Dust Child, a book by Nguyen Phan Que Mai, A Sad Part of American History During the Vietnam War
How American Soldiers Left Behind Dust Children, the Bane of Vietnamese Society, & What Can Be Learned By Reading The Book
by Jeneane Vanderhoof
Recently I went to the post and found my Goodreads win, a copy of Dust Child. It was a surprise as I didn’t remember winning it (I did though). The publisher had been so nice to include a note and a small package of Vietnamese coffee (I’m assuming as it wasn’t mentioned in the note, what it was, in particular, that was included, and I couldn’t read the writing on the package as it was not English). As I have never read the author, Nguyen Phan Que Mai and never had coffee, I was excited. (and I apologize for not using the diacritics, which are the markings above certain letters, as it changes the meaning of the word, not using them, but I do not know where or how to find them, on my computer. This is something I actually learned reading this Dust Child). The coffee, or maybe it was a latte, as it tasted that good and made in my home, was superb, but as I sat down and started the book and now after, I found, the book was better.
Dust Child is a book that is a must read, do not miss book, as it deals with major life issues that are found as people’s experience life, and, if not, you are lucky to live such an ideal life. Therefore, if you are one of those (unlike me) with a “charmed life” this book is a definite read, as you must know how those on the “other side” live.
Dust Child takes readers back to the years, 2016 and 1969 respectively, and, as the story goes back and forth, we learn of how some of the dust children (defined as the children of Vietnamese women and VietNam soldiers, black or white) and what came of them, who they came to be and what their plight was like. Two of them, in particular, are the focus here. And, while this story could be told in any way and really, be made interesting, the way in which this author has told the story, created, weaved the tale for readers, places it in an arena of literature from which we pick the books our children and their children (and children’s children, and so on) will one day read. This really isn’t a book but a work of art in words. Literature in its highest form.
When readers learn as I did, of what life was like for the dust children told from the view of Phong, as he was left at an orphanage, raised by a nun until the age of twelve and then left to fend for himself, we are left to image further than what is written, how many of these children survived and how hard it must have been to do so. Because the discrimination for children with Western features was so bad for these youths, Americans had a program in which, based on their features, they could immigrate to the country. America was called their Fatherland.
Thinking the name was quite cute, in an ironic, dark way, as these children were all on this earth, basically, because of their fathers. Or, had been left to rot in a country where everyone treated them harshly and were unable to hide, because of how they looked, America was presenting them an exit strategy. Not that it was made easy to enter the program and, in the book, even, one of the children has issues getting to America himself, because others in the country took advantage of these “dust children” wanting to go to America themselves, essentially adopting them only to do this and, if caught, ruining the chance for the child to get there. But, with fees and left to do paperwork they could not figure out on their own with no one to help, sometimes being used was their only option.
And then there were the women who became those that were the mothers of these children. Women who have suffering families and then, the war that brought men into their cities with wealth unlike they have ever seen or could achieve on their own. How can you blame some of them for taking advantage of that, as they do in the book, with prostitution? Especially as some began, by being told the exchange with these men will be “innocent”, that they would just be “drinking tea” with the men. And, as the young woman sits in a bar, men, placing money before their very eyes, pushed them to drink tea with liquor (oh, how the men fought to have real liquor in these drinks) and then, as time passes, pushed to do more and more; some by the very women who worked beside them, also by the “madams” who ran the houses they slept and the bar where they worked. Told they would have no place to go, have to return home and also, find some way to pay back the very large expense of getting them there and whatever fee they had already run up being there, what do you suppose would happen if even you, yourself, sat with this very dilemma?
Dust Child, shows the female struggle with prostitution and poverty, between making money or maintaining morals and family, to be able to support them or please them by maintaining their pure form, one of the ultimate, worst dilemmas a female could ever have. This was something these women, themselves, that they very much do not want to do. Something that will haunt them until the day they die, shaming them to have to reinvent themselves in the future which makes having a dust child by their side the very evidence of their crime. How are they even able to raise this child, their western features the evidence of what she had done? Even to have contact in the future, hard for them and something the families they may create, after, in reinventing themselves, who never knew of their past, turn away from their mothers if finding out their true reality. And their greatest shame. But really, shouldn’t this be society’s shame? The treatment these women and children received? After all, they were only trying to survive.
As the story continues, when one of the women places hope that in giving her heart to one of the soldiers, that he will save her, provide for her, now, and in the future, readers are left to learn the tale of what happened to these women through this one woman, who was promised so much and left with only a burden, really. Even women knew the father of their child, one from the many they had been with, almost none of these men cared about the children they left behind. The women, mostly forgotten if not just a picture and a memory locked away.
Some of the men, the soldiers, later in life, were to find out about their child, or, had known all along and finally decided, tried to connect with these children who are now adults themselves, older even, then their father when they were soldiers, at the time, during the war. However many of the men, later in life, wanted no contact and turned children away even when a relationship had been verified by their very own DNA. Thus, a child, a person now left without a father at all. This is a painful tale, in 360 form, and it will break your heart to read the book derived from so many years of research by the author.
And, while I hate to say, even as a mother myself, that a child can be a burden, it is the sad fact in life that, when a woman is not prepared to have a child, when she doesn’t have the resources, she has a burden on her hands. Most, if not all mothers, want, in the very depths of her heart, for a child to survive. Without having what she needs, what she knows the child will need, that knowledge is true despair and thus, the burden.
However, there is no way we can always lay all the blame on the mother for this fact, either. Most women in this situation, if not all, I am sure of it, do not want their child to be a burden. It is instinctual in a woman, this desire for her child to survive, built into us. Every woman who finds herself with child wants to be happy. It is the sad fact that, in our world, at this time, not every woman can enjoy that feeling. Because if she cannot meet the child’s needs, then comes the worry. But, is that not a reflection on the mother but on our society? Dust Child highlighted the fact of the blame that is placed on the individual, rather than the blame we should place on the whole, whoever that whole may be; society, parents, governments, even other individuals. In finding an answer on whom to blame, when a child is blamed for anything they cannot control, spit on, urinated on, for what his parents did, in making him? Whoever does these actions and teaches these actions, there we can point a finger.
As the story focuses on a boy living as a “dust child” and some of the women who made dust children, the time period, what their life was like with the soldiers, as, essentially, prostitutes, an after, as they are an adult, I only am left to imagine how hard it would have to be a female dust child growing up. Having to live in a culture that rejected the way a woman looks, because of their “western” features. And while I do not want to play down the effects for a male, being hated for his appearance, I cannot imagine how hard, because there are differences between the sexes, that women, as a whole, care about their appearance more than the male sex does, whether this is a societal appropriation, or one that comes from being of the female persuasion, makes no real difference, as it is there. Could you imagine how much other people hating how you look might make you look in the mirror and hate the way you look too, as a woman and, the worst, growing into one? Sadly, not something we hear about directly here. But, Nguyen Phan Que Mai still has many more tales to tell, I am sure, as this is her second book and who knows what she will weave next, for readers.
Dust Child is a book that will lead you to tears, in the end, as the story comes full circle and wraps itself up. The writer really did a superb job and I want to thank the author and the publisher for the Goodreads win, my favorite, above all, if I was to have one. I have found an author I will follow forever as she presents life to readers without any varnish, even, stripped bare, to the bone and beats readers, batters us, with this sad tale. But, that is how I like to experience life as that is how I feel I have, at this time, led mine (or have had to lead it). Living life, experiencing life, laying it all bare, seeing all. Dust Child does just that. Learning the brutal truth of life makes for a more empathetic person. And, a better one, I have found. It also gives you more insight into yourself and who you want to be for yourself and for others.
Of everything I thought about and learned I think that, most of all, this writer has taught me that sometimes the stories we construct in our minds about the events in our lives that happen, that we tell others, if we put bows and ribbons where there weren’t any, make a story sweeter when it was really sour, so that others do not suffer, maybe even so that we no longer suffer, that is okay, but, that’s not true to reality. Life is hard and it needs to be portrayed that way. We can’t ever forget the truth of what was or we will never learn to know what really is or what should be.
I remember reading a nonfiction book in my late teens, having found it laying around and, a night to myself and nothing to do, read it. It was about a true crime that had occurred and, almost twenty five years later I have still never read a fictional tale, one that someone has made up in their mind, that has been worse. True crime, now very much a part of what we can view, whole stations revolve around it, how many podcasts about it, too many to count, has always had parts that contain more creative action than the creative mind can create. What I mean by this is a writer could create a fictional crime and you can always find one that has been, in reality, committed, that is sicker than anything, it seems, someone can make up. Real actions are worse than creative stories. And, if you care to debate that, I am sure that anything you can write, I can find some real life monster who has said or done worse. Or it may just simply be the fact of knowing that a person has gone through the actual experience of having had that happen.
To every reader, no matter the genre you like or read, Dust Child is a must on your reading shelf (and I mean, read, asap). I promise it’s a story you won’t forget. It will stick with you, as it did me, and hopefully, become a part of you, a better part. Maybe make the world and the people around you, make you look and see everything, all, in a different light. Hopefully, a more tolerant one. However, that will only happen if you take a part of the story or all of the story and learn something from it. Something that makes a better you. Because I know this story made me a better person as I learned many things and could really, go on forever about them, in this review. I think I’ll end here, as it’s long enough, and, hopefully, encouraged others enough to pick up a copy. As I promised, it will be worth it!
As always,
Happy Reading!