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70 pages 2 hours read

Andrew X. Pham

Catfish and Mandala: A Two-Wheeled Voyage through the Landscape and Memory of Vietnam

Nonfiction | Autobiography / Memoir | Adult | Published in 1999

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Themes

The Randomness of Fate

The randomness of fate turns up repeatedly, both directly and indirectly, in Pham’s narrative. Chapter 2 hints at this early on, with details of Pham’s father’s (Thong) life in prison after the war. Much of the chapter concerns the father’s friendship with another prisoner named Tuan. The prisoners all live in fear: If they hear their name over the loudspeaker, it means their lives are forfeit, and guards will shoot them. Tuan is among the unlucky captives who meet this fate. Pham’s father also works in a mine-clearing squad, which results in the death of a number of prisoners from a random explosion, but Thong survives. Finally, Thong hears his name over the loudspeaker. Instead of death, however, he’s set free in a seemingly random act of lenience.

There are many instances of randomness in Pham’s own life as well, not least during his family’s escape from Vietnam by boat: A fishing net gets caught in the propeller, delaying departure, and then a patrol boat appears but doesn’t investigate. Had these random acts not taken place, there might not be any story to tell. Indeed, when Pham himself falls from the Indonesian ship that saves them, he’s saved by a crewman. Pham’s family’s survival stems from random fate. The randomness of fate surfaces in Vietnam for Pham as well. Throughout his cycling trip, Pham meets countless people whose fate could be his. He becomes obsessed with a beggar girl who reminds him of his ex-girlfriend, Trieu; the girl could very well have escaped while Trieu didn’t. While touring his childhood home in Phan Thiet with the man who runs a motorcycle repair shop, he verbalizes this randomness by saying, “Fate could have switched our destinies and no one would have been the wiser” (181).

There are brief instances in the narrative where characters take an active role in their fate by making the right choices and working hard. When Pham’s family moves to a poor neighborhood in San Jose, California, Pham’s parents tell their children, “We’re different. Never forget that we are different. You are better than they. You must study harder, work harder, and be better than they in every way” (191). His father studies 18 hours a day, every day, to earn an Associate’s degree in computer programming, believing that the hard work would pay off. In this sense, Pham felt that he and his siblings might have control over fate. The rest of the narrative, however, muddles this volition with fate’s randomness both in the present and the past, thus creating dissonance between the two ideas. 

Immigration and the Concept of Home

Pham grows up conflicted, torn between his native country of Vietnam and his adopted country of America. In his youth, certain moments made him feel accepted as an American. When he wins a watermelon seed–spitting contest at summer camp, for example, the other kids all cheer, giving him his first feeling of acceptance in his new country. Likewise, when he and his family are all baptized in Louisiana, he thinks this makes him a real citizen. As he grows up, however, he sees that the truth is more complicated. When his family moves to California, they often visit Carmel on weekends to go to the beach. There Pham feels that the white Americans— “tall blond folks of sandy, burnished skin, long legs, and jewel eyes” (194)—never entirely accept them.

Part of the reason Pham decides to visit Vietnam is because immigration to the US has left him without a sense of belonging. His return to Vietnam is both to find roots and to find a definition of home. However, the country of his birth feels no more like home to him. The places he remembers have all changed—nothing feels familiar. Even worse, his status as a Viet-kieu (foreign Vietnamese) creates a barrier between him and everyone else. His countrymen treat him as either a traitor or a rich American, like any other tourist from whom they can get something. Most everyone assumes that he sees himself as better than local Vietnamese. For instance, when he stops at a small café for a Coke and declines ice because he’s had digestive trouble, a group of drunken men take it as a snub, grumbling that their ice isn’t good enough for him. Such barriers even exist with his relatives and friends. A conversation with his close friend Cuong ends in awkwardness around this topic. Cuong says that no matter how much money he has or how nice his clothes are, it is clear that Pham in his old jeans is still of a higher status. After spending months in Vietnam, Pham realizes that America feels more like home to him. 

Racism in America

In Pham’s youth, neighborhood kids in San Jose sometimes shoot BB guns at him and his brothers, yelling, “Go home, Chinks!” (190). While this racism is indicative of youthful antics from kids who may or may not know any better, Pham experiences indisputable racism as an adult. Early in his bike trip, for instance, a logging truck pulls alongside him and the passenger yells, “Hey, Jap!” before throwing a cup of water all over him. Pham rationalizes the incident somewhat, writing:

I’ve had plenty of trash and pennies thrown at me from cars. I usually console myself that it is just one downside of bicycle touring, and that some people throw trash because I am a bicyclist and not because of the slant of my eyes (38).

Pham, however, isn’t entirely convinced of this interpretation, and even admits that he uses it to “console” himself. The obvious racial slur makes it hard to dismiss outright racism as the source, and such incidents make him question whether he can ever feel at home in America.

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By Andrew X. Pham