for the love of all things creative nonfiction

Oops, I accidentally forgot to update my reading journey. I was reading--I finished Jerald Walker's book--but then I got busy with weddings! I got married in early spring and mid-summer this year sooo I definitely wasn't prioritizing reading this summer. But!

A quick recap via my BlueSky (including some books I have mentioned already here before).

Kao Kalia Yang's memoirs. One of the first Hmong writers I read in college, she writes emotional & beautiful memoirs. Haven't read the last two in a while, but "Where Rivers Part" was heartbreaking. I had forgotten some things about the Hmong experience; this reminded me of stories from my parents.

Putsata Reang was born in Cambodia & raised in rural Oregon. I have an affinity for writers from rural places. This book resonated: growing up in white spaces, a particular protectiveness over mom, & having one's partner rejected by parents. Also, I learned more about Cambodian refugees' history. ["Ma and Me"]

Ly navigates life while helping her parents make a life in the '90s in Queens. With worsening eyesight & no support, it leads to other issues…I had some questions, but overall, resonated with me: the shattering self-image, the anxiety from parents' expectations while understanding their trauma. ["House of Sticks" by Ly Tran]

Borrowed from a friend, I read this #Hmong book last week. Though not titled a memoir, it essentially is one, chronicling his young years w/ family escaping & then growing up in Minnesota. Then, desperate to achieve his dreams, he makes mistakes and ends up in state & federal prison. ["Thoughts From Prison: A Hmong Boy's Journey from the Mountains of Laos to the American Urban Jungle" by Chance Chang Vang]

Read this earlier this year based on a rec from a friend. Heartbreaking, painful to read at times, but the author's journalistic personal inquiry into complex trauma was enlightening and interesting. ["What My Bones Know" by Stephanie Foo]

Heartbreaking. Bittersweet. Painful. This chapters-long letter of a book addressing a mother that she can no longer reach--despite the mother being alive--because of so many reasons…utterly full of regret and aching and pleas. This book honestly broke me. ["They Called Us Exceptional" by Prachi Gupta.]

I took a couple months off of reading after the June wedding since I also went on my honeymoon in July. I finally had some time to read in August and September, helping me finish "All You Can Ever Know" by Nicole Chung, a 2018 memoir.

Chung, who is a Korean American adoptee, details life growing up wondering why her biological parents gave her up. I bought the book on a whim a few years ago, but never got around to finishing it. I got maybe 40 pages in and then just didn't have the time. However, I was able to check out the audiobook version on Libby and finally finished it during my work commute. It ended up being a bit different than I thought. For some reason, my assumption was that this book might dig into the adoptive system more, especially for Korean babies--and even more so because now there's stories about how Korean mothers were forced to give away their children. However, I have to remember that this story written before those recent 2024/2025 revelations. This book was written in 2018. Anyhow, I think the memoir is still written compellingly and with themes that resonates for anyone who's felt all too conscious of their differences when compared to Whiteness.

Imagine my surprise and immediate delight when I came across this in Libby! Jerald Walker is one of my favorite essayists--great storyteller, great commentary on race through humor and irony. For some reason, I never caught the news that he had a new book coming out, so I had no idea. Just the other day, I remembered that I didn't have his previous collection because I had gifted it to a friend, and now I'm sad that I don't have that book. Walker is one of those authors where I KNOW I need to buy the book because I'll be referring back to it often as an essayist.

I got a chance to listen to almost halfway through the book in one day because I was without a car and taking a train and bus to get around. It accompanied me throughout that afternoon, and the signature humor made me smile.

This past week, I've been reading this whenever I have a break. Recommended to me by a colleague friend, I decided to dive in with no real sense of what this book would be about. Imagine my surprise when--after the author's note that warned me--the first part (of five) really detailed the abuse inflicted upon the author as a child and teen. I was really thrown by how awful, how intense, the violence was. And I kept reading, as the author encouraged. Despite how awful it was, it gets better.

Another one finished! I'm quite proud that I can now switch my brain to focus when I'm listening to audiobooks. Just two years ago, that wouldn't have been possible because I felt so scattered. This feels like a good step. I think the ability to choose the reading speed has really helped. Instead of listening to this book for 11+ hours, I was able to finish the book (and still follow along) in 6 hours and 27 minutes.

This book is a traditional memoir in which I mean it's chronological, starting from her mother's time and her mother's life for a couple of chapters to explain why her mother is the way she is before transitioning into Putsata's life as a child, teen, and adult. I mentioned in another post, but I didn't know much about Khmer Americans. I knew a bit about the Killing Fields and the genocide, but not much about their lives afterward or their lives in the United States. Just as I started this book, I was reminded by a friend about how this year is the 50th anniversary of wars ending in Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia. It's quite an important year for Southeast Asian Americans.

This book reminded me of that not-so-distant past for my people and SEA Americans, the differences, but also the similarities. Putsata felt survivor's guilt over all the ones who died in the Killing Fields. I can't speak for other Hmong, but I definitely used to panic over the fact that my family and I are alive whereas many Hmong perished in the Secret Hmong. The guilt was there. And I understood the mindset of Putsata's Ma, even if I disagree.

I think this book really came together for me in the second half, in which the rupture between Put and her Ma occurred. I am interested in that kind of moment: Where do you go from that breaking? How do you heal? How do you reconcile? If your mother won't recognize all of you, how do you share joys and woes? These themes and questions resonated with me, as someone who have gone against my own culture...

Status: I came across this book via work and decided to add it to my pile of to-read. Since I'm on a mission to read as many nonfiction books by Southeast Asians as possible, I've started on this book, alternating between the printed book when I'm free and listening to the audiobook when my hands are not free. I'm only maybe 1/6 of the way there, page 62 of 384.

Thoughts: This feel like a traditional family memoir. Weaving in her parents' history, unpacking their trauma, and beginning to reveal the specific details that have deepened the divide between her mother and her.

I checked out this book via Libby, and the 12+ hours length was daunting. I think the longest book I listened to previously was 8-10 hours. But, luckily, I could adjust the reading speed to 1.5 and could still comprehend it.

Listening through the first couple of chapters, one thought crossed my mind: This is the (type of) book I want to write! As an essayist, I've been writing my manuscript on and off, mulling over specific ideas but unable to expand. I felt like I was circling over the same arguments, examples, and couldn't put it together. Seeing how Vanessa pulled so many threads together to make these arguments in such articulate and profound ways was captivating.

Every single essay resonated with me in one way or another. I will have to get a physical copy to re-read the essays again. The thinking about what magical realism and fantasy is, worldbreaking and world-building, the borders and that essay on Jon Snow and Game of Thrones--I am ruminating on these essays and will be for a long time.

I've been leaning toward checking out books via Libby or the library recently, but for this book, I had to buy it (via Bookshop). Not just because I'm also a Hmong writer, but because Kao Kalia's books were one of the first books I ever read by a Hmong author. I have her first two memoirs (The Latehomecomer and The Song Poet) and so it's only proper that I have a physical copy of the third one, too. But I didn't read the book all through the physical copy. When I turned to chores or cooking, I switched to the audiobook so that I could get through the book faster.

Thoughts: I can't believe it's been ten years since The Song Poet. I remember feeling very emotional reading that book about her father's life, and I knew I would feel even more for this memoir about her mother's life. My own writing journey has led me to want to write more stories about women, especially seemingly ordinary women like my mother, grandmothers, and sisters. So, this book came at such a good time. I think this book is now my favorite of the three memoirs (though The Song Poet's ch.7 will always have my heart).

I like this memoir more too because it takes the most risk of the three, artistically. There's a chapter that addresses a suicide attempt in the third person pov, which makes sense narratively and stylistically.

But the beginning, the very first chapter, took me some time to get settled in. Because memoirs are typically of the author's memories and pov, it took me that whole chapter to get used to the fact that it is in Kao Kalia's mother's voice. I kept doubting myself and thinking that Kao Kalia is the one narrating, but actually, it was her mother's voice. And so when her mother refers to her mother and grandmother, it was actually Kao Kalia's grandmother (mentioned in The Latehomecomer) and Kao Kalia's great-grandmother.

Besides my temporary confusion, I really appreciated that beginning chapter about not only the stories of the oldest female elders, but the different stories of the sisters and their lives--and how different they are from the typical "Hmong woman" experience. That's something I've been curious about and also been shouting about for a long time: Hmong is not a monolith, and our experiences vary so much depending on geography, religion, class, dialect, customs, etc.

Reading about Kao Kalia's mother's experience, her mother's mother, her mother's sisters, her mother's mother's sisters, the feelings and events they went through felt very contemporary, very current. It may have happened decades ago in a different era, but those feelings of hate, love, shame, anger in the face of helplessness or patriarchy or oppressive traditions still resonate.

I appreciated this memoir for being more lyrical at times. I think the one style choice that I didn't prefer was that, often, in every chapter, characters seemed to be almost re-introduced or reminded of their quality. It's as if these were individual essays that needed reintroducing to a reader again, if a reader hadn't start from the beginning and learned about these characters. I think this quality probably comes from the Hmong way of calling someone and recognizing them, like declaring your name, clan, location so that you can identify your relationship to another person. I understand that, but I felt it was a tiny bit overdone.

Overall, I hadn't read a memoir in a while so reading this was interesting. I've been quite used to essays now or memoir-in-essays. But this book held my interest, made me cry, made me not only relate but resonate with the lives of these family members. For a while now, because I've been living away from home for so long, I don't hear much talk on topics about the old days or the war or the struggles from back in the day. Nowadays, my parents' generation have adapted to phones and social media, so it feels like they're "modern" now. But this book reminded me of the horrors of wartime, the losses, the separations.

Status: completed all the nonfiction essays; did not listen to the fiction stories since it's not of my interest at this time.

Thoughts: I should look up the reader for this. I've never heard Anthony read, so I imagine this is similar to what he sounds like, but of course, I am probably completely wrong. Anthony passed away in 2020, just as his first book, a story collection titled "Afterparties," was going to come out. He was a highly anticipated and "new" writer, as in he was just about to debut a book. He was a queer Cambodian American, which piqued my interest as someone also from the Southeast Asian community in the United States. And, he's from Stockton, California, a city I know of and have family and friends who live there or have come from there.

"Songs on Endless Repeat" is a mix collection of his writings, both fiction and nonfiction, that were either published in literary magazines or were completed but not polished before his death.

[9 minute read]

In light of Sunisa Lee's recent wins at the Paris Olympics earlier this month, I'm highlighting a piece I wrote in 2021 during her gold win in Tokyo. Thinking of Sunisa and her parents/family and how it is dis/similiar to my own experiences as a fellow Hmong woman who grew up with Hmong parents.

An unexpected and bittersweet reflection from Sunisa Lee's gold win

Preview:

Learning about Sunisa’s journey was bittersweet. It shone a light into the best possible outcome when there was investment in a daughter. Among necessary factors like access, resources, financials, receiving the support from one’s parents can affect so much. Change so much. Their strength added to her own and so Sunisa knew herself and her capability. Sunisa, Hmong woman, believed in herself. And I, Hmong woman, was so proud. And also mournful for the sisters who never rose to their potential, the daughters who were compared to other women but especially to their brothers and male relatives, the women who heard dismissive comments every day and was scolded for every little action to the point of losing their self-esteem and confidence and feeling indecisive at every turn.

Hi! I'm a little unsure at what you mean about "hmoob stories you tell"? Are you asking if I tell any hmoob stories? If you're talking about dag neeg (old stories/myths/legends), I don't necessarily tell those kind of stories. I tell more neej neeg, about contemporary Hmong American stories.

Status: According to Libby, I'm 31% through the book. In the app, it's got tons of people waiting to check out the book, so I've been able to get my hands on it through the "skip-the-line" loan where I get to borrow it faster but only hold it for seven days. I've done this twice now. I'm on my third "skip-the-line" loan, so I'm slowly but surely finishing it.

Thoughts: I hadn't known this book received the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Memoir or Autobiography when I came across it, but that certainly helped drew me to the book. I usually assume that the people who win these things are authors who are writing about an important historical figure or relevant sociopolitical event. (If you check out the categories from the year 2022 and older, this category used to be called "General Nonfiction" and was filled with books that were more journalistic and historical in nature.) Looks like memoirs are finally getting their recognition.

On the book and the narrative itself, I can see why it has been highly remarked. I haven't been able to get into memoirs very much, preferring essay collections, but I've been able to maintain a long interest in what's going on. Because of the summary, there's a sense of dread that's hanging over my head as I get further into the book. This book is about an unlikely friendship with a college friend named Ken, who was killed suddenly one day in a carjacking. I'm 31% through the book, and the tragedy hasn't arrived yet. We've gotten the childhood and teenage years of Hua Hsu, especially his life as a son of an immigrant and his relationship to his father. I'm now at the chapters about his college life and his initial wariness of Ken, but how they gradually become friends.

I checked out this book via Libby, and the audiobook was about 6 hours long. It took me two loans to finish since I don't usually listen to audiobooks unless I'm driving, using public transit, or doing chores.

Thoughts: I'm genuinely surprised and delighted that I finished this collection despite not having a physical or text e-book! I've never been great at listening to audiobooks since my mind tend to wander, but the topics and storytelling of this collection kept me curious.

My favorite essays:

Swan Creek: explores the aftermath of a miscarriage and rethinking motherhood

First Salmon Ceremony: explores forgoing one's cultural food for a vegan diet and reconciling the two

An Indigenous Queer Love Story: explores love after being told by her ex-husband that she "learned to love the wrong way" by looking at relationships the women in her family have had and her own history with different partners

All the essays reckon with colonialism in one way or another, which is an important theme to me, but these essays especially resonated with me as I'm currently contemplating motherhood, a vegetarian diet for my health and for the environment, and my curiosity about queerness and, really, about how we as humans love.

Status: in progress (about halfway through the book; third time picking this up and getting farther than before)

Thoughts: This essay collection is really proving to me that I'm really, really, really bad with nature. I'm not one of those people who grew up immersed in nature--my parents didn't really take my family on hikes, camping, never really took us to the mountains, to forests, to beaches, to national parks. It was probably only a handful of times. What I learned from nature really came from school, like learning about poison oak and poison ivy--even though to this day, I still don't know the difference and would not recognize it if I came across it. I didn't do "nature" things until I was older, when my sisters were allowed to drive us out to do more things outside; when I was in college where I'd do more activities with them.

So, it's been really hard to finish this book. It's not boring, per se. It's doing straightforward essaying, using nature to talk about or connect back to memories to do with identity and race. I'm just having a difficult time conjuring the images in my head. I don't recognize them, I don't know their names. It's hard.

My short personal essay was published today in the L.A. Times, in print and online! Whoohoo! In this year of 2022 where I haven't done much writing or editing, I'm incredible grateful to have this published.

I can't wait to share an extended version of this piece too--this piece that is near and dear to my heart. It'll have more photos too and won't be behind a paywall.

An excerpt from the essay:

When a fire burned my family's house in Oroville in 2020, the dolls were a seemingly trivial loss in the larger scheme of what went up in smoke. My family evacuated in time, but except for the few items we carried away with us, the flames took everything. I mourned the heavy loss of our Hmong cultural items and traditional garments--like the suitcase of clothes my pog (father's mother) received more than half a century ago from her mother, but I became fixated on the loss of the dolls ...

They are a rare sight nowadays in the community. As they vanish from public eye, I worry that amid my people's invisiblity in history--fraught with war, persecution, and displacement--their story will disappear too. Women's contributions, especially, can be overlooked.

For many years I, too, dismissed these dolls as just that--dolls. But after the fire I wanted to find out more about them--to recover some part of my heritage.

i don't have a set schedule yet, but i'm thinking about these ones:

"mother tongue" by debra kue (fiction & poetry)

"here i am burn me" by kimberly nguyen (poetry)

"which side are you on" by ryan lee wong (fiction)

my priority though is finding a nonfiction/essays/memoir book and i'm considering

best american essays 2022 anthology, edited by alexander chee

"you've changed: fake accents, feminism, and other comedies from myanmar" by pyae moe thet war (essays)

"names for light" by thirii myo kyaw myint (essays)

"this is one way to dance" by sejal shah (essays)

hi!

i'm a hmong american writer & editor. i'm joining tumblr as we enter 2023 as a way to keep myself accountable on reading while also supporting books by writers of color. my main focus in creative nonfiction books by asian writers, but i'll occasionally venture to other works in other genres too.

anyway, if you're curious, i'm still experimenting with what i'll post & what will be fun to do, but i think it'll generally be these things:

creative nonfiction / essays / memoirs / graphic memoirs / unconventional genre-bending works

writers of color, specifically asian writers and indigenous writers

BIPOC writers in diaspora

book reviews / maps / boards

book love / recs

book reading liveblogs

reflections / insights on editing

reflections / advice on the mfa creative writing experience

hmong stuff