As a history student who has only briefly learned about the horrific legacy of the Vietnam War – confined within the realm of academia – I’ve always remained curious about the lived experiences of survivors. So, at the start of this year, I decided to pick up a book that explores the embodied realities of the Vietnam War in various contexts through historical fiction. McGill alumnus Caroline Vu’s latest novel, Catinat Boulevard (2023), offers a compelling insight into the complex experiences of survivors through the lenses of cultural and racial identity. The McGill Daily had the pleasure of reconnecting with Vu almost a decade after our previous interview on her novel Palawan Story (2014), to discuss her newly released work. 

Caroline Vu was born in Vietnam in 1959, only four years after the start of the war. Due to the increasing danger, Vu was forced to flee to New England, and eventually settled in Montreal. After living in various parts of the world – Latin America, Switzerland, and Ottawa – the author now resides in Montreal where she works as a family physician when she isn’t writing. Vu published two award-winning novels, Palawan Story and That Summer in Provincetown (2015), before releasing Catinat Boulevard in October 2023 to much critical acclaim  – it was even a finalist for the 2023 Hugh McLennan Prize for Fiction. The novel dives into the turbulent lives of best friends Mai and Mai Ly in the city of Saigon during the Vietnam War. Mai flirts with American GIs in bars along Catinat Boulevard, eventually becoming pregnant by Michael, an African-American soldier. The turbulence of the war leaves their son Nat tragically abandoned in a Saigon orphanage. Meanwhile, Mai Ly rises in the ranks of the communist resistance and becomes a prominent figure who writes propaganda and rallies others to join the socialist struggle. The novel travels across decades and continents, eventually ending in present-day New York.  

Catinat Boulevard’s narration left a stark mark on me as a reader. Vu presents her story in the third-person through the eyes of Mai and Michael’s child, Nat. Whilst I initially felt slightly confused by this literary choice, I was able to fully digest its intent the more I read: the narration style became a powerful tool for accentuating Nat’s abandonment and isolation. One event in the novel especially stood out to me because of this choice. Upon hearing that she is pregnant, Mai’s father hits her and kicks her down the stairs. Vu writes this scene through the eyes of Nat: “It was my first exposure to physical violence. Surprisingly I didn’t feel any pain. I only felt a loss of grip as my world tumbled downstairs. I wished my mother had held out her hands to protect me. Instead, she used her own fists to repeatedly hit herself. Then she howled.” 

This is just one powerful instance of many granted by Vu’s unique style of writing that left me curious about her reasons behind narrating in this way. In an interview with the Daily, she replied: “Nat is a kid abandoned by his parents. In the orphanage, he is bullied because of his dark skin. The voice of a kid is more touching. It moves us more because we can identify with it. We understand that voice because we’ve all been kids ourselves.” 

In a time when historically-marginalized readers are increasingly conscious and critical of how literature can evoke wounds caused by physical, emotional, and intergenerational abuse and oppression, writers have to be careful not to produce “trauma porn.” Frankly, although Catinat Boulevard does contain depictions of trauma, it does so in a sentimental way that is necessary to portray the devastating disorder that came with the war. The exploration of trauma in this narrative depicts the calamitous circumstances and consequences of the war and the global 1960s more generally, in a sobering way that should not be dismissed. It is the  characters’ beautiful complexity and their very different experiences of trauma that elucidate this reality. From racism to abandonment to sexual abuse, Catinat Boulevard covers it all. But Vu makes it clear that the trauma she expresses can also be processed in complex ways, and can even be intricately embedded with humour. Having experienced much of this trauma herself in her own life, it was important for Vu to explore these wounds creatively in her writing, whilst being cognizant of their effects on marginalized communities.  

Vu told the Daily: “Yes there is a lot of trauma in the novel. From war to racism to abandonment etc… To lighten up the story, I added humour. I made each chapter short. There are no drawn-out sobbing scenes. No trauma porn! You know, I’ve experienced the same trauma Nat did: the war, the abandonment, the racism… Adding humour and laughing at certain situations in the book is perhaps a defence mechanism for me.”  

The process of writing is central to this narrative. Not in a self-explanatory way, but in a way that is visible and thematic to the reader. Letters appear recurrently throughout the book, which function to connect together the different characters who find themselves spread across Vietnam and the United States. Vu’s frequent adoption of the epistolary form serves to help us as readers get to know each of the characters in a deeper way. But for Vu, writing emerges as a theme not only to foster more complex characterization, but also to reflect her own love of the craft. 

Vu explained: “Catinat Boulevard is an ode to the written word. There are letters written by Michael to Mai. Letters written by Nat to Mother Superior. There are imaginary stories that Nat writes about his mother Mai. There are stories Mai presents to her writing group. There are entries Mai keeps in her diary. There are real-life stories Amanda writes for her newspapers. There is the email Mai Ly sent to Nat. There is the manuscript Nat tries to get published. There are the letters of rejection. 

For Nat and Mai, writing is therapeutic. It gives meaning to their loveless lives. Although they’d never met in person, they’d conversed through their writing. This is the power of the written word. It can transcend time and space. It can bring people together. Even dead ones!”

Mai and Nat’s love of writing is intimately interwoven in the ending of the novel. Whilst Mai discovers her love for writing as a Vietnamese immigrant in search of community in California, Nat uses writing to escape the horrors of living as an abandoned Black child in an orphanage in Saigon. Their writing transcends time and space to reveal parallels despite their isolated lives. Mai writes “problems started long before the kid walked this earth,” reflecting Nat’s words which read “trouble started years before my birth.” Catinat Boulevard ultimately reminds us that though physically far apart, Nat and Mai remain close, their lives forever interconnected despite all their troubles and despairs. 

The post Catinat Boulevard: A Compelling Narrative of Hope and Despair appeared first on The McGill Daily.

“Golden Child (Jealous)”

The soft, soothing drums and comforting words in “Golden Child” describe the struggle of maintaining authenticity in the face of disingenuity. This song serves as a lasting reminder that we can only do the best by being  ourselves, despite the hostile environments we may find ourselves in. Doing good in return for nothing is sometimes unappreciated, or even ridiculed: the global systems we operate in instead encourage us to constantly be fighting for our own gain, whether that be for a higher salary, or gaining more muscles at the gym. At times, we may feel discouraged to do good in the favour of prioritizing our own goals. But Cleo’s gentle words of affirmation feed our minds and souls. She acknowledges that pursuing individual authenticity can lead to isolation from others who aren’t able to take the same priority, but offers the comforting words: “I hope you know you’re not alone.” Her repeated affirmations are central to this song, and to the album as a whole. Sol’s reassurance to all who listen – that we each have something special about ourselves to cherish – is as powerful here as ever. 

“Airplane”

This has to be one of the most touching songs on the album. It’s a slow one, with beautiful lyrics – Cleo Sol’s speciality. The soothing guitar chords take us on a journey of self-worth and rediscovery, with the help of lyrics like: “You will find your power /  Little bird, wait” and “You will fly again, no fear / High like an airplane.” Without fear, we can always find a path to empowerment. But Cleo Sol remains realistic, and acknowledges the struggles that this inevitably comes with. Her raspy vocals and emotive falsetto echo that it is okay to sit in despair as long as we remember to always look up. One of the most noticeable themes in this album is Cleo Sol’s powerful references to her Christian faith, which she uses to empower fellow religious listeners. Lyrics like “Take a Bible, read the scriptures…” attest to Cleo Sol’s profound belief that the word of God can help people in their struggles towards self-worth and rediscovery. “Airplane” remains uplifting while acknowledging the impact of setbacks on our lives and the troubled state that they can cast us into. 

“Miss Romantic” 

There’s something so poignant about this song. The title says it all, really – this one is for the girlies who tend to delude themselves about a partner, even when they’re shown time and time again that they aren’t being valued or respected. “Looking at him like he’s a God figure, maybe you just need a father figure” is probably the hardest-hitting line. It refers to how the absence of a father or similar figure in some women’s lives can lead them to seek male validation elsewhere at any cost. It’s easy for people who have this need to shape imaginative realities that can be enormously contrary to actuality. Cleo Sol hits us with lines that ring true to this skewed mentality, like “He’s playing on your insecurity.” 

Yet Sol shows us that there’s a way out, through the power of the mind. By making a radical effort and challenging desperate mindsets, we can change our expectations and recognize that we’re not obligated to settle for the bare minimum. “Miss Romantic” is a reminder that we know what’s best for ourselves. The song ends as Sol’s voice slowly fizzles out, imploring us not to feed into our delusions. 

“Old Friends” 

Have you ever been in a situation where you are forced to lose someone in order to take care of yourself? In “Old Friends,” Cleo Sol deals with just that. She sings about prioritizing yourself in a toxic friendship overtop mellow piano chords in the background. “Old Friends” explores a relationship that ends not because of a big fight, but simply because one person has found themselves growing out of  the friendship. The song speaks to an inner awareness, prompting listeners to surround themselves with better people. Something I’ve really noticed in this album is the raw way Cleo Sol expresses her reality. She’s not afraid to tackle the hardships that come with healing and personal growth, including the intense pain of letting go of someone you love. “Years have gone by, tears still stain my pillow,” she sings. Emotions that come from the healing process can take years to get over. 

Towards the end of the song, “Old Friends” takes a heartwarming direction: Sol sings about the confidence inspired by making the decision to move on and knowing that it is for the best. Making peace with this decision can only be achieved through loving and accepting yourself:  “I’ve changed and realised that I can be alone.” 

From beginning to end, Cleo Sol’s Heaven takes us on a journey of self-discovery and growth. It isn’t a manual to fix your problems – nor is it a list of grievances and struggles. It’s a bit of both, I think. “Self,” the first song on the album, perfectly encapsulates all the key themes of the album, from hurt and healing to personal growth and faith. Heaven reminds us of our worth and, crucially, reassures us that it’s never too late to grow. The truth is, many of us will probably need to listen to this album again at many points in our lives.

The post Cleo Sol’s Heaven Nurtures the Soul appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Simz’s two latest albums, Sometimes I Might Be Introvert (2021) and No Thank You (2022) have been greatly received by critics and fans alike. The former has been widely regarded as one of the best album releases of the year, and was ranked number one by British music publication The Line Of Best Fit. Little Simz was supposed to tour Sometimes I Might Be Introvert last year in the US, but had to cancel due to the mounting financial constraints she faced as an independent artist. Studies show that streaming platforms and services are benefiting hugely at the expense of artists, an example being that Universal Music Group is profiting from the 25 per cent cut that Academy Music Group withdraw from merchandise sales in its venues. Little Simz told the Guardian: “Being an independent artist, I pay for everything encompassing my live performances out of my own pocket and touring the US for a month would leave me in a huge deficit. As much as this pains me to not see you at this time, I’m just not able to put myself through that mental stress.” These struggles are expressed in her newest album, No Thank You, which has just been toured in the US and Canada. It’s safe to say that Simz has overcome this setback and is ready to perform her moving hits across the UK and North America. 

Simz has been very vocal both verbally and lyrically about her experience navigating  the music industry as an independent artist. “No one wanted to sign me! I was knocking on everyone’s doors … and they wasn’t hearing it,” she told Skalvan, a Norwegian-Swedish talk show host. However, now that Simz’ artistry has been recognised by critics and has achieved financial success, she is  being  approached by major record labels. In “Angel,” the first song listed on No Thank You, Simz directly alludes to the exploitation of independent artists within the music industry: “I can see how an artist can get tainted, frustrated. They don’t care if your mental is on the brink of somethin’ dark. As long as you’re cuttin’ somebody’s payslip.” This experience isn’t unique to Little Simz. The dismissal of independent artists’ humanity is rampant within various artistic industries, from books to music. Through her lyrics, Simz is echoing these harsh realities that have been frequently addressed by artists such as Saul Williams in his 2004 album List of Demands. It is no secret that economic success is appealing to major labels. This often leaves emerging artists conflicted, as they face offers that seem appealing at face-value, but hide the looming threat  of exploitation. Simz is one among many who have faced this decision, but she chose to remain independent and dodge the exploitative record labels itching to hop on the ride of her recent critical and financial success. 

Making a decision to go independent as an artist can be liberating – it gives you a certain  creative autonomy you could not otherwise possess. However, it isn’t exactly all happy times. The financial pressures, particularly when touring, can be a nightmare for many independent artists. This summer, full-time independent musician Sarah King spoke about the financial struggles of touring as an independent artist and how they have only  been exacerbated by the pandemic. Since the outbreak of COVID-19, King notes that the most difficult aspect of touring is finding a venue in the midst of  shutdowns. Even if you can find a suitable venue, available dates are limited for “mid-level artists” due to extensive backlogs. 

During the course of Simz’s career, she’s made it clear that she is in it for the long run. Even if she is faced with hardships as an independent artist, for Simz the rewarding nature of an autonomous musical journey is what matters most. Reflecting on her journey as an independent artist, Simz told Music Week that “It always sounds very appealing when you’re being wined and dined and promised things. But I also have friends and peers who are on major labels and I talked to them. It’s not as if they say anything crazy or wild, but I wanted to get all the perspectives. So I don’t actually know what it is to be a signed artist. I mean, I might have it all backwards. I might be missing a trick, but I think I’ve found something that works for me. It’s a lot of hard work, but I’m definitely a stairs person and not on the escalator journey. It’s super-rewarding and I get to do what I want.” This has been noticed by the likes of multifaceted artist and director Robert Swerdlow, who told Music Week: “Very rarely do you get an artist who can work in a global, smart and culturally relevant musical space and stand up 100 per cent for independence. And Simz never compromises on any creative level, from music, to marketing, identity, aesthetic and video making.”

Simply put, Simz’s artistry truly embodies the act of being resilient and trusting that your time will come. These qualities are integral to being an independent artist in the chaotic climate of today’s music industry. As such, Little Simz’s career is one to be watched. Montreal is honoured to receive her work.

The post Little Simz Takes Montreal appeared first on The McGill Daily.