaped ourselves in sadness and we rinsed ourselves wit hope, and for all that we believed almost every rumor we heard, almost all of us refused to believe that our nation was dead.

into the iron pot for flavor. It was also my task to skim the scum that boiled to the top of the broth as the bones simmered, leaving the broth clear and rich.

Popes, cardinals, bishops, priests, and monks carrying on with women, girls, boys, and each other? Hardly ever discussed! Not that there was anything wrong with carrying on— it's hypocrisy that stinks, not sex. But the Church torturing, murdering, crusading against, or infecting with disease millions of people in the name of our Lord the Savior, from Arabia to the Americas? Acknowledged with useless, pious regret, if even that.

A nineteenth-century Russian novel and vodka accompanied each other perfectly. Reading a novel while one sipped vodka legitimized the drink, while the drink made the novel seem much shorter than it truly was. I

I was careful, then, to present myself as his another immigrant, glad to be in the land where the pursuit of happiness was guaranteed in writing, which, when one comes to think of it, is not such a great deal. Now a guarantee of happiness— that's a great deal. But a guarantee to be allowed to pursue the jackpot of happiness? Merely an opportunity to buy a lottery ticket. Someone will surely win millions, but millions would surely pay for it.

if history had never happened, neither as farce nor as tragedy, if the serpent of language had not bitten me, if I had never been born, if my mother was never cleft, if you needed no more revisions, and if I saw no more of these visions, please, could you please just let me sleep?

I liked my scotch undiluted, like I liked my truth. Unfortunately, undiluted truth was as affordable as eighteen-year-old single malt scotch. What about those who have not learned the best of what was thought and said?

But what is more revolutionary than helping one's enemy and his kin? What is more radical than forgiveness?