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324 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1991
the kindest, most worthy people have all fallen away, or even been tortured, humiliated before being killed, or buried and wiped away by the machinery of war.... Justice may have won, but cruelty, death and inhuman violence had also won.
What remained was sorrow, the immense sorrow, the sorrow of having survived. (p.187)
The sorrow of war inside a soldier's heart was in a strange way similar to the sorrow of love. It was a kind of nostalgia, like the immense sadness of a world at dusk. It was a sadness, a missing, a pain which could send one soaring back into the past. The sorrow of the battlefield could not normally be pinpointed to one particular event, or even one person. If you focused on any one event it would soon become a tearing pain. (p.90)Kien's great love Phuong comes and goes throughout the novel. I have to say I found her incoherent as a character and began to wonder if she is actually standing in for Vietnam itself--beautiful and ravaged, faithful and inconstant, innocent and corrupt.
What remained was sorrow, the immense sorrow, the sorrow of having survived. The sorrow of war.Sometimes, the moment you start reading a book, you know that you are in presence of great literature. There is a certain cadence to the words, a music in the way the sentences flow, that lets you sense the heartbeat of the author; and you say to yourself yes, I've just encountered a classic which is going to endure over years, over decades, over centuries... going to endure as long as humans walk the earth. The Sorrow of War by the Vietnamese author Bao Ninh is such a book.
The fallen soldiers shared one destiny; no longer were there honorable or disgraced soldiers, heroic or cowardly, worthy or worthless. Now they were merely names and remains.Kien's chronicle then moves ahead without any logical sequence, jerking back and forth in time and space, like a badly edited movie with frequent jump cuts. There are no chapters in this book. It's one continuous yet jerky narrative, with multiple shifting viewpoints, and at some point of time we come to know that Kien is writing a novel, and fiction and fact have no clear boundaries.
For some of the other dead, not even that. Some had been totally vaporized, or blasted into such small pieces that their remains had long since been liquidized into mud.
"When are you leaving?"We come to know the crucial event that lead to the crack in their relationship towards the end - and in a way, it symbolises the whole disillusionment of an idealistic young man who rushed into war, dreaming of a better tomorrow.
"Tonight. Now. We won't see each other ever again," she said.
"Just like that? Like closing a bad book?" he said.
They stood and embraced, kissing for a few moments. Phuong pushed him away. "That's enough!" she said.
Kien followed her as she walked to the door. As she was about to leave she turned and leaned against the door."Forgive me, and now forget me," she said. "I may not know what exactly my future holds, but I do know we can't meet again."
"Are you in love?" he said.
"I loved you and only you, Kien. I never loved anyone else. And you?" she asked.
"I still love you," he replied.
She departed, forever. He had only two loves in his entire life. Phuong at seventeen in the prewar days, and Phuong now, after the war.
But war was a world with no home, no roof, no comforts. A miserable journey, of endless drifting. War was a world without real men, without real women, without feeling.And in the end, nothing is left but a deep exhaustion.
All around the airport the victorious troops were enjoying their greatest prize: sleep.***