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Daniel Yim

Ms. Giraudo

English I Honors; Period 3

25 March 2021

The Ghosts of Storytelling

According to The Guardian, amidst the devastation of the Vietnam War, approximately

800,000 refugees fled their nation in the bellies of numerous boats (McGreal). People frequently

refer to them as ‘boat people,’ a label that evokes images of poverty-stricken, pitiful individuals

desperate to escape persecution and peril. The trauma they hold in their past in addition to the

alienation they face today chronicles a new war story that haunts them long after they escape

their ravaged homeland. Viet Thanh Nguyen, also a Vietnamese refugee, sets his stories within

this realm – in unveiling the world of these displaced yet courageous individuals, he paints the

true portrait of their tragically misconstrued experience. In his work, heroism and humanity

manifest themselves in the refugees’ invisible struggles to accept their distressing pasts. Most

importantly, Nguyen uses reflections on identity and memory to demonstrate the significance of

remembering these stories. In Viet Thanh Nguyen’s “Black-Eyed Women,” he conveys that

people must preserve the stories that shape their identities through the protagonist's mournful

recollection of her war-torn childhood, her harrowing reminiscence of her brother’s death, and

her concluding reflections on the necessity of storytelling.

Nguyen conveys that humans must preserve the stories that shape their identities through

the protagonist's mournful recollection of her war-torn childhood. To illustrate, when her mother

describes her brother’s ghost, the image rekindles memories of an anxious, wartime Vietnam in

the protagonist, and she recounts, "Looking back, however, I could see that we had passed our
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youth in a haunted country" (Nguyen 5). The adjective “haunted” usually describes a place

where an apparition manifests itself, tormenting and striking fear in its inhabitants; however, in

this instance, the narrator characterizes wartime Vietnam as “haunted” in emphasizing the

persistent, lingering nature of war’s destruction and trauma that besieges the individual and

national psyche, just as a phantom ceaselessly plagues a “haunted” house. Furthermore,

“haunted” connotes a place that an abandoned apparition obsessively returns to, casting it in a

cursed, negative light; however, just as ghosts often haunt houses so subsequent residents might

learn and avenge the story of their tragic deaths, the narrator represents her war-torn homeland as

“haunted” in indicating that she feels obligated to tell her nation’s stories – invisible and fading

“ghosts” imploring for someone to listen – corroborating that people must preserve the stories

that shape their identities. Subsequently, as she fondly recalls her brother’s intriguing tales in the

bomb shelter, the protagonist remembers that "When airplanes shrieked overhead and we

huddled with my mother in the bunker, he whispered ghost stories in my ear to distract me" (6).

In specifying how her brother’s storytelling provides respite from the horrors of war erupting

around her, the protagonist uses “distract,” a verb that describes the action of preventing

thorough attention to something, perhaps to divert that attention from something troubling.

“Distract” indicates disturbing and obstructing focus to the point that one might neglect or deny

important responsibilities, imbuing it with a reckless, negative connotation; however, the

protagonist uses “distract” in describing how her brother’s stories – folkloric inventions and

culturally significant accounts from the “black-eyed women” – shift her focus from the

overwhelming realities of war and cause her to feel a sense of refuge that she desperately needs,

thus substantiating that humans must preserve the stories that shape their identities. Moreover,

when she remembers the women in the marketplace relating gruesome depictions of bloodshed
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and foreign invaders, the protagonist reminisces about the thrill of such stories: "I shivered with

delight in the gloom, hearing those black-eyed women with my own ears, and it seemed to me

that I would never tell stories like these" (6). Instead of using the verb “shiver” in indicating

slight, uncontrollable trembling from coldness or fear, the narrator uses “shiver” in denoting her

thrilled excitement or “delight” at the intriguing and dramatic stories of the black-eyed women;

this expresses a feeling of fluttering stimulation rather than a shudder of dread. Conjuring up the

feeling of miserable cold, or of a sense of anxiety or foreboding, the verb “shiver” typically feels

apprehensive; however, in this case, “shiver” connotes that the black-eyed women’s accounts

evoke an excited, eager feeling of inspiration in the narrator, teaching her the exhilaration of

such stories and compelling her to remember and record them — even though the task seems

daunting, like it could “never” happen — thus proving that people must preserve the stories that

shape their identities. Hence, Viet Thanh Nguyen imparts that people must preserve the stories

that shape their identities through the protagonist’s memories of a tormented Vietnam,

expressing how she feels an obligation to communicate narrative, consequently underlining her

vital need for stories.

Nguyen not only demonstrates that humans must preserve the stories that shape their

identities through the protagonist's recollection of her war-torn childhood, but also through the

harrowing reminiscence of her brother's death. To demonstrate, when the protagonist agonizes

over the memory of the tragic pirate attack on their boat, she recalls her brother’s murder and her

assault, and laments, "Even when I screamed I could not hear myself, even though I felt my

mouth opening and closing. The world was muzzled, the way it would be ever afterward" (16).

The adjective “muzzled” details how placing a restraining guard on an animal’s snout prevents it

from opening its mouth; similarly, in this instance, the narrator portrays her “world” – her
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relationship with her family and her relationship with herself – as “muzzled” in characterizing it

as repressive, smothering her emotions and trauma from expressing themselves. Furthermore,

“muzzled” describes a silenced entity whose freedom the muzzle limits, indicating that the

wearer feels oppressed or suffocated; however, in this case, the narrator describes her “world” as

“muzzled” in connoting that the trauma of murder and assault she struggles with acts as a

“muzzle,” and consequently, she feels suppressed or restricted because it prevents her from

telling the difficult but crucial stories of her family and her experience as a refugee, thus

substantiating that people must preserve the stories that shape their identities. Likewise, when

she reflects upon the lack of reminiscence in her family concerning their suffering on the fishing

boat, the protagonist writes, “Their silence and my own would cut me again and again” (16).

Using metaphor, Nguyen suggests that the fractured family’s inability to tell of their experiences

on the fishing boat feels like a worsening injury whose wounds grow deeper as the silence

persists, comparing the narrator’s voicelessness concerning the pirates’ attack to agonizing,

repeated cutting because both inflict pain and leave both physical and psychological scars

behind. Specifically, “cutting” also connotes self-harm that people seek for temporary relief from

painful emotions and memories; equating the protagonist’s “silence” with “cutting” demonstrates

that her inability to confront and express her anguished story of the boat causes the narrator to

feel confined within an injurious, hopeless cycle of intensifying sorrow and brief respite, thus

demonstrating that people must preserve the stories that shape their identities. Lastly, as the

protagonist concludes her traumatic story of the pirate attack and describes a brilliant, burning

sensation, “What pained me most was... the light shining into my dark eyes as I looked to the sky

and saw the smoldering tip of God’s cigarette, poised in the heavens the moment before it was

pressed against my skin. Since then I avoid day and sun. Even he noticed, holding his forearm
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against mine to show me I was whiter than he was.” In this metaphor, Nguyen compares the sun,

a vivid reminder of the harrowing memory, to “God’s cigarette” because both threaten to scorch

the narrator in a form of torture, revealing that the sun evokes a feeling of torment as she recalls

the visceral misery of the assault. Specifically, this pain of remembering – akin to the searing

agony that a cigarette inflicts – causes the narrator to “avoid day and sun,” indicating that the

protagonist “avoids” any reminder of the tragedy because she dreads confronting the profound

pain. However, Nguyen mentions that this recoiling from the sun turns her “whiter:” just as a

person’s skin pales due to lack of sunlight, when the narrator neglects the story of her

psychological wounds, she loses her identity as a refugee and pales into a metaphorical ghost,

causing her to feel hopeless – thus corroborating that people must preserve the stories that shape

their identities. Therefore, Viet Thanh Nguyen reveals that people must preserve the stories that

shape their identities through the protagonist’s rumination over the traumatic pirate attack,

expressing how the narrator feels the necessity of narrative in her life because without it, she

loses the ability to courageously confront the pain of her tragic past, hence highlighting her

dependence on stories.

Besides attesting that humans must preserve the stories that shape their identities through

the protagonist's harrowing reminiscence of her brother's death, Nguyen also implements her

concluding reflections on the necessity of storytelling as the final point in illustrating the

importance of stories. For instance, as the narrator determines to stop ghostwriting and begin

composing her own stories, she distinguishes her oeuvre from the traditional horror story when

she clarifies, "My ghosts were the quiet and shy ones like my brother, as well as the mournful

revenants in my mother's stories" (19). Since it often characterizes the expression of profound

grief, usually resulting from death, the protagonist uses the adjective “mournful” in describing
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that the phantoms from her mother’s ghost stories feel consumed with the sorrow of loss, and

they return as “revenants” to release their pain and gain comfort from the commiseration of the

living. Indicating remembrance of the dead and honoring the memories of their time in life, the

adjective “mournful” feels melancholy because mourners express despair at losing the

individual; here, “mournful” indicates that the apparitions feel forgotten, so the desire to

maintain their memory fills them and the ghosts reappear to the protagonist, telling their stories

and feeling relief at the assurance that their stories live on. In using this adjective, the protagonist

also conveys that she feels and resonates with the ghosts’ sorrow, and also that she feels

compelled to remember these “mournful” stories; she understands that recognizing the meaning

behind their tragic lives ensures that their passionate laments matter, thus corroborating that

people must preserve the stories that shape their identities. Furthermore, after the narrator

contemplates her newfound approach to recording stories and likens these stories to ghosts, she

describes, "More often, though, I go hunting for the ghosts. . . They are pallid creatures, more

frightened of us than we are of them" (21). When he compares stories to ghosts in emphasizing

that both mysterious entities — invisible or barely visible — require effort to “hunt,” Nguyen

uses metaphor, thus indicating that the narrator feels curious about stories. Nguyen also refers to

these ghosts as “pallid,” isolating the image of a pale, sick person close to death, gradually

fading; in this instance, equating “ghosts” with “stories” highlights that the narrator feels a sense

of urgency in remembering these stories, because without diligence, the story inevitably fades –

thus substantiating that people must preserve the stories that shape their identities. Finally, in a

conclusive remark on the importance of storytelling, the narrator illustrates, “We search for them

in a world besides our own, then leave them here to be found, garments shed by ghosts" (21). In

this metaphor, Nguyen compares “stories” to “garments shed by ghosts” since both “stories” and
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“garments” reveal individuality through style and aesthetic, conveying that “ghosts” of the past

use stories as relics to help people understand them, just as “garments” or fashion helps us

understand people in the past in uncovering cultural context and individual taste. In particular,

equating storytelling with “garments” also connotes the idea of “shedding” one’s clothes and

baring oneself, a notion that feels uncomfortable but courageous; the narrator demonstrates that

she feels naked when telling stories — vulnerable and unprotected — but also experiences the

elation of freedom and a sense of intimacy with the people who also bare their souls through

storytelling — thus substantiating that people must preserve the stories that shape their identities.

To conclude, Viet Thanh Nguyen conveys that people must preserve the stories that shape their

identities through the protagonist’s concluding reflections on the necessity of storytelling,

expressing how the “ghosts” of the past depending on the narrator to steward their stories as

relics of their era — without them, the unique stories so crucial to her identity fade and

disappear, highlighting the narrator’s power to guard stories.

Viet Thanh Nguyen imparts that the necessity of remembering and protecting the stories

that shape identities manifests itself in the story’s mortal condition. Nguyen conveys this

importance with urgency because stories live a finite existence, their own lives as impermanent

as the bodies they leave behind. Nguyen’s themes of refugees preserving their stories apply to

these displaced ‘boat people’ – even the label “boat people” demonstrates how the complex

refugee experience fades into a mere curiosity — 800,000 people to pity, not to remember. When

people cast narrative aside, the stories and struggles behind that statistic fade into invisibility,

becoming ghosts of their own. Because of the danger of numbing these experiences, people

should consider what a vital role stories play in understanding identity.

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Works Cited

McGreal, Chris. “Vietnamese Boat People: Living to Tell the Tale.” The Guardian, 20 Mar.

2016, www.theguardian.com/global/2016/mar/20/vietnamese-boat-people-survivors-

families. Accessed 7 Mar. 2021.

Nguyen, Viet. “Black Eyed Women.” Canvas.