Archive for Saigon Diary

Sliding Tiles and Memory…

With the dual contagions of Clovid-19 and Donald Trump in the air, I’ve been looking for an escape from the news cycle. It’s exhausting, but after combing the Netflix, Amazon Video, and Audible libraries while rereading The Plague, The Andromeda Strain, and Love in the Time of Cholera I think the solution is to go back to work. Writing as therapy.

Most writers carry a notebook where they jot down snippets of dialogue or the elements of a scene, so they have material for a story or article, but I was always a lousy notetaker. Back in college, when I was studying for an exam, I had a hard time making sense of my notes. Nothing stood out. I’d look at them and see nothing but “the” or “and” as if they were the important facts in a lecture. I was hopeless. It didn’t take long to learn I’m an oral and visual learner which is why I love the iPhone camera and why I never wanted to miss a class lecture. read more

Be Kind. Make Art. Fight the Power…

zen-sand-garden

“Everything that has a beginning has an ending. Make your peace with that and all will be well”      

– Buddha

I’m trying…

Trying to stand up and rebalance after the political knockdown. Trying to refocus on the positive. Trying to take my cues from Colson Whitehead, this year’s National Book Award winner, who celebrated the redeeming power of art in his acceptance speech last night. His mantra for all of us – “Be kind to everybody, make art, and fight the power.”

Good advice. I’m exhausted from the turmoil of the news cycle. Be positive. Stop whining. Look forward. Live honestly. Celebrate integrity and take comfort in reading, writing, and living the values I hope will inform the future our children and grandchildren’s will inherit.

Two weeks ago Robert Olen Butler read from his new novel, Perfume River at my local bookstore (Third Place Books) in Lake Forest Park. Mr. Butler is the 1993 Pulitzer Prize winning author of A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain, a collection of short stories sourced from his experience as a Vietnamese-speaking US military interpreter during the “American War.” I read A Good Scent…  around the time it was published but didn’t appreciate how good it was until I reread it while working in Saigon.

As an admirer of creative fiction I was astonished at the way this American writer was able to inhabit the characters of an old Vietnamese woman, a VC sapper, an American GI deserter, and a young Viet Kieu girl. Like a great actor, the author became these characters. I was so impressed on rereading the stories that I sent him an email asking if I could visit while in Florida on a work assignment.  He agreed and I drove 421 miles out of my way to do it.

Butler lives in Capps, Florida, a T-intersection near Tallahassee, in an old plantation house filled with books and shelves lined with “hot” sauces –two of his obsessions. The house is on the National Register of Historic Places just a few miles from Florida State University where he teaches creative writing.

“Ibutlers-library‘ll never stop believing it: Robert Olen Butler is the best living American writer, period,” (Jeff Guinn, book editor for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram).

There are a number of exceptional American writers but Robert Olen Butler, is unquestionably one of the best. The 71 year-old, five times married author, has published 16 novels, 4 collections of short stories, and a seminal work for aspiring writers called From Where You Dream: The Process of Writing Fiction.

When I pulled up to the house – literally pulled up to the house because there is just a hard flat piece of ground ending at its steps – I was greeted like an old friend. “Come on up” he said. I climbed the stairs and entered a large simply furnished room. He led me through the house, a jumble of rooms filled with books. My kind of place. If you’ve ever toured the colonial homes of our Founding Fathers you’ll know what I mean, many small rooms with high ceilings but no discernible floor plan.

After the house tour and some small talk he asked if I liked Mexican food. I do. “Let me grab my coat and I’ll take you to the best Mexican restaurant in the country.” Sixteen miles north, in Monticello, near the Florida-Georgia line, the Rancho Grande looks like a typical Mexican café – high backed wooden booths, bright yellow walls with royal blue trim decorated with sombreros and serapes. But appearances can be, as they say, deceiving, and Butler was right; the food was some of the best Mexican I’ve ever eaten. I ordered the special Lunch Fajitas with rice and beans and washed them down with a Dos Equis Dark. Delicious.

During our meal we talked about writing fiction and the outline of our lives. He asked how many times I’d been married and laughed when I said three. He told me I was one behind.”  Actually now it’s two, since then he’s divorced number four and married number five. Last week he told me he thought he was over his compulsive need to “commit.”

After lunch we drove back to Capps and he took me around to the small outbuilding that serves as his office/studio (also lined with books). He had just signed a contract to write two thrillers based on a short story written years before. There was no artifice about him. He asked me about myself and seemed genuinely interested. He asked if I read thriller fiction and if so what authors I liked. He was looking for models. I told him I admired Alan Furst, and he quickly said “Yes, but I think the characters are a little thin.” I wouldn’t have said that but he’s the expert. His characters always jump off the page as real people.

Our afternoon together passed quickly but he never made me feel it was time to go. When it was over, I thanked him and left behind a stack of books I brought for him to sign. Then I drove to the FSU campus to see where he teaches. Nice place. Two weeks later the box of books arrived in Seattle, each with personalized inscription. Bob Butler is a class act.

perfume-river

I’m reading Perfume River now and seeing in it my own Vietnam experience as well as universal and personal family issues. There’s no shortage of literary hanky panky here. The protagonist is a 70-year-old Vietnam vet, now a professor at FSU, who by virtue of the imminent death of his father must confront a number of long buried issues, personal, familial, and global. There are dysfunctional marriages, mistaken identities, a doppelganger homeless man, and reflections on family and mortality. It dexterously shifts back and forth between the war in Vietnam, the protagonist’s pre-war family, and his present day life in Florida. The scope is global but it’s grounded in the particular – something he implores his students to strive for. I’m not finished with the book but I’m savoring every word. Perfume River is an important new novel from a writers’ writer. It’s also a great launch point for me with Colson Whitehead’s mantra ever in the background.

Be kind to everybody, make art, and fight the power.

The Fat Lady is Singing

Three years ago, when East Meets West Foundation asked me to go to Saigon I started this blog. I had written sporadically over the years and always told myself that I would get around to some serious writing when I had more time. The truth is that we never have more time unless we make it a priority. When I took the EMW job I decided to stop using work as an excuse for not writing and this blog became my discipline. I planned to write at least one entry each week. It’s the old writers’ truism – if I just write 500 words a day I’ll have a whole library by the time I’m 75. I don’t have a library of my own work and I didn’t achieve my goal of blog a week but over these past three years I have managed to post over 100 entries about everything from Saigon traffic to old white predators coming to Asia in search of young girls. I did what I set out to do – get started on a writing project. No more procrastination. read more

How Do We Square the Differences?

I saw both of these things in Saigon last week. The first picture is the interior of a Maybach 62S. Nice car I thought. I had never seen or heard of a Maybach but it looked so over the top I had to look it up. I discovered that it is a luxury car built in Germany with a base sticker price of $423,500. The price is double that in Vietnam because of the import tax. Two well dressed older women got in the back seat and drove away. Easy come, easy go.
I took the other picture just outside my office. I had watched this guy for a week or so before figuring out that this was his home. I couldn’t reconcile the two things in my mind – the absolute luxury of the Maybach and the almost unbearable poverty and hardship of the sleeping man’s situation.We talk a lot about income inequality in the US these days. In fact, Occupy Wall Street has spent a lot of time drawing attention to it, but when you see it in a developing country it’s obscene. The recent scandal in China is drawing attention to it as well. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.” I wonder how Marx would react to the abuses of state socialism if he could see the situation in Vietnam and China today?Vietnam and China are changing, and with the economic boom comes the creation of wealth and the “need” to display it. Earlier this month I attended a party to celebrate the launch of the 2012 Porsche 911. It was all glitz and formal dress, champagne and a sea of beautiful models. My friend, Kaci, is the marketing director for Porsche and her targets are the newly rich Vietnamese. She told me it would be crazy for a foreigner to buy a Porsche in Vietnam. The price is double what it is in the developed world. There is only one reason to buy a Porsche or a Maybach in Vietnam – to show everyone that you’re successful and have the money to buy one. If it’s crazy for a foreigner to buy one it is equally crazy for a Vietnamese. There is nowhere in Saigon and probably nowhere in Vietnam where the Porsche could get out of second or third gear. The traffic moves at a snail’s pace, rarely more than 20 miles an hour. But, Porsche expects to have reasonable success in Vietnam this year. I’m sure they’re right.I’d like to think that the Golden Rule is alive and well in emerging economies, but Wall Street is still fouling it’s own nest and Congress, in the richest county in the world, can’t agree to the proposition that we can afford to provide health care for all of our citizens. If we can’t set an example then how can we expect the rest of the world to do the right thing?

Another Global Encounter

The emblem, flag, and mascot on the left belong to Gamba Osaka an Asian Football League team from Japan. I’d never heard of Gamba until Tuesday morning. It looks like pretty good team from what I can tell, but that’s not where this is going. On Wednesday morning Marilynn and I were working on our laptops in the airline lounge at the Incheon airport in Korea when a striking looking Japanese businessman approached us. I say striking because, although normal in all other respects this man was wearing a bizarre, royal blue, plastic, stovepipe hat with Gamba Osaka written in large letters above the logo. I can’t do justice to the experience. Here is a nice looking middle aged businessman in a goofy looking hat approaching two American strangers. I only wish I had a picture of Mr. Gamba Osaka.Mr. Gamba never told us his name or why he picked us out. We think he just wanted to practice his English, but he knelt down next to our table and asked us where we were from. His English was very simple, but he made me wish that I had the same courage to approach strangers in their own languages with the same confidence as Mr. Gamba. Some of our most memorable encounters have been with total strangers in odd places in a mixture of languages. In this case, after ascertaining that we were from the US he proceeded to tell us that he was from Osaka and that Gamba was his team. “Football is my life” he said. “I am traveling to Tashkent, Uzbekistan to see Gamba play the Uzbek champions, Bunyodkor.” How bizarre; but it was clear that he loved his team and would go to great lengths to show his support. I checked the internet this morning and discovered that the Uzbeks overpowered Gamba 3-2. There was even a YouTube video of the goals scored. It looked like a very nice day in Tashkent and there were a lot of empty seats in the stadium. I hope Mr. Gamba had a good time. It’s a long way to go to see your team get its ass kicked.We didn’t have a lot to say to each other. Mr. Gamba had been to LA and New York a few years ago, and he was surprised and pleased that I had been to Japan and liked it very much. When he found out that we were from Seattle he wanted to know all about Ichiro Suzuki, the Mariner’s superstar from Japan. Did we know him? No, but we assured him we loved to watch him play and we were sorry that such a great player had to endure such a crappy team for his entire career in America. He felt sorry for us that the US didn’t have a good men’s soccer team “but the girls are very good – the best in the world, maybe.” I didn’t want to spoil it by reminding him that the US and Japan have had about the same results in the last two World Cups and both made it to the Round of 16 in 2010. After about 20 minutes kneeling by our table Mr. Gamba stood up and said goodbye. We wished him and his team success in Uzbekistan and he wished us safe travels home. As he walked away another Japanese businessman seated nearby looked over at us and smiled as if to say “You never know who you’ll meet in an airline lounge, but the world is getting smaller every day.”