Novel Without a Name

Luong is Quan’s childhood friend: “He was a tall young man with a large, square face and jaw and straight eyebrows” (26). Though Quan and Luong join the army the same day, but the time the novel takes place, Luong’s career has advanced much more than Quan’s: “Now he was an officer at division headquarters, deputy to the commander […] He was a soldier, a professional” (28). Luong, Quan, and their other childhood friend, Bien, represent a spectrum of possibility: all three joined the army the same day from the same village, but each experiences a different journey while enlisted.

Luong’s journey represents that of a good soldier who doesn’t stir up trouble and advances easily. He buys into Party ideology completely. With a beard, Quan believes that Luong somewhat resembles Karl Marx (29). By the end of the novel, as Quan is questioning his belief in Marxist ideals, he realizes that Luong “wasn’t going to say anything more, that he would never tell [Quan] anything ever again” (262). Luong’s path diverges so far from Quan’s that their friendship, no matter how old, cannot survive.  

Bien is Quan’s other close childhood friend: “He was [Quan’s] age, but he was taller than [Quan] by a good head. He weighed 155 pounds and could carry 442 pounds of paddy on a bamboo pole slung over his shoulder” (30). Bien’s size and strength make his descent into madness that much more surprising and upsetting for Quan. When Quan finds Bien in the infirmary:

His eyes were dull, expressionless. His face was emaciated, ravaged, and his cheekbones stuck out at angles. His hair was spiky, like a hedgehog’s. Even against his bulky frame, his head looked enormous. He sat in a pile of filth and excrement, surrounded by pools of milky, rancid urine (88).

Bien’s transformation from a strong, capable boy into an emaciated, distraught man proves difficult for Quan to understand.

Where Luong has success (at the price of being completely indoctrinated to the Party), Bien falls at the opposite end of the possible spectrum–utter psychological destruction under the pressures of war. Bien’s inability to cope with the stress of war lands him in an infirmary, branded as a madman. Though Quan rescues him, Bien feels he cannot return to their village because he would be returning in shame. Instead, he joins a unit building coffins for the many dead, and not long after dies himself. If Luong represents the path where everything goes “right” for a young soldier, Bien represents the path where everything goes wrong. 

Dao Tien is the Commander in the zone where Quan eventually finds Bien. He is “a small, corpulent man with slitty eyes and a pompous, booming voice. Over fifty and balding” (73). When Quan arrives at Zone K, Dao Tien comments that his younger brother wanted to be a doctor; Dao Tien tried to convince his brother to be a soldier instead, citing Communist ideology to support his point. He believes very strongly in Party philosophy and cannot be convinced otherwise, though Quan does argue with him. Quan’s conversation with Dao Tien is the first significant instance in Novel Without a Name where Quan shows disillusionment with Marxism and its effect on the country. 

While on the train to Thanh Hoa, Quan sees “Two men, well-nourished, even a bit plump” (156). One is tall, the other smaller; both are Communist Party officials. As Quan listens in on their conversation, the officials enact, in dialogue, one of the central conflicts of Novel Without a Name. The taller man argues for the idealism of Marxism while the smaller man represents the pragmatic side thereof, explaining how officials can manipulate common people to their own benefit in the name of Marxism. They are shielded from reprimand by their authority positions. 

Though Quan argues with Dao Tien about the Communist Party in North Vietnam, and overhears two party officials on the train displaying the worst aspects of the party, his feelings don’t fully come to a head until his conversation with Kha, towards the end of the novel. Quan is at first furious with Kha for destroying captured goods and insulting party ideology, but as with other characters, Quan’s interactions with Kha force Quan to realize something about himself that was always there. He acknowledges, “I felt alone. Kha’s story obsessed me. My cowardly heart couldn’t bear the doubt” (279). What Kha says forces Quan to accept that whatever glory he had supposedly been fighting for is a sham.  

Early in the novel, Vieng takes in Quan at a shelter in the jungle. Vieng has “a flat square face, cheeks covered with red pimples, buck teeth protruding over thick, horsy lips” (38). She is in charge of a cemetery, gathering corpses and burying them, and thanks to a lack of soap always smells like blood. Once Vieng is asleep, Quan observes that Vieng “filled [him] with a mixture of horror, curiosity, and pity” (45). In the middle of the night, Vieng attempts to have sex with Quan. He refuses on the grounds that he is unable.

In considering why he’s unable to have sex with Vieng, Quan realizes that, “It wasn’t just because she was ugly that I had rejected her” (49). Rather, “This woman was born of the war. She belonged to it, had been forged by it…I had needed to meet her to finally see myself clearly…I had never really committed myself to war” (49). Vieng, who literally and figuratively reeks of blood and death, is the living embodiment of the war, a fact that disgusts Quan on a visceral, unconscious level. 

Luy is a member of Quan’s unit. He is nearly six feet tall and Quan describes him as “[a]n only son” and “very spoiled…Luy could easily down eight or nine bowls of rice at each meal” (17). Luy is an excellent hunter who accidentally shoots and kills another member of his unit. Later, Quan discovers that Luy has gone mad and been sent away. 

Hoa is Quan’s childhood sweetheart. Right before Quan enlisted, he and Hoa shared a romantic evening where they agreed not to have sex in case of accidental pregnancy. Quan tells Hoa that he will marry her when he returns from the war; Hoa tells Quan that she will wait for him. In Quan’s absence, Hoa is drafted by the village’s Communist Party committee and then impregnated by an unknown man who refuses to identify himself. Refusing to name the man, Hoa is shamed, thrown out by her parents, and lives in a hut alone.

Though Quan loves Hoa when he finds her again, he soon realizes that cannot last: “The beautiful dream that once bound us to each other had died” (149). He leaves again, this time with “[n]o good-byes. No promises” (153). As with others he knew as a younger man, Quan’s relationship with Hoa is changed irreparably by the war, separating them forever.

Hung, according to Quan, is “the perfect illustration of the classic Chinese treatise on military strategy: The best soldiers were bandits, robbers, and vagabonds, followed by homeless orphans” (215). Hung is disturbingly violent; his proudest moment is when he killed a South Vietnamese officer and his wife mid-intercourse by driving a bayonet through them both. He refuses to help carry dead and wounded, brags about his murderous exploits, and eventually concocts a reason to execute three prisoners Quan’s unit is supposed to be escorting to prison.

As is the case with several other characters in Novel Without a Name, Hung’s actions in executing helpless prisoners reveal to Quan something important about himself: “My face burned with the shame of a truth I had never admitted to myself…Hung had dared to commit an act that I had contemplated” (224).