Showing results by narrator "Kim Thúy"

Ru est composé de très courts récits liés un peu comme dans une ritournelle : la première phrase du chapitre reprend le plus souvent l'idée qui terminait le chapitre précédent...

Ru. In Vietnamese it means lullaby; in French it is a small stream, but also signifies a flow - of tears, blood, money. Kim Thúy's Ru is literature at its most crystalline: In vignettes of exquisite clarity, sharp observation, and sly wit, we are carried along on an unforgettable journey from a palatial residence in Saigon to a crowded and muddy Malaysian refugee camp, and onward to a new life in Quebec. There, the young girl feels the embrace of a new community, and revels in the chance to be part of the American Dream.

Mãn has three mothers: the one who gives birth to her in wartime, the nun who plucks her from a vegetable garden, and her beloved Maman, who becomes a spy to survive. Seeking security for her grown daughter, Maman finds Mãn a husband - a lonely Vietnamese restaurateur who lives in Montreal. Thrown into a new world, Mãn discovers her natural talent as a chef. Gracefully she practices her art, with food as her medium. She and her husband seem to drift along, respectfully and dutifully. But when she encounters a married chef in Paris, everything changes in the instant of a fleeting touch....

The youngest of four children and the only girl, Vi was given a name that meant "precious, tiny one", destined to be cosseted and protected, the family's little treasure. Daughter of an enterprising mother and a wealthy, spoiled father who never had to grow up, the Vietnam War destroys the life they've known. Vi, along with her mother and brothers, manages to escape - but her father stays behind, leaving a painful void as the rest of the family must make a new life for themselves in Canada.

Kim Thúy nous livre son nouveau roman puissant et raffiné, à la hauteur de son talent. Mãn est une histoire d'amour...

Mon prénom, Bào Vi, illustrait l'intention de mes parents de "protéger la plus petite". Si l'on traduit littéralement, je suis "Précieuse minuscule microscopique". Comme dans la plupart des cas au Vietnam, je n'ai pas su être à l'image de mon nom. Souvent, les filles qui s'appellent "Blanche" ou "Neige" ont le teint très foncé, et les garçons nommés "Puissance" ou "Fort" craignent les grandes épreuves. Quant à moi, je grandissais sans cesse, dépassant de loin la moyenne et, du même élan, me projetant en dehors des normes.