Brothers and Ghosts by Khuê Phạm
“Language, which had allowed him to spin the boldest theories from the depths of his thoughts in Vietnamese, now blocked his path to completing the simplest tasks of everyday life. Everything was suddenly so tedious: finding the way to the bus stop, buying a ticket, understanding the scheduled departure time, getting off at the right stop, finding the way back.”
Translated from German to English by Charles Hawley and Daryl Lindsey, Khuê Phạm’s Brothers and Ghosts (2024, Scribe) is a generation-spanning family saga that explores the ruptures that divide a family and the far-reaching impacts of war and colonisation on identity, place and relationships.
Set shortly after Trump’s first presidential election in 2016, thirty-year-old Kiều lives in Berlin with her boyfriend, Dorian. Born and raised in the country, Kiều’s parents moved to Germany as students, raising Kiều and her siblings as Europeans. Kiều considers herself more German than Vietnamese, taking the name Kim to make it easier for her Western counterparts to address her, confessing that she isn’t sure how to pronounce her Vietnamese name:
“For as long as I can remember, I have felt uncomfortable introducing myself to anyone. The German people I grew up with tripped over my name’s melodic sounds, while my parents’ Vietnamese friends had trouble understanding my heavy accent. The Germans got around the problem by not addressing me by name at all.”
It’s clear from the beginning that Kiều is battling to understand her sense of place and identity in the world, reflecting on how much she’s flattened her heritage to fit in. When she receives a message from her estranged uncle, she initially ignores it. When the uncle phones the family home and drops the bombshell that Kiều’s grandmother has died, we get our first insights into the rupture amongst the family:
“I try to examine my emotions, but there’s nothing there. No grief, no shock, and certainly no need to talk to anybody about this woman who I only met once in my life.”
Kiều’s uncle, Sơn, tells them their mother has left a letter for her father, Minh, and he must be present for it to be read aloud. It’s hesitantly decided that Kiều and her parents will travel to California, where half the family now lives.
From here, Phạm divides the novel into three parts, continuing Kiều’s narrative but also providing us with the backstory of Minh and Sơn and the events leading to their estrangement. It’s a grief-fuelled exploration of a country divided by political opposition and the terrifying impact of the Vietnamese war.
Minh, determined to study abroad, leaves Saigon in South Vietnam to become a doctor in Germany. While the rumblings of the war reach the family, where Minh’s father is a general in the army, Minh leaves before the North Vietnamese army and the Viet Cong lead their charge against Saigon and ultimately win the war. This forced the U.S. army, which had been supporting the South, to leave, leading to the reunification of Vietnam under Communist control.
Phạm does a great job of providing enough context to understand the war and its nuances while offering plenty of curiosity points, which, if you’re someone like me who knows very little about this vital part of history, will encourage you to seek further reading. Through the relationship between Minh and Sơn, we are shown just how divided these events left the country, with the family that remained in South Vietnam going on to experience significant hardship and persecution, while Minh, led by the external narratives in the West, views the Fall of Saigon as a positive step forward for his homeland.
I don’t want to give too much away on this aspect of the book, as the parallel stories of the two brothers are easily the most engaging aspect of this novel. While we’re provided with a well-rounded account of Minh’s experience, Sơn’s feels like it drops off right when I, as a reader, would like to know more.
In California, Kiều spends more time with her family, trying to understand their dynamics while keeping a closely guarded secret. She’s recently discovered she’s pregnant; she knows her relationship with Dorian is coming to an end, and she’s wary of what motherhood has to offer:
“For as long as I can remember, my mother has sacrificed everything for the family: her job, her time, and the breadth of emotions at her disposal…When I was younger, I was blind to her ability to tolerate pain. As I got older, I began seeing it as a call for me to do the same and learn the art of female suffering. I guess that’s why she triggers me so much.”
Blending family pressures with re-discovering who she is on her terms, both as a German and a Vietnamese woman, Kiều uses her time in California to reassess her next steps with surprising results.
I could easily have spent more time with Kiều and her family; there was so much life in these pages. My only criticism is the overall pacing of the novel, with the last third of the book feeling significantly more condensed than the previous sections. With the pregnancy conversation and a nod to a potential sapphic love interest crammed in right at the end, it all felt rushed. I was left wondering whether the secret pregnancy was an entirely necessary complication with everything else going on.
Brothers and Ghosts is a deep look at the complexity of the Vietnam War for one family and explores how they have lost and found each other over the years, as well as one woman’s desire to redefine her life outside of the labels she’s automatically ascribed. The characters will stay with you long after reading.
Elaine Chennatt is a writer, educator and psychology student currently residing in nipaluna. She has a special interest in bibliotherapy (how we use literature to make sense of our lives) and is endlessly curious about the creative philosophies of others. She lives with her husband and two bossy dachshunds on the not-so-sunny side of the river (IYKYK). Find her online at wordswithelaine.com.
