Listen, Slowly

Mai’s grandmother, called Bà, is the aging matriarch of the family who fled Saigon in 1975 after the Vietnam War. She has seven children, and her husband disappeared and was reported as missing in action. Bà came to America to start a new life for herself and her children, but she never made peace with the mystery of her husband’s disappearance. Now in her advanced age, a detective emerges, claiming he has new information on Ông’s final days. Bà decides to make her final visit to her ancestral home to put her grief to rest and make peace with the past. When the reader first meets her through Mai’s eyes, Bà appears to be a frail, old woman. However, once the plane lands and Bà arrives back in her home village, she comes to life, reinvigorated by communing with her extended family. As she begins to speak and teach Mai about her life in Vietnam, Bà transforms into a strong, wise woman who endured a lifetime of grief but remained steadfast and hopeful in caring for her family.

As the narrative progresses, Mai’s relationship with her grandmother evolves. At first, she is frustrated with being a caregiver to her grandmother. However, even when she is angry with her parents, Mai is kind and respectful to Bà. She appears to understand why Mai acts the way she does and gives her space to be emotional. “Bà understands; she always has. I don’t know how, but Bà has always known how I feel at any given moment, especially when I’m sad, especially when I’m in need of a quartered lemon drop” (46). Though she is patient and longsuffering with Mai’s adolescent whining, Bà pushes Mai to be a better person. She leads by example, and even when she loses her temper with the guard, she uses it as a teachable moment for Mai.

Bà does not force Vietnamese life on Mai but instead encourages her to earnestly learn how Vietnamese culture works and to accept new relatives and friends she meets. Eventually, Mai allows the other relatives to influence her skin care regimen, clothing choices, and eating schedule, but it is only in the quiet moments alone with Bà that Mai really learns what it means to be Vietnamese: “First, we need to be alone and calm, and when time has slowed, we will find a way to understand each other” (11). Mai and Bà’s relationship transcends the language barrier, and they connect on a much deeper level. At the end of the journey, infused with seemingly supernatural energy, Bà rides around Saigon, meditatively closing the door on each part of her life, blessing the joy and the sorrow alike. As she blesses her granddaughter, she passes the torch to the next generation, confident she has inspired her to embrace her Vietnamese heritage and keep the flame alive inside to one day pass on to others.

Út is the first teenager Mai meets in Vietnam, and though their relationship gets off to a poor start, the girls eventually become close friends. Being from America, Mai is an outsider in the small Vietnamese village. Út is also an outsider in her community, shunning the traditional fashion and beauty standards of her peers. Preferring her shabby clothing and sun-bronzed face to the other girls’ flowy outfits and pale skin, Út hovers on the fringes of community life, preferring to be alone with her pet frog than socialize with others. Mai at first sees her as strange, but quickly sees a unique beauty in Út’s face: “She stands there rubbing a military-style buzz cut like she’s proud to be one inch from baldness. Strange, but she’s kinda pretty, with a perfectly proportioned oval face Bà would call mặt trái xoan and long, thick, eyelashes” (33). What begins as a forced playdate by Út’s mother transforms throughout the narrative into a deep and sincere friendship.

Út’s strong personality is a good match for Mai’s self-assured and demanding nature. The girls are drawn together by their shared love of adventure but also their common appreciation for authenticity. Mai knows her friendship with Montana is shallow and insincere, evidenced by the fact that Montana took no time in moving in on Mai’s crush as soon as she left town. Even Út, with her limited knowledge of American culture, can see through photos that Montana is not a true friend. She says, “Best friend? She would think of your happiness before her own?” (57). The more time Mai spends with Út, the less she thinks of Montana and the boy back home. Út’s friendship encourages Mai to expand her thinking and embrace new things, as opposed to her friendships back home that have her stifling her true self to conform to conventional beauty standards. Most importantly, through her time with Út, Mai begins speaking in Vietnamese and commits to becoming proficient in reading, speaking, and writing in her ancestral language. Út teaches Mai what a true friend can be and the importance of embracing one’s authentic self.

Anh Minh is older than Mai and is home from studying abroad in Houston, Texas. His words serve as humorous moments in the text as he speaks English with a pronounced Texas accent. Anh Minh serves as Mai’s language interpreter, but he also translates important lessons about manners and culture that Mai does not understand, giving her valuable wisdom about respecting elders in the community and rules for how children should conduct themselves. In a telling moment, Anh Minh explains to Mai that there is no word in the Vietnamese language for “teenager”; once children reach a certain age, they are expected to act like adults and mature quickly. He helps Mai understand the importance of putting aside her childish demands and worries and focusing on her task of chaperoning Bà’s journey. Anh Minh also helps Mai come to better appreciate her educational opportunities. He explains the inequalities that exist in Vietnam, and he introduces her to many people who are struggling to find a path toward furthering their education or career, teaching her not to take her education for granted.

In addition to his culture and history lessons, Anh Minh teaches Mai about the nuances and beauty of speaking Vietnamese and ultimately inspires in Mai a deeper respect and curiosity for its layered and lyrical mode of expression. Anh Minh takes great joy in his translations, often staying up all night to provide a translation of a conversation for Mai. She thinks, “Anh Minh looks like he’s listening to a love song, scribbling, scribbling” (75). For Anh Minh, his language is a love song, and in its words and inflections, he hears the story of the land. Having experienced bullying over the sound of his Vietnamese name while in Texas, he is no stranger to outsider’s views of the strangeness of his first language; however, the experience did not damper his love of Vietnamese and only emboldened his passion for its diacritically accented letters. Mai meets many interesting and gregarious individuals on her trip through Vietnam, and Anh Minh becomes her teacher, tour guide, and mentor on her journey toward embracing her heritage.