Paradise of the Blind

A deep and enriched journey of the senses, Paradise of the Blind explores a world where women come second to men, and communism takes away not only people's land, but also their dreams. Through the eyes of Hang, a young woman who grew up amidst the slums and intermittent beauty of Hanoi, we come to know the tragedies of her family as her village is ripped apart. Only by freeing herself from the past will Hang be able to find dignity and a future. The most remarkable thing is that the author Duong Thu Huong isn't really a novelist, she is a professional screenwriter. In an interview she said she had never planned to write novels. She said it happened "because of the pain." I think the title implies that Vietnam can be a paradise, but only to those who are blind towards what is truly happening around them. Choosing a deeper level of knowledge leads to a complicated life, the life that Hang lives in the novel, and Huang most likely lived before she left the country.

The novel follows Hang as she travels to Moscow to visit her sick uncle. Along the way she reminisces about her life. Hang finds herself torn between two women: the mother she loves, but is continuously disappointed by, and her domineering, paternal aunt. Hang is an inspiration to women, as she rejects the tradition of women who sacrifice themselves for family, and particularly for men. As I read this book I was surprised by how similar Turks and Vietnamese are in their emotions and understandings. I could tell that love, family, respect, revenge and affection are very important, both in my culture and in the Vietnamese world. This novel is essentially a story of three women from two generations whose family is torn apart by a brother who put communist ideology above family loyalty. Hang's mother, Que, and her Aunt Tam, are both extremely strong characters. They portray themselves as women who are willing to endure hardship merely due to their desire to preserve family lineage.

A novel that is banned in its own country would be appealing to most foreigners. This is a factor that makes Paradise of the Blind a must read for anyone who loves world literature. Duong Thu Huong's writing is so haunting, so precise, and it's very clear that she has the perspective of one who has suffered. I can see why this novel was banned in Vietnam; I would imagine that her portrayal of local Communist leaders is not one that would bring a government much pleasure. The result of Huong's achingly beautiful writing is a sad but powerful story of a culture in transition. I enjoyed this book for the rich picture it painted of a culture I knew virtually nothing about. Paradise of the Blind provides a true sense of life in the Vietnam that existed not so long ago. The novel travels a bitter, beautiful road as it depicts the oppression of life permeated by culture and ideology. Huong shows in the hopeful ending that it is possible for determined individuals to resist and transcend these powerful forces.

Never Let Me Go

How can the perfect novel be about a dystopia? This is what that I asked myself a few days after finishing Never Let Me Go. When I started the novel I had no idea what I was getting into. Having never been a fan of science fiction, I was worried about reading it. I shouldn't have been concerned, because Kazuo Ishiguro's exquisite writing style transformed the book from a depressing out-of-world love story to a masterful study on mortality.

The narration is careful and understated, and exists solely to focus on the way young people can make a life out of whatever is offered to them. The reader is busily occupied with the interactions of Kathy and her best friends Ruth and Tommy. In these relationships, Ishiguro sets a cat's cradle of psychological and emotional tensions. I was struck by the whole concept of organ donation, and how Kathy, Tommy and Ruth were treated by normal human beings. Never Let Me Go deals with questions about humanity and humaneness as the novel shows a steady erosion of hope. It is a tale of deceptive simplicity. Ishiguro is slow to reveal an extraordinary amount of emotional depth and resonance, but once everything is out it raises an interesting question. Would it be better to be brought up in ignorance and be happy, not knowing you are going to die much earlier than others because you were created to donate body parts? Or is it best to tell the donors what is going to happen to them, and take away the innocent happiness of their childhood. Personally, I can't decide on an answer.

Even though it was a completely unrelatable topic, the novel hit me close to home. It continued to haunt me even after I finished the novel. Kazuo Ishiguro's words weave a beautifully damned world, and even when I didn't understand what was happening, I was very attached to the characters. I still felt like something ominous was looming over the whole plot. I read faster, waiting for the secret to be spilled. I devoured this book in one sitting, and didn't stop to take it in until I was done. It reduced me to tears as if I had just woken up from a disturbing dream. I felt disoriented and anxious, almost betrayed by the thought that this situation could occur, now or in the future. Kazuo Ishiguro was never interested in the possibility of escaping and rebuilding lives. His novel was written as an exploration of a doomed life, where characters realize: you cannot lose a thing that was never yours and things that you have lost cannot wash back to you and wait in perfect condition on the shores.