This was a poetic, heavy, dreamy-yet-sad, novel about quite a range of life experience, from the lasting damage of war on the psyche, to the ultimate questions surrounding the Vietnam War, in particular, to growing up fatherless. The author heavily meditates on what it means to be Vietnamese in America; what it means for his non-English speaking mother with PTSD, his non-English speaking grandmother with her own horrors of war, his "yellow" skin among a sea of white and brown. He also examines a life lived with his mother and grandmother, who both have some intense demons that come out and attack him. On top of it all, he is also gay, so the story of his boyhood and adjusting to his life as a gay, Vietnamese man, is also a thread running through. The book itself is told with such a mastery of language and feeling, alternating between prose poetry, narrative, and sometimes broken poetry stanzas. I felt so much reading this book, and, though devastating in a multitude of ways, this book was beautiful.

It's been a while since I've read a book so touching, so moving that I cried while reading it. There is something so tender and stirring about Vuong's writing, a mix of prose, poetry, and epistle. As he moves through explaining his life to his mother, not always chronologically, but more thematically, he touches on so many topics and explains and synthesizes them in ways I am still ruminating.

This is not a book for those who like straight-forward plot and action or even characterization, because there isn't much of that. There is plot, action, character, but these serve as vessels for the discovery of deeper meaning and truth in pain, death, war, poverty, etc.

I've had a heck of a time getting through this book, not because it's a bad book, or strangely written, or a hard story to follow. In fact, it is one of the simplest stories, most well-written and touching books I've read in a while. However, simplicity can be deceptive, and this book was quite harrowing and hard to process.

It is ultimately a story of the trauma of war, the trauma of immigration, the trauma of discovering your sexuality in secret, and how these burdens are so hard to bear. Little Dog is writing a letter to his mother who has immigrated along with his grandmother and his aunt from war torn Vietnam to the United States. Both the grandmother and the mother have vestiges of mental illness, as well as PTSD from their lives in Vietnam. The little boy is affected by this, but as he grows older he begins to grapple with his attraction to males, especially his ill-fated romance with a young white man.

The prose of this book is beautiful, and the heavy sadness of all the characters are very affecting. At the same time, the devotion and complicated love between the mother, and the grandmother, and the son and the mother are beautiful and inspiring. I think this is what makes this book hard to read, just the weight of everything that these people are carrying around, both good things, and bad things, and how they must find a way to navigate forward, no matter what. I have only read a few of Ocean Vuong's poems before, but I will most certainly seek out more of them since reading this book. I look forward to other novels he has to write.

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous is the story from first-generation Vietnamese-American son to his mother. It is intense, well-written, and has a stream-of-consciousness feel to it. I didn't know anything about Vuong going into reading this one, but I'm definitely curious to learn more. I have ordered a couple copies for my library. Thank you!

I didn't know this was a novel when I picked it up, but having read Ocean Vuong's poetry I feel confident saying his prose doesn't fall short. This is an emotional read for sure, especially for those who may connect with or relate to certain elements of this book. I was, to be honest, hesitant to read it once I learned it was a novel because I wanted to read more of Vuong's poetry, but it was a good read nonetheless.

3.5 out of 5 stars.

Absolutely beautiful. Vuong is truly an amazing wordsmith and story-teller. Little Dog and his mother will find their way into your heart and stay with you for long after the last page.

I wanted to enjoy this novel, as I'd been intrigued by Vuong's poetry. However, I think it is quite clear, that novel may not be his strongest form. While there were many bursts of veracity and beauty, they were sadly outnumbered by pretentious and unnecessary detail. This line, particularly, seemed quite ridiculous: "It was not until the blood ran from his mother's nose, turning her white shirt the color of Elmo on Sesame Street."

What we have here is a great poet making one too many nimble turns to surprise his reader.

ON EARTH WE'RE BRIEFLY GORGEOUS is the new, highly original, American novel of the millennial era. Little Dog, a Vietnamese first generation American, writes a pensive letter to his mother. This letter is a lyrical, stream-of-consciousness personal history that illustrates the conflicting societal narratives, issues and experiences of adults who came of age in the late 90's and early 2000's- particularly for Asian Americans and other minorities. Anyone who grew up in America in the past 30 years has known or loved someone who has overdosed- and Little Dog wistfully recounts the heartbreak, anger and shame. Little Dog's searing truths about his family secrets, sexual awakening, and the poverty and addiction that have surrounded him are, to him, a private release- his mother cannot read- but the catharsis leaves the reader with much to mull over. Highly recommended for all.