There are some novels that I read that make me want to go grab my journal and write and write and write like there's no hour from now, like there's no job that I have to be at, like there's no tomorrow. There are other novels that I read that put fear into me, make me quake with astonishment, make me wonder if I can ever write like that particular author, if I can ever be "good." Robert Olen Butler's collection of short stories is a work that falls, for me, into the latter category. Butler's collection won the Pulitzer prize in 1993 and marks my return, however brief, to the list project...It took me forever to get through this book, but not because the stories weren't amazing, I just had a real mell of a hess(as Mrs. Schermer would say) of a past few weeks, with(sigh!) not any time at all to read...The beginning of Keren's trip home to see her folks I was determined to read as much as possible, missing her was rather rough and left this icky feeling in the pit of my stomach, enough so, that I determined to be the "ostrich" that I am noted for, and wished to stick my head in the endless sand of the written word...I was somewhat successful and then that real world application, my job, kicked into high gear and I faced a weekend that rivalled the holiday season...After that nightmare, I found out my car had been stolen. When I finally resolved within myself to be happy that I was rid of that piece of crap, the police found it! I've been dealing with mechanics, car insurance, etc. ever since. And, for a woman who can't handle planet Earth all that well, it's been at the very least mildly stressful and antagonistic. So, that made it so that a book that would normally have only taken me a few days to read, took me instead almost two weeks...argh. But, the stories were incredible. All of the stories are written from the point of view of men and women living in New Orleans or an area encompassing the real or fictional(my US map was stolen with my car so I haven't really looked)town of Versailles, LA., all of whom are Vietnamese, almost all of whom, if not all, are immigrants due to the aftermath of the Vietnam War. Books like this are hard to read for me and at once wondrous. I will never ever be able to understand what these people went through, what their culture is like, what even the American veterans dream/nightmare about and have as a part of their waking hell. I grew up a white upper-middle class girl in the middle of nowhere Vermont, my father was number one pick for draft the year they decided to stop doing it. The only real connection I have with Vietnam(and it's patchy at best) is through a woman I once loved very very much, who came to this country when she was 4 monthes old after the end of the war. I talked to her quite a bit about her background, what her parents and siblings were like, but it is an experience from which I am extremely far removed. So, this book is wondrous, because it gives me a glimpse into a world of which I know nothing, and of course that is one of the main reasons why I devour books of all kinds. All the stories had their strong points and it was an overall well-put together collection, even better in its roundedness I found than the two Munro story collections I read. "Fairy Tale" tells of a Vietnamese immigrant woman who works in New Orleans as an "exotic dancer"(my words not hers) and prostitute, and finds an unlikely Prince Charming in a soft spoken, shy, sometime client. In "Crickets" a Vietnamese man tries to relate to his rapidly becoming-American son, by telling him a story and involving him in the reenactment of said story from his childhood in his faraway country, it is sadly to no avail. "Mid-Autumn" is told from the point of view of a mother who is about to give birth to a child who is the son/daughter of a GI, telling him/her of her very first love back in Vietnam. There are so many stories, beautiful in the description of a country I have only seen in the movies, of a contrast in the description of the new world of these Vietnamese and the old. These are a people who are trying to find their place in a society that is as divided over the outcome of their country's struggle as they are. They left Vietnam for a better life, and in many ways of course it is, but they also have to adjust, and like all of us, carry around figurative suitcases of memory. There were a few quotes that I absolutely loved, very tiny ones(well at least for me), though the prose itself is so stunning that it flows like water, each story a tributary into an ocean of words...The first quote is from the story "Fairy Tale" when the narrator says: "I like the way fairy tales start in America. When I learn English for real, I buy books for children and I read, "Once upon a time." I recognize this word "upon" from some GI who buys me Saigon teas and spends some time with me and he is a cowboy from the great state of Texas. He tells me he gets up on the back of a bull and he rides it. I tell him he is joking with Miss Noi(that's my Vietnam name), but he says no, he really gets up on a bull. I make him explain that "up on" so I know I am hearing right. I want to know for true so I can tell this story to all my friends so that they understand, no lie, waht this man who stays with me can do. After that, a few years later, I come to America and I read some fairy tales to help me learn more English and I see this word and I ask a man n the place I work on Bourbon Street in New Orleans if this is the same. Up on and upon. He is a nice man who comes late in the evening to clean up after the men who see the show. He says this is a good question and he thinks about it and he says that yes, they are the same. I think this is very nice, how you get up on the back of time and ride and you don't know where it will go or how it will try to throw you off" (Butler 45). The second quote is from "Mid-Autumn": "The Chinese gave us the celebration because one of their early emperors loved poetry and he wrote many poems himself. Since all poets are full of silver threads that rise inside them as the moon grows large, the emperor yearned to go to the moon" (Butler 98). The last quote is from one of the first stories, "The Trip Back." "I am just a businessman, not a poet. It is the poet who is supposed to see things so clearly and to remember. Perhaps it is only the poet who can die well" (ibid 29). All I know is that I don't always see things very clearly at all, and I guess I am a sometime poet. Actually my brain is often a jumble of thoughts that are expressed in enigmas of word play. Perhaps I will die well. Here's to hoping. But what I do know, is it will be a long time before Butler's stories die in my memory of books that will never cease to inspire me, as a reader and one who appreciates all facets of culture and as an aspiring writer. Wow. GG's-20, Pulitzers-16.