Nguyen Phan Que Mai
The Mountains Sing
“If our stories survive, we will not die, even when our bodies are no longer here on this earth,” a grandmother tells her granddaughter in The Mountains Sing. This act of storytelling is at the heart of Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai’s sprawling, multigenerational saga, following two time lines in Vietnam’s tumultuous history.
The first concerns the North Vietnamese land reform, executed by the rising Communist government in 1954 to reclaim and redistribute land owned by the bourgeoisie. This bloody, little-known chapter of Vietnamese history unfolds through the eyes of Trần Diệu Lan, then a young mother of six who flees the family farm to find safety for her children, and encounters unthinkable loss along the way. The second thread of the novel takes place in the 1970s, with the destruction of the Vietnam War on civilian life told by Diệu Lan’s granddaughter Hương, whose parents have left for the front line. These stories mirror one another, showing the cyclical nature of history and the impact of intergenerational trauma.
Bookish Hương devours contraband American literature as a child, and is surprised to see herself in its pages when she has always been taught that Americans are the enemy. For the young girl, fittingly, books are a window into an empathetic mind: “Somehow I was sure that if people were willing to read to each other, and see the light of other cultures, there would be no war on Earth.”
In the Western world, much of the discussion about the Vietnam War centres on American involvement or the diaspora who fled as refugees. Forty-five years after the end of the war, The Mountains Sing presents a unique view of those left behind, showing the damage inflicted on a nation by an ideological promise quickly eclipsed by greed and power. Political differences cause an uneasy friction between members of the central family, but as details are revealed, it is evident that they have a common goal of freedom, while the corrupt government craved control and went to murderous lengths to get it.
This is Nguyễn’s first English-language work and debut novel, and her work as a poet is evident in the way her words dance; there is a fable-like quality to the writing, with Vietnamese customs and proverbs weaving their way through the pages. Good fiction can teach us about the truth of the world, and The Mountains Sing is a timely and moving novel that bears witness to the atrocities of the past, which remain as echoes in the present.
Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen
Oneworld, 352pp, $29.99
This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on August 29, 2020 as "Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai, The Mountains Sing".
For almost a decade, The Saturday Paper has published Australia’s leading writers and thinkers. We have pursued stories that are ignored elsewhere, covering them with sensitivity and depth. We have done this on refugee policy, on government integrity, on robo-debt, on aged care, on climate change, on the pandemic.
All our journalism is fiercely independent. It relies on the support of readers. By subscribing to The Saturday Paper, you are ensuring that we can continue to produce essential, issue-defining coverage, to dig out stories that take time, to doggedly hold to account politicians and the political class.
There are very few titles that have the freedom and the space to produce journalism like this. In a country with a concentration of media ownership unlike anything else in the world, it is vitally important. Your subscription helps make it possible.
Select your digital subscription