Things We Lost to the Water

Things We Lost to the Water is a novel about immigrants and how every immigrant experience is different. This is evident not just within Hương’s family and the Vietnamese community in New Orleans but also through the experiences of other immigrants, such as Addy and her father or Professor Schreiber. Every individual experience is different, but experiences also vary by entire groups.

Hương and her sons come to New Orleans as refugees from the Vietnam War. Although Hương is first placed with other Vietnamese immigrants, ostensibly for extra support since Hương knows very little English, they “never would have been friends in Vietnam” (11). Hương and the Minhs have different backgrounds and lifestyles and, implicitly, very different experiences of the Vietnam War. Hương is freshly traumatized and a single mother of two, while the Minhs are childless and Mr. Minh is a habitual drinker. From the beginning, Hương learns that she’s on her own and to expect no real support, even from her own community, which results in her social distance from most of the Versailles residents. Although she’s young, motherhood separates her priorities and lifestyle from those of Kim-Anh, who is also alone but is immature and surrounded by the influence of the fetishization of Asian women by white men. Rejecting Catholicism, Hương by extension rejects community via church, choosing instead to align herself with other (semi) outcasts: Bà Giang, a woman too old for typical work but indispensable for childcare services, and Vinh, a late-wave immigrant to New Orleans who has wandered far but can’t keep a job. Even though they aren’t close, Hương bonds with Addy’s father (a Haitian immigrant) as well. For Hương, sacrifice, independence, and hard work equal survival. In her view, one may not be rich or participate in the school’s PTA, but if food is on the table, clothes are on one’s back, and a go-bag is ready for emergencies, that’s enough. It’s love, and it’s life.

For Tuấn, lessons must be learned the hard way too: He has enough memories of Vietnam to be proud of his heritage and to know where he came from as well as the brain plasticity to adjust to the US, but he’s constantly suspended in between both cultures and struggles to balance the two. Considered slow at school because of his language barrier and bullied because of his Vietnamese background, Tuấn rebels by embracing his heritage and tries to prove his identity by joining the Southern Boyz gang—loud and proud Vietnamese adolescents who look out for their own, even as they become the bullies Tuấn hates. This conflict between his Vietnamese and American identities buries his kind nature and open-minded curiosity: He wants to befriend the mixed Black/Vietnamese boy at Versailles but is teased and rejected for his overtures. Not until he accepts himself as Vietnamese American do his identities balance out: Tuấn rejects all connections with the Southern Boyz (including Thảo, who Tuấn once admired for her Việt pride), returning to Vietnam to witness the changes both within the country he left and in himself, and he can embrace himself for who he is: a family-oriented, kind Vietnamese man. Only then can Tuấn, like his mother, find a kindred spirit in Addy, whose own experiences mirror Tuấn’s and balance him out.

Bình’s experience as an immigrant is almost the reverse of his family’s: Although he wasn’t born an American citizen, he was enculturated as one; to them, he’s the most “American” of them all. Bình, however, disagrees: Although he can’t understand the language and has no memory of Vietnam, he’s “othered” at school because he isn’t white. He changes his name to Ben to make it “[e]asier [...] [f]or everyone [white people]” (77) and is held back in school because he’s both too smart and not smart enough: “Orientals are good at the mathematics” (149), his teacher once told him. Bình, a bibliophile, eventually studies English and literature in college, which alienates him from both his family (given their own language struggles and employment priorities) and his (white) peers, who resent a non-white immigrant encroaching on their academic turf. Although Schreiber, also an immigrant, defends him, it’s layered with enough race and class distinctions as to make the alliance uncomfortable. Bình finds greater comfort in people from marginalized groups, like Addy, a Black immigrant from Haiti, and Howie, who is closeted. Bình’s search to connect with his father and his Vietnamese identity—via the Vietnamese church and Paris—conversely leads him to become more accepting of himself as he finds a partner (Michel) and matures from rebellious pseudo-Communist to working adult, and he later reconnects with his estranged Vietnamese family in the wreckage of Hurricane Katrina.

Vinh is also an immigrant, though his experience is detailed less than those of the other characters. He was a soldier in the South Vietnamese Army and has his own implied trauma when Tuấn calls him “no one” and “nothing” (134). However, by the time he arrives in New Orleans, he’s more adjusted to American culture, to the point that he adopts English endearments in his speech and speaks of relaxing rather than working hard, as other immigrants often must. In this way, he’s a foil to Hương, who’s reluctant to fully let go of her Vietnamese past and identity, but he isn’t quite a prediction of Tuấn’s future or Bình’s aspirations. Rather, as an adult who toes the line between mature and immature, Vinh represents the possibility of who Tuấn could become, depending on his choices as a youth, and the Vietnamese man of the community whom Bình once wanted to be but eventually rejects.

Other immigrants have equally complicated experiences. Đinh-Fredric is isolated from other children and alienated at Versailles because of his Black father, even though he identifies as Vietnamese and even as an adult reminds Hương of Vietnam, even when Vinh, a full Vietnamese man, doesn’t. Addy and Bình bond as non-white immigrants in a majority-white city, though they drift apart because of Bình’s gay identity. Addy and Tuấn later bond for a similar reason to Addy and Bình’s initial friendship, which strengthens over shared family values. In contrast, though Professor Schreiber is also an immigrant, his European background and identity as a (presumably straight) white, white-collar university professor affords him social privileges that Bình and other (non-white) immigrants don’t receive, which color both his interactions and relationship with Bình throughout his section of the book.

Thus, while the novel depicts the experiences of immigrants, it also shows that this process isn’t monolithic. Rather, immigration is complex and differs from person to person, as well as from group to group.

Fathers, and the presence (or lack thereof) of father figures, have a huge impact on the characters in this novel. For the younger generation, this influences how they grow up and come of age; for the older generation(s), it influences the direction their lives take as well as the roles they fill (or not).

Công, in his mercurial ghostly presence, is the most obvious example of this. His sacrifice—or abandonment, depending on one’s perspective—leaves Tuấn and Bình without the biological father they’re taught to expect in their lives. Tuấn, who knew Công during both his good and bad periods in Vietnam, hopes and grieves for Công as a child, rejects reminders of him in adolescence, and matures, accepts, and understands him as an adult. Although Tuấn considers Công a near-stranger at his funeral, Tuấn has since adapted: In a way, Tuấn replaces him at the novel’s end. Tuấn is the father Bình needs but doesn’t realize he needs, and though Tuấn is separated from Hương during the hurricane, unlike Công in Vietnam, Tuấn refuses to abandon Hương, telling her where to find him when the disaster ends and the waters calm. Just as Hương wonders if Công abandoned his family because he couldn’t leave his own mother in Vietnam, Addy loves and admires Tuấn for the same trait.

For Bình, the concept of “father” is a complicated and touchy subject. He has no memory of Công, only what Hương and Tuấn recall of him, so the constant comparison of Bình’s likeness to Công and what Công ostensibly would approve or disapprove of (intended as disciplinary measures) instead create an impossible standard that Bình can never satisfy. Hương’s lie about Công’s “death” and “heroism”—meant as a comfort against the painful truth of abandonment—may have worked for Tuấn because of his age and memories, but for Bình, the supposed clone of an exalted martyr, the reputation proves too high of a pedestal to strive for; discovering the tapes and Hương’s lie at once humanizes Công and gives him flaws, while simultaneously reinforcing the uselessness of absent father figures. Not only was Công dishonorable (abandoning them), but all the reasons that Bình was supposed to emulate him become doubly pointless. Công was no hero (so why aspire to be like him or care what he thinks), and his expectations and similarities to Bình are doubly painful (if Bình is like him, no wonder he’s a family disappointment). As the saying goes, “Never meet one’s heroes, as one is destined for disappointment.”

Instead, Bình searches for father figures in his daily life but is always seemingly destined for disappointment in this too. As an infant, he believes that his father is a tape recorder. Later, he looks to religion, drawn to the camaraderie between Father Hiệu and the teenage boys at Versailles, as well as the community created by the Vietnamese church; his mother destroys this affiliation, which also impacts his relationship with her. Briefly, Bình dreams of Vinh being both his biological father and honorary father figure so that he can have a realistic role model; however, this, too, eventually falls flat. Further compounding this disappointment, Howie shares his concerns of coming out to his own father.

The closest Bình comes to feeling like he has a father figure is in his relationship with Professor Schreiber, who encourages Bình’s academic and intellectual talents and supports Bình’s going to a university. However, Bình never fully embraces Schreiber’s generosity; he feels that their relationship is transactional or that he’s like a trained monkey to the professor because of the difference in their backgrounds (class, ethnicity, linguistic, education, etc.). Therefore, in the end, Bình rejects Schreiber too, deciding to listen only to himself and other rebels his age: Abandonment becomes his identity.

Vinh tries to be a father to Tuấn and Bình, but his influence is limited. They’re wary of Vinh and consider him an outsider when he moves in with them, resenting his intrusion into their cramped space. He remains jobless while they struggle with transitioning from adolescence to adulthood, making him a poor role model when they need one most. Although the boys, especially Bình, eventually accept Vinh’s relationship with Hương and admire his tattoos as an exotic idea, they ultimately reject his attempts at step-fatherhood: the snacks he makes for them and his attempts at advice and mediation, once when Tuấn is enamored with the Southern Boyz and once when Bình confronts Hương about the letters and tapes to Công. Although Vinh knew the truth about Công before the boys did, Vinh must constantly fight an impossible battle against Công’s persistent presence in the home. Although Hương moves on romantically from Công and is fully committed to Vinh, Công’s name and reputation have more power over Tuấn and Bình than Vinh’s does, and he’s “angry and silent” (216)—even jealous—when Hương and Tuấn go to Vietnam for Công’s funeral. Insecure in his position as the rebound/second partner, he attempts to bond with Lan, Công’s second wife, over their shared relationship status. However, during this trip, Vinh starts coming into his own as partner and father: He supports Hương as she struggles to comprehend the present Vietnam with the one she left, and he takes Tuấn to try and find his childhood home (long since demolished). In this way, while Công again proves himself finally, irrevocably absent, Vinh is there to pick up the pieces in his own blundering way. Even though Hương thinks Vinh is “immature” and “could never be a father” (178), he tries his best anyway, keeping Hương in check during the hurricane and being there for the boys whether they wanted him there or not. Parenting is a thankless job, but Vinh does it anyway.

Fatherhood is likewise influential for characters like Đinh-Fredric. Although he never appears outside his photograph, Đinh-Fredric’s father exerts a major influence on his life: His mother moves them to New Orleans to look for Đinh-Fredric’s father, and even after moving to Texas, the adult Đinh-Fredric returns to New Orleans to continue his quest. Like Công, Đinh-Fredric’s father, though absent, leaves an indelible mark—in his case, his skin color and the shape and texture of his hair. Đinh-Fredric’s mixed genetics isolate him from the rest of the Vietnamese community at Versailles, though he identifies and speaks Vietnamese better than some of the full-Vietnamese children there (including Bình).

Fathers come in various forms, good and bad. The novel explores the theme of fatherhood and how it affects both children and adults, from multiple perspectives.