“One of the most important books of Vietnamese American and Vietnam War literature...Moving, powerful.” —Viet Thanh Nguyen, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of The Sympathizer
In these pages, Le Ly Hayslip—just twelve years old when U.S. helicopters landed in her tiny village of Ky La—shows us the Vietnam War as she lived it. Initially pressed into service by the Vietcong, Le Ly was captured and imprisoned by government forces. She found sanctuary at last with an American contractor and ultimately fled to the United States. Almost twenty years after her escape, Le Ly found herself inexorably drawn back to the devastated country and loved ones she’d left behind, and returned to Vietnam in 1986. Scenes of this joyous reunion are interwoven with the brutal war years, creating an extraordinary portrait of the nation, then and now—and of one courageous woman who held fast to her faith in humanity.
First published in 1989, When Heaven and Earth Changed Places was hailed as an instant classic. Now, some two decades later, this indispensable memoir continues to be one of our most important accounts of a conflict we must never forget.
|Publisher:||Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group|
|Product dimensions:||5.20(w) x 7.90(h) x 1.00(d)|
About the Author
Phung Le Ly Hayslip was born in Vietnam in 1950. She is the author of two memoirs—When Heaven and Earth Changed Places and Child of War, Woman of Peace—which were adapted into the film Heaven and Earth by Oliver Stone. Since 1986, she has helped rebuild her motherland through the two charitable organizations she established. Her efforts now focus exclusively on supporting the orphanages she founded in Vietnam.
Jay Wurts, an Air Guard pilot during the Vietnam War, has written and edited a variety of books.
Read an Excerpt
Twenty-five years ago, the book you hold in your hands, When Heaven and Earth Changed Places, was joined by two sister narratives. One was named Child of War, Woman of Peace, my account of my early years as a refugee in America and my first attempts to help survivors in my still-troubled homeland. The other was called Heaven & Earth, a glamorous Hollywood relative, that retold both stories to movie audiences around the world. Their strange and wonderful journeys continue to this day.
Here in the West, we celebrate a quarter century as a “silver” anniversary. For me and my print and film daughters, it is a very suitable color. As you’ve seen in these pages, I grew up near a beach lined with silver sand while silver clouds swirled overhead: sometimes bright with sunshine, sometimes dark with smoke and summer monsoons. When I came to America in 1970, the terrors that clouded my life found silver linings in three growing sons and a chance to help the Vietnamese half a world away who had not shared my good fortune. As my story reached millions more on the printed page and silver screen, I began to see old truths with new eyes: through the lens of wisdom that only comes with age.
In 2006, as my mother’s old gray head lay on a shabby pillow at Danang General Hospital, my three elder sisters, my brother, and I surrounded her bed in a vigil as old as time: waiting stoically for the moment our loved one moves on, whether back to the world of the living or onward to the realm of her ancestors. Mama Du was 102, thin as a reed, and almost drained of the sap of life: a stalk of rice with no more grains to give. As I watched her life begin to ebb, I saw another circle being closed. Her sickbed was in a hospital built two years before by the humanitarian organization I founded in 1988 but is now entrusted to other hands. Like every Vietnamese hospital, its rooms and corridors are filled with patients’ families. Some help the nurses with the sick, but most just tend their loved ones, bringing food from home with smiles and tears.
Independent to the last, Mama whispers that she wants to leave this life on her own terms: at home in her bed, surrounded by friends and family. With my sisters and brother, I look for someone to discharge her, but it is Reunification Day, a public holiday in Vietnam, so there are no nurses or orderlies to help. We finally find an army stretcher and, taking care to keep her oxygen tube and IV in place, bring her home ourselves in an old hired Dodge van, another relic of the war. Neighbors and distant relations—even the village herbalist, the monks, and the wizards who mediate between the living and the dead—catch sight of our van and gather at our door to meet us. Before we let them in, my sisters and I bathe and shampoo Mama and dress her in finery that befits the grand journey she is about to take. She is now beyond speech, but her smile shows that she hears us singing as we work, recounting family lore about the old days in Ky La: how Mama and Papa met and married, and how, together, they survived the long fall through two wars and the loss of family and a way of life.
As Mama’s spirit prepares to leave, guests and mourners glide past her bed, saying good-bye and giving us, her children (including our brother Bon, now bent and gray like the other village elders), advice for the coming funeral. They want the ceremonies to go just-so, with no confusion about the rituals or interference from troublesome ghosts. When they’ve had their say and resume their vigil outside, my sisters and I sort through the small aluminum box where Mama has kept her prize possessions: her few nice clothes, her favorite comb, fingernail clippers, and a pair of dangly earrings made by a grandchild. Among these treasures are two long-sleeved white shirts, now discolored and stiff with age. I remember Mama wearing them on special occasions, recalling only now that they were made from a GI pillowcase at the start of the American War. I swallow a sob and marvel at how much history fits into one box.
“We should bury this box outside the casket under Mama’s feet,” I suggest.
“Oh no!” Hai looks horrified. “After we go, people will only dig it up! We might as well bury gold.”
Disbelief shows on my face but quickly fades as I watch the villagers mill around. Wars may end, wounds can heal, but scars on the soul often persist until the bearer is reborn. Fortunately, if the universe promises one thing, it’s that we all get another chance.
Table of Contents
Prologue: Dedication to Peace xi
1 Coming Back 3
2 Fathers and Daughters 32
3 Open Wounds 75
4 Losing the Way 121
5 Losing Love 156
6 A Question of Faith 195
7 A Different View 230
8 Sisters and Brothers 255
9 Daughters and Sons 278
10 Power on Earth 300
11 Almost in Paradise 322
12 Finding a Family 344
13 Finding Peace 373
14 Letting Go 399
Epilogue: A Song of Enlightenment 428
Afterword to the Anchor Books Edition 435
Acknowledgments to the Anchor Books Edition 441
Reading Group Guide
1. Why do you think Le Ly Haslip wrote this book? Do you think her intention was to share her experience with others or was she looking to exorcise her own demons?
2. Did this book challenge anything you previously believed about the Vietnam War?
3. About halfway through her memoir, Hayslip expresses anger over Chin forcing Ba to marry him. Haslip’s father then says, “Don’t hate Chin—and don’t hate Ba for marrying him. Hate the war for doing what it did to them both.” How can this sentiment of hating the war, not the people it affected be applied to other people in the memoir?
4. Throughout her memoir, Hayslip’s understanding of who “the enemy” is changes. Examine who she believes the enemy is at different points in the book and why her view changes.
5. Do you think Hayslip was right to marry Ed and leave the country?
6. As Hayslip leaves Vietnam after a happy reunion with her family, she makes a promise to help her homeland. Do you think she did? Do you think she was able to maintain her renewed positive relationship with her family?
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
What a compelling story she tells, I will be thinking about this story for a long time coming, Was very well written, once I got into the story ( which didn't take long ) I couldn't put the book down,
I read this book when it first came out, and was reminded of its affect on me as I started reading The Lotus Eaters. The latter, written on the basis of research rather than personal experience, failed to engage me. One woman's harrowing tale of survival nakedly exposes the futility of that long and senseless war.