Nam Le’s first book, the award-winning volume of short stories titled The Boat, not only exceeded all expectations, but also shattered them. For a book of short stories to be so widely read, praised, and reviewed is exceedingly rare. In The Boat, readers found a collection of beautifully polished gems, tales that resonated around the world and continue to do so today. Consequently, the name Nam Le excites people. In short, Le can write. He knows the rules: he can play with them, break them, and totally up-end them, as he has done in his debut book of poetry, 36 Ways of Writing a Vietnamese Poem.

A book that rewards close reading, it thrums with anger and conflict. It is complex, raw and defies easy categorisation. Le plays with style, structure and form across the breadth of this work, never allowing the reader to get comfortable. It is by turns harsh, unexpectedly funny, moving, and lyrical. This is the kind of read that makes reading worthwhile.

Though this is a short book, it is not one that is easily digested in one sitting. Le, who arrived by boat with his parents when he was one, is engaged in a reckoning with the past – his own, and the pasts that live through him. There is an intensity and energy to his contemplations as he confronts the issues that have been plaguing him. The themes are big, deeply personal, and intricate – race, identity, generational trauma, home(s), and the metaphysics of feeling and knowing. There is conflict and questioning, both internal and external, and about stories and to whom they belong. Ideas and the self fuse and spar; it feels at times like a beautifully composed unravelling.

I am not sure I have ever read anything quite like it, but I do know that I will read it over and over, and may still never fully understand it, but perhaps that is part of the beauty of this work.