Daughters of the new yea.., p.1
Daughters of the New Year, page 1
Praise for Daughters of the New Year
“Wildly imaginative, rich with humor, and unafraid to dive into the histories that are woven through the threads of our family life, E.M. Tran’s Daughters of the New Year is the kind of story I love: A novel unabashedly American as it is Vietnamese. Through Tran’s utterly unique and richly drawn characters, she is able to fully embrace the thick complication of family, diasporic community and the pain and resilience that it takes to rebuild in the wake of devastation.”
—Xochitl Gonzalez, author of Olga Dies Dreaming
“Daughters of the New Year is engrossing and exhilarating, traversing between countries, generations, and the myriad lives in between. Tran’s prose rings throughout, weaving together laughs and chills and tears, unifying and contorting a family tied by love, debts, humor, and ghosts. With hundreds of threads in between, Daughters of the New Year is both thrilling and sobering, enthralling and awe-inspiring, and Tran has turned the question of what a family can be into a complex, heartfelt mural of possibility.”
—Bryan Washington, author of Lot and Memorial
“E.M. Tran writes with such a unique sense of imagination and insightful observations that have the power to bring generations together and to illuminate the complex Vietnamese history and culture. Fresh, innovative, poetic and captivating, Daughters of the New Year is a book that deserves its place on everyone’s bookshelf.”
—Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai, author of The Mountains Sing
“This is the kind of book about existing between cultures that makes me wish I could reach back through time and hand it to my younger self. E.M. Tran has crafted a story as ferocious, brave, and big-hearted as the women within it.”
—Violet Kupersmith, author of Build Your House Around My Body
“E.M. Tran confidently leads readers into the hearts of her characters, but the world she writes of is much larger than that. The legacy of colonialism, the history of women warriors, the mythology of a culture—it’s all here. Intimate yet epic, Daughters of the New Year is a remarkable debut.”
—Eric Nguyen, author of Things We Lost to the Water
“Polyphonic, epic, and tender, this searching portrait of three sisters moves fearlessly back in time, unearthing legacies of colonial violence and war. A haunted story of resilience and survival.”
—Meng Jin, author of Little Gods
“The Vietnamese American family that opens this novel—three daughters and their mother—are richly brought to life, but the only thing better than meeting and loving those four women was meeting their fierce women ancestors. From contemporary New Orleans to colonial Vietnam, this compelling epic shows us both the big moments that are recorded in textbooks and the quiet moments that are recorded in the human heart. E.M. Tran has crafted an original and unforgettable debut.”
—Beth Ann Fennelly, poet laureate of Mississippi and author of Heating & Cooling
E.M. Tran is a Vietnamese American writer from New Orleans, Louisiana. Her stories, essays and reviews can be found in such places as Joyland magazine, the Los Angeles Review of Books, Thrillist and Harvard Review Online. Her essay for Prairie Schooner won their Summer Nonfiction Prize, a Glenna Luschei Award and was listed as a Notable Essay in The Best American Essays 2018. She completed her MFA at the University of Mississippi and a PhD in creative writing at Ohio University.
www.elizabethmtran.com
DAUGHTERS OF THE NEW YEAR
A NOVEL
E.M. Tran
for my parents
Contents
Quote
Prologue
Part I:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part II:
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
“I only want to ride the wind and
walk the waves, slay the big whales
of the Eastern sea, clean up frontiers,
and save the people from drowning.
Why should I imitate others, bow
my head, stoop over and be a slave?”
—Lady Triệu
PROLOGUE
Xuan
The night before the first day of Lunar New Year, Xuan called her children to give them their horoscopes. She did this every year: for at least a week, she pored over the gigantic book with each sign’s annual predictions and star positions, and the daily zodiac calendar with its moon phases, both of which she bought at the Vietnamese bookstore across town at the strip mall in New Orleans East.
Xuan always called her children in the same sequence: first Trac, the oldest, then Nhi, the middle child, and finally Trieu, her youngest. Every year, she had a private laugh about calling them in their birth order because it reminded her of the zodiac origin story. Her own mother used to recite it every Tết when they lived in Vietnam. Myth had it that the Jade Emperor beckoned all the animals to participate in a race. It was an invitation to be inducted into the zodiac for all of time, but there would only be twelve victors. The order in which they each crossed the finish line was the order in which they would be immortalized into the zodiac. But, of course, the race was treacherous, requiring the animals to cross every kind of terrain in every kind of weather predicament. The final and most difficult hurdle was traversing the Mighty River, to enter heaven, where the Jade Emperor awaited their arrival.
In the private joke she had with herself, Xuan was the Jade Emperor, and her own children the scrappy animals fighting and clawing their way to heaven to be first, second, and third in the zodiac. Of course, Trac, Nhi, and Trieu cared little about this myth and never noticed that Xuan got a kick out of it. No doubt, they would be annoyed, as they inexplicably were, about anything and everything Xuan did.
Xuan had been at Trac’s house just a few days ago, only because Trac had insisted she come for dinner. Xuan didn’t want her children to cook for her. They didn’t know how to cook, not any of them, despite Xuan’s insistence all their lives that they learn.
“I’ll teach you to make wonton soup,” she’d say to one or another of them. Sometimes it was wonton, sometimes it was glass noodles, sometimes it was beef stir-fry. It didn’t matter, because they all responded with traded eye rolls and vague avoidances. “Your mom know how to make the best soup in town. She the best cook in the world,” she’d say, and still, none of them would seem keen to take her up on the offer.
Yet, she had been pressured to come to Trac’s house, which was in a part of town where Xuan hated driving, and was expected to behave politely about her eldest daughter’s cooking. Where she’d learned this cooking, Xuan had no idea. The internet, she was sure, some website for Americans. This was why Trac wasn’t married—what man would marry her when she couldn’t cook a decent meal? And then, and this was the worst part, when Xuan offered help, Trac replied, “I know how to do it,” followed by “God,” disguised under a sigh, as if she was deaf. There was that annoyance again—it cropped up in unexpected moments. She could never manage to prepare herself. It was a kick in the gut. Her children never seemed to notice, always wrapped up in their own defensiveness.
“Are you sure you want to add the pork so early?” she asked Trac.
“Yes, I want to add the pork this early,” she said. And when dinner was ready, Xuan thought the pork was tough, dry, and too salty.
She wanted to tell her children the directions they should each go for good luck on the first day of Lunar New Year. She wanted to tell them to avoid risky ventures and the color white. She wanted to tell them the recipe for stuffed bitter melon soup. She wanted them to listen, but she knew they wouldn’t. She told them anyway. She told Trac while choking down tough, dry, too-salty pork; she told her youngest, Trieu, while she sat, unresponsive, at the computer; and she even told Nhi, who was in Vietnam filming that horrible reality show about American women fighting over a mediocre American man. She had been mostly out of reach for three months shooting Eligible Bachelor, and must now be nearing the end of the process.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to call her in Vietnam, Mom,” said Trieu, who was currently living in her old bedroom in Xuan’s house.
“Why not? I call her, I’m her mother.”
“You haven’t spoken to her in months.”
“I don’t need reason. I call my child whenever I feel.”
“She’s filming the TV show. I don’t think she has her cell phone.”
“How you talk to her, then?” Xuan asked, and felt a twinge of satisfaction at Trieu’s guilty expression. She’d heard her daughter talking on the phone in her bedroom, speaking so loudly, she was surprised Trieu thought the simple fact of the door being shut was enough to muffle the conversation.
“She only calls me when she has a chance. It’s always from a different phone number.”
“You tell me how to call her,” said Xuan.
Trieu gave Xuan the phone number for Nhi’s agent in Los Angeles. “It’s just some woman in LA. I don’t think you should call her. What are you even calling her for?”
Xuan went into her room with the cordless phone. When the woman picked up, she didn’t say hello. Her voice had a fried, dry quality to it, which reminded Xuan of Trac’s pork.
“Angela Weiser,” she said.
“Hello, this Xuan Trung. I am Nhi Trung’s mother.”
“Oh—hello, what can I do for you?” Brisk and already aggravated, Angela Weiser was apparently not accustomed to unannounced callers.
“I want to speak to my daughter, but I have no way to contact. Do you have the number I can call?”
“Is there something wrong? A family emergency?” The sharp edges of her words had dissolved. Her greeting had begun so efficiently, but now Xuan could hear the core of her. She was happy that Angela Weiser was her daughter’s agent, whatever that was.
“No, there is no emergency, I just need to speak with her about something.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Trung, but we’re not allowed to contact the contestants. She has designated phone call time, and she only checks in with me every once in a while. I can tell her to call you when we next talk?”
“I can leave message with you, and you can tell my daughter, okay?”
“Sure,” said Angela Weiser.
“Do you have a pencil? Do you write it down?”
“Yes, I have paper and a pen.”
“Tell my daughter that it will be Year of the Monkey, a very bad pairing for a Fire Tiger like her.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It will be Year of the Monkey,” Xuan repeated. “Tiger and Monkey never get along. They always bicker and fight, so this may be a bad year for my daughter. They have very clashing personality and cannot agree on anything. She may see a lot of conflict this year.” Xuan could hear the pen scratching the paper.
“Is that all?”
“No, she also has to be careful, because the Monkey can be a tricky animal. She should watch out for small tricks or deceit.”
“Small tricks...or...deceit,” she mumbled. “Okay, got it.”
“Also, if you wish for luck in money go to the south direction. If you wish for luck, fame, prestige, go to the southwest. Maybe she should do this because she actress, no?”
“Mm-hmm, I think you might be right about that,” said Angela. “Should she go southwest on a walk, or does it not matter?”
“Yes. First thing in the morning. If you wish all kind of luck, go to the east or west. Overall, east, west, south, southeast, southwest—lucky star move to these direction.”
“So, don’t go north, northeast, or northwest?” said Angela.
“Yes, that right. You should also do this for luck. Only for the first day of Lunar New Year, though.”
“There’s more than one day?”
“Yes. Tuesday the second day of New Year. If you wish luck in money, go to the east. If you wish for all the good news go to the southwest.”
“Wow, okay, so—”
“Wednesday the third day of the New Year. If you wish for all the good news, go to the south. If you wish for a mentor, go to the east.”
“Is that the last day of Lunar New Year?”
“Yes, only three day. You tell my daughter that, okay? If she can, she should celebrate in Vietnam with the correct food. She should not work on New Year, it bad luck. Please tell my daughter that for me, okay?”
“I’ll tell your daughter,” said Xuan’s daughter’s agent in Los Angeles.
When she hung up the phone, Xuan went to find Trieu and tell her what Year of the Fire Monkey had in store for an Earth Dragon.
* * *
The story went like this:
Ngọc Hoàng, the Jade Emperor, or in some versions, Buddha, invited all the animals of the kingdom to participate in a race to heaven. The race took them across mountains and desert, jungle and tundra, through air and underwater, rain and snow and hail. Bitter cold and scorching hot, animals of all kinds dragged their way toward the finish line, which lay across the Mighty River, the most difficult obstacle of all. They competed for one of the coveted and honorable positions in the zodiac. Only twelve animals could be initiated.
Cat told his best friend, Rat, about the race, and they agreed to be a mutually beneficial team. They were wily and creative, and faster than all of the other animals. But both of them were terrible swimmers. So, when they arrived at the Mighty River, they hid until Ox (sometimes referred to as Water Buffalo) arrived, jumping on his sturdy back as he waded easily through the treacherous current. Rat, sneaky in nature, pushed Cat into the water, thinking he would drown. (This explains Cat’s eternal dislike of Rat, and why he still chases Rat to this day with intent to kill.) When Ox reached Heaven’s shore, Rat jumped ahead of Ox to be first. The winner, the first initiate of the zodiac, became so through cunning, secrecy, and betrayal.
After Ox, Tiger was third in the zodiac. In the Chinese version of the tale, Cat does not make it in time to be included. But in Vietnamese versions, he surprises Rat by knowing how to swim after all, and crawls ashore as the fourth animal in the zodiac. In every version of the myth, Tiger’s story is left off the page. Tiger is third, without much explanation or fanfare, the attention diverted to Cat’s comeback story.
Then there is Dragon, the most revered sign of the zodiac. Dragon could’ve been the winner, as he could fly, but he stopped for some philanthropic reason or other, sacrificing first place to protect and serve. Sometimes the story is that Dragon noticed the people below him were dying of thirst, so he stopped to create rain for them. Other times, the story is that Dragon stopped to extinguish a fire terrorizing a village. Regardless, Dragon is portrayed as self-sacrificing, protective, and as creative genius embodied, his mind brimming with ideas waiting to come to fruition. He is the only mythical animal out of the twelve zodiac signs.
Horse came soon after, but Snake had been hiding behind his hoof. Snake slithered out, spooking Horse and cutting the line, coming in at number six, and Horse at number seven. In some varieties of the tale, Snake and Dragon are good friends and arrive in Heaven at the same time as travel companions. Unfortunately, because of Dragon’s size, the Jade Emperor sees Dragon before he sees Snake.
Goat, Monkey, and Rooster collected reeds and built a raft together on the riverbank. They worked as a team to cross the Mighty River: Monkey using his hands to propel them forward, Rooster crowing so loudly, the air expelled from his chest pushed them onward, and Goat using her horns to fling off any passing debris that might capsize them. Dog, despite being the best swimmer of all the animals, was eleventh in the race. He had been covered in dirt and grime from the grueling terrain, and when he dived into the Mighty River, the water invigorated him. He was such a good swimmer that the river’s current made no impression on Dog, so that he only noticed how cool and refreshing the water was, how it washed away the filth caked in his fur. He frolicked and lollygagged his way to eleventh in the zodiac.
And just before the closing of Heaven’s gates to the great race, Pig squealed and kicked his way through the river, bursting out just in time before the end of the competition. He was the twelfth and final zodiac animal, having been so behind due to his tendency for snacks and naps.
And so, the gates closed, and the Jade Emperor welcomed these animals to their rightful places. That Mighty River the only thing separating them and us, Heaven and Earth, eternity and now.
* * *
Xuan herself was a Tiger, born in the element of Metal. Those under the sign of Tiger are competitive and confident. They are charming and popular, bold and natural leaders. They can be bad-tempered, overindulgent, stubborn. Tigers are judgmental. Metal traits include inflexibility, rigidity, firmness—what one might associate with literal metal. People of this element possess a strength of will, determination. They are ambitious, set in their ways, and loath to accept help. They like to do things on their own.
