From the back cover
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For all the ten years of her life, Ha has only known Saigon: the thrills of its markets, the joy of its traditions, the warmth of her friends close by, and the beauty of her very own papaya tree. But now the Vietnam War has reached her home. Ha and her family are forced to flee as Saigon falls, and they board a ship headed toward hope. This is the moving story of one girl's year of change, dreams, grief, and healing as she journeys from one country to another, one life to the next.
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In her interview with School Library Journal, Thanhha Lai talks about the structure of poetry. Virginia Euwer Wolff mentions William Stafford and his observation that " in writing a poem, the problem isn't so much finding the right words as it is getting rid of all the wrong words". While writing Inside Out, Lai wanted to account for every word. In doing so, she was able to bring forth a novel in verse that is able to bridge the worlds Hà inhabits. Her powerful images not only connect Saigon and Alabama, but they also allow the reader to connect with her words.
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But you always eat in the bathroom?
I nod.
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Why?
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How can I explain
dragonflies do somersaults
in my stomach
whenever I think of
the noisy room
full of mouths
chewing and laughing?
I’m still translating
when her eyes get red.
Lai, Thanhha. Inside Out and Back Again (p. 236). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
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BOOKS
From the HarperCollins website
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A California girl born and raised, Mai can’t wait to spend her vacation at the beach. Instead, she has to travel to Vietnam with her grandmother, who is going back to find out what really happened to her husband during the Vietnam War. Mai’s parents think this trip will be a great opportunity for their out-of-touch daughter to learn more about her culture. But to Mai, those are their roots, not her own. Vietnam is hot, smelly, and the last place she wants to be. Besides barely speaking the language, she doesn’t know the geography, the local customs, or even her distant relatives. To survive her trip, Mai must find a balance between her two completely different worlds.
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Mai's journey to Vietnam is the last thing she wants, but it becomes exactly what she needs. Using the same powerful voice seen in Inside Out & Back Again, Lai's beautiful prose allows readers to fall in love with Vietnam as Mai does. The language is strong, relying on both Mai's observations and experiences, as well as snippets of story from members of Mai's family. Her journey of discovery is especially seen through Mai's struggle with the Vietnamese language, and how she can partly understand it but cannot speak it.
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“After the war ended, I hoped. Every day I looked into the horizon for his frame. Soldier after soldier returned, on feet shredded like cloth, on bicycles of dented wheels and without tires, they returned from the lowest tip of the South. Each year fewer came home. By the third year, I saw nothing but dust in the horizon. Day after day. Then his mother stepped into the next life and took him with her, side by side.”
Bà nods. Ông’s Brother looks deeper into the horizon. They return to silence. I understood every word, but somehow the meaning is as impossible to hold as each drop of rain.
Lai, Thanhha. Listen, Slowly (pp. 64-65). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
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“American and Vietnamese characters alike leap to life through the voice and eyes of a ten–year–old girl—a protagonist so strong, loving, and vivid I longed to hand her a wedge of freshly cut papaya.”
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Mitali Perkins, author of Bamboo People
"Mai enters Vietnam as an outsider, irritated by the mosquitoes who love her sugary American blood and wary of her intolerant stomach. She becomes an insider drawn to the land, allured by savory pho broth, and deciding to stay just a bit longer."
Cathryn M. Mercier, New York Times Book Review
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