Things We Lost to the Water

Water is the novel’s titular symbol, and given the complexity of the story and the circular repetition of the language, water seemingly could represent many things, such as time, trauma, or life. What encapsulates all of these, however, is memory, a conceptual space where—like water—events, people, places, and thoughts can be buried and found once more.

Memory is integral to the novel: Hương’s memory—and the stories and decrees she passes on to her sons—keep Công alive and present. Công is influential, though absent, every time she tells them that their father would approve (or disapprove) of something. However, memory (along with perception and deceit) distorts the truth of his separation from the family: Công abandons them because of trauma and attachment to his homeland but is perceived by Hương to have abandoned and forgotten them. To protect her children, she lies and says he died a hero, believing a false memory better than a devastating truth. Either way, the truth—Công’s truth—is lost to the oceans that separate Vietnam from the US, just as Hương and Tuấn consign their life in Vietnam (both its happy and devastating events) to memory when they flee to New Orleans.