Review of "The Cat from Hue" by John Laurence

John Laurence, a young television reporter for CBS news, was sent to the front to cover the Vietnam War in 1965. Though barely surviving some situations, Laurence would go on to serve two additional “tours of duty”. It is this experience, along with personal reflection and commentary on the social and political arenas of Vietnam and the US that would later be collected in The Cat from Hue.  Interesting reading, those wishing to look deeper into life on the front lines in America’s war in Vietnam and media in the US should have a read.

A devil-may-care attitude is not precisely the mindset with which Laurence arrived in the southeast Asian country at war. It’s fair to say, however, his relative youth played a hand in repressing his fears and being somewhat innocent regarding American political interests in the region. The more time he spends at the front, however, interacting with soldiers and dealing with the contradictions and propaganda produced by not only the government but his own news agency, slowly drives Laurence to take his opinion of the war in the direction of much of America’s counter-culture, though naturally with a higher degree of sympathy for the soldiers and veterans and the clashing expectation from each side.

Review of "The Quiet American" by Graham Greene

Graham Greene may be one of the godfathers of the modern international spy novel.  But beyond entertainment, what allows his work to still be read today is the degree to which the personal and spiritual are tied into real-world political situations.  Prophetic beyond perhaps even he imagined, Greene’s 1955 The Quiet American is the story of the United States government poking its nose into the political affairs of Vietnam—a situation already fraught with French occupancy.  Many Americans were incensed upon the book’s publishing in the US, but Greene’s crystal ball vision has only come into sharper focus in the time since.  His portrayal of a flawed individual involved in this circumstance only makes the affair more poignant.

The Quiet American is the story of an ageing British journalist, named Thomas Fowler, living in Saigon and covering the war between the French and Vietnamese.  Despite being dedicated to his job, he is an opium user and keeps a young Vietnamese woman named Phuong as a lover unbeknownst to his wife in Britain.  In the course of reporting, Fowler runs across a young American living in the city.  An upper-class intellectual, Pyle seems innocent enough on the surface, but mysterious events soon begin taking shape, and when Pyle lays claim to Phuong, Fowler decides to use his credentials to dig deeper into the deepening political tension surrounding the man.  What he finds does not make the decisions that come any easier.

Though the novel operates in the mode of international thriller, Greene keeps the story at a personal level.  Fowler’s life is not easy, and his personal choices don’t help.  The uncertainty of having a job, drug use, adultery, and the chaos of war hanging on the fringes serve to weight his shoulders more than the average man’s—even basking in his own dark mood at times.  The novel’s conclusion nothing of the happy-go-lucky type, Fowler does find a measure of peace, but not without the addition of new problems.  Greene’s ability to mix this personal with the political has rightfully kept the novel’s head above water in the half-century that has passed since its publishing and is ultimately the reason its political commentary impresses both the reader’s heart and brain.

Greene’s portrayal of Pyle is not exactly the aristocratic, Harvard-educated person the average American envisions.  His motives set at a fundamentally ideological level, the reasons behind his existence in Vietnam exemplify the idea of morally gray.   Fowler himself not the most virtuous of people, the two characters’ storylines intertwine and evolve in wholly realistic fashion.  Knowing their exploits have not been idealized to manipulate reader’s emotions, the reading thus becomes a more engaging experience.  

In the end, The Quiet American, though short, has everything a good novel should.  Realistic main characters motivated by an equally realistic plot (especially given the history that has transpired since), all in lean, focused, well-written prose.  That Greene is able to effectively mix personal values with commentary upon the political motivation of an ambitious government pushes the novel toward being one of the best of the 20th century.  It is Vietnam War discussion before there was a war, and commentary on every major war in the Middle East that has occurred since, and worth a read.

(As a side note, Phillip Noyce’s 2002 film adaptation of The Quiet American is commendable.  While some plot elements are changed to fit the medium, the quality of Michael Caine’s performance is stunning.  Brendan Fraser’s role as Pyle may not win any awards, but the film’s overall cinematographic mood well captures the feel of Greene’s novel.  Worse adaptations existing, this one comes recommended, just not as a pure version of the novel.)

Culture Corner: Vietnam

This past winter break I decided to take a trip to southwest China, Vietnam, and Laos.  Laos was easily the highlight of the trip, but as it was perhaps only touching on a personal level, the experience is difficult to describe in a way you may find interesting.  This is not the case with Vietnam, however.  With the warmth of hearts and severity of greed constantly tugged me in opposite directions, my final opinion is left sitting on a fence.  Unable to say whether or not the country deserves the blessings of the gods, I will nevertheless pass along one experience that exemplified my time there and let you be the judge.

As some of you know, my father was in the Vietnam War (or the American War as the Vietnamese call it), and while I did not travel to Vietnam on some soul searching, Hallmark quest for spiritual salvation on his behalf, I did think amongst my travels it would be interesting to visit where he was stationed amongst the other things I had planned to see while in country.  And so it was one morning that I rented a motorbike and headed for a place called Chu Lai.

A mere speck on the squiggles and dashes I'd somehow wrangled from the internet (Vietnamese road maps not as readily available on Google as airport security plans), Chu Lai proved to be more of an area rather than a town.  An extremely rural location, the land was a former military base, runways now roads, bunkers drifted over with sand dunes, grasslands now rice paddies, and palm trees and little villages occupying what was once undoubtedly a more active place.  As a result, It took me some time to figure out the layout as I wound my way on gravel drives and dirt paths.  Though feeling lost, in fact I was where I wanted to be.  While riding in Vietnam, it had become my habit to stop for a break and have a beer or a smoke, and upon coming to the realization the fields, villages, and palm trees were as civilized as Chu Lai was going to get, I pulled over at a Vietnamese "café" to see what it was like. This is where the real story begins.

The café was beachside, waves rolling steadily in, a couple cows wandering through the sand, and warm sun shining all around.  (It in fact turned out to be the most pristine section of beach I've encountered in some time, miles and miles of white sand, village huts and children playing, the area completely unknown to tourism.)  As I put down the kickstand and  brushed the dust from my t-shirt and shorts, what should walk out from beneath the thatched roof of the café but the most beautiful girl I'd seen in Vietnam.  Not the least afraid, she smiled and invited me to sit down and served what I pointed at in the little glass counter.  The choices were: one kind of beer, two brands of cigarette, one water, and two kinds of soda.  As I drank my beer and rolled a smoke, I was completely amazed at how unabashed this girl was, even the Vietnamese I met in Hanoi (a city of four or five million with thousands of tourists) were often shy and embarrassed at the sight of a foreigner.  But she in her country comfort was not the least concerned, sitting down beside me in her café's rickety, homemade chair, eager for contact.   As I spoke no Vietnamese and she no English, everything between us was smiles and finger pointing.  I had a guidebook with a few phrases in Vietnamese, but since "Does your restaurant have baby seats?" had little practical usage, the only real pieces of information I could get was that her name was Tao and she was 19.  As there were no other customers, for an hour we had the ocean breeze and cool shade of the café to ourselves, nothing but fun and laughter in our outlandish attempts at communication.  

After a while her mother appeared to relieve her for noon break, and so Tao invited me to her house for lunch.  Getting to her house we rode amongst the most pastoral scenery I'd seen in Vietnam, lazy rice paddies, dirt paths hardened by bare feet and the simplest of square concrete homes open to the warm sun, dogs and ducks sitting in the shade.  Her father greeted me enthusiastically (the little devil), and after taking off our shoes, brought me inside to sit down and eat.  

Myself already three beers deep, her old man pulled out the booze after we began eating, and soon enough, shot after shot of rice wine was burning its way down my throat.  A half hour later, our meal finished, his literal 50 pound frame, unable to handle the bottle we'd knocked back, began its propositioning: I should marry his daughter.  Tao seemed a little hopeful about this, but I had to disappoint and answer 'no.'  He repeated his offer, but I held firm, causing him to shake his head disappointedly at my answer.  

This is where the story takes a drastic turn.  Tao’s father upped the ante:  I didn't have to marry his daughter, I could just have her for money.  Tao got up and left the table.  I'm quite certain she was afraid her father's bid might be taken, men in their traditional culture having such power over women.  But I refused these repeated offers as well.  There was a period of silence in which I tried to change the subject, but the father was still focused.  Wavering and red faced in intoxication, he then propositioned killing one of the dogs nearby, miming slitting its throat and taking a big bite out of its hindquarter.  As I'd already seen that kind of dog used as food (and eaten some!), I'm 99% certain he was serious.  Certainly he viewed it as the cherry on the cake in exchange for his oldest.  I refused this as well.  More shots, and things deteriorated further: he asked directly for money, the hand gestures for this universal throughout the world.  I asked him why, pointing at the food we'd eaten with a shrug.  But the only reply he could come up with was to continue to rub his thumb and forefinger together.  He simply wanted me to give him money.  Quite a guy, huh?  Well, he gets better.  

After seeing I wasn't going to marry his daughter, sleep with her for money, or give in to his begging, Tao’s father drunkenly figured he was down to one last hope to take advantage of this exceedingly rich foreigner who'd magically landed in his lap that afternoon: he proposed we go to a local brothel (the sign language for this equally well known around the world).  I'll be the first to support the traditional cultures of this world, but as I cannot combine them, I simply got up from the table and went off to find Tao, uttering a simple 'goodbye' and 'thank you' to the man for his food and wine.  

Saddened at her prospects for the future, I found Tao with her mother back at the beachside café.  We sat around in silence for a while.  What do you say after such bargaining ended with bitter feelings on both sides?  I had a little chocolate with me, so I gave it to her and wrote a note in English that said something to the effect she needed to somehow continue her education and escape her father's clutches if she were to have any hope of enjoying life.  I hung around for a bit more, wandering on the beach and thinking of various possibilities, but after a while I just got back on the motorbike and puttered off, leaving nothing but confused, opposing ideas behind.

So, that's what Vietnam was in a nutshell: moments of extreme beauty, the mountains and hill tribes in the northwest, Halong Bay, and the children playing amongst the noodle stalls in the quiet back alleys of Hanoi, mixed with moments of extreme ugliness, the rapacious manner in which money is sought, the dust and grime covering everything urbanized, and the lack of self respect so many of them had in their mannerisms towards tourists.  I don't know what to think of it all.  Maybe you should go to make up your own mind?

Culture Corner: Vietnam Part II

This is Part II of my photos from Vietnam.  (For Part I, click here.)

From the ocean I headed inland to Vietnam's mountains, the Tonkinese Alps, of which the tallest at 3143m (10,300 ft. for the metric impaired), Fansipan, is pictured above.

Amongst the hills and mountains live numerous ethnic minorities, many of which congregate daily in a little hilltop town called Bac Ha for market.  Here are some of the local women relaxing in their very colorful dress.

After sharing a smoke, these men insisted I take a photo of them at work.

Haircuts are all part of the daily market.

In order to get around this beautiful area and to the village markets, I rented one of their little motorbikes (when in Rome…) and was treated to some wonderful experiences, including the most delicious dog meat I've ever eaten.  (I guarantee you also would have thought so.)  Above is yours truly with his trusty turquoise steed.

After exploring the mountainous northwest, I headed south along the coast, visiting cities like Hue, pictured above.  Yes, those are house boats on a canal to the right. (If you're interested in the Vietnam War, there is a wonderful book called The Cat From Hue that I recommend.)

After Hue, I visited Hoi An, which is home to many colonial style buildings, a relaxed atmosphere, and this temple decked out for Tet Festival.

For those of you who read my last culture corner about my visit to my father's old army base, Chu Lai, pictured above is a portion of its remains, not to mention a handsome young lad who asked me to take his photo.

And this is the wonderfully secluded beach I found there – secluded from tourists, that is.  Behind me are some village huts and children playing, idyllic down to the warm water and ripples in the sand.  Sorry, I don't have any photos of the beautiful young girl who was offered to me here, her beachside cafe, nor her bastard of a father.  Photos just triggers, that is an experience I keep in my memory.  If you want something like this, go make your own adventure.

The End

Culture Corner: Vietnam Part I

Considering I've just returned from a month's holiday in Xinjiang/East Turkestan (my first in an occupied country, I might add), I should probably pass along some photos from this past winter's holiday in Vietnam before I get too far behind.

I arrived in Vietnam just as they were preparing for Tet, the Vietnamese New Year.  Above is the capital, Hanoi, and as you see, the streets are constantly abuzz with motorbikes.  Even as you read and I write, I'm sure the city grid is zipping crazily with motorists and pedestrians.  Though never able to live there, this created a sense of life Western cities, with their wide streets and multitude of cars, can never realize.

This is the Red River flowing through the middle of Hanoi, its sweat rising over the city.

These are some of the street vendors selling flowers for Tet.  (Useless caption...)

This is just one corner of a much larger fruit and vegetable market in the city.

  Again, the chaos known as street life in Hanoi.  Trying to cross the street sets something alive inside you.

 Riding shotgun!!

  And one last photo from Hanoi's streets.

  This is a place very close to Hanoi called Halong Bay.  (I apologize for the defects in the photo.  It is the result of the Chinese definition of 'quality'.) I spent two beautiful days boating amongst these islands, exploring caves and kayaking.  Along the side of the island to the right you see a small floating village - complete with dogs (as pets you crazy people, they don't eat everything that moves.)  

Another photo of Halong Bay, an absolutely beautiful place.

Next, Part II here…