by Ocean Vuong
4.4 · 5 reviewsOne late summer evening in the post-industrial town of East Gladness, Connecticut, nineteen-year-old Hai stands on the edge of a bridge in pelting rain, ready to jump, when he hears someone shout a…
One late summer evening in the post-industrial town of East Gladness, Connecticut, nineteen-year-old Hai stands on the edge of a bridge in pelting rain, ready to jump, when he hears someone shout across the river. The voice belongs to Grazina, an elderly widow succumbing to dementia, who convinces him to take another path. Bereft and out of options, he quickly becomes her caretaker. Over the course of the year, the unlikely pair develops a life-altering bond, one built on empathy, spiritual reckoning, and heartbreak, with the power to alter Hai’s relationship to himself, his family, and a community at the brink.
5 reviews
Never once feels exploitative about dementia or poverty, which is not a small thing. The ending is quieter than I expected and I've come around to thinking that's correct.
This is a book about who shows up for you when there's no reason to. Grazina's lucid moments are devastating. I finished it and immediately started again.
I admire this more than I loved it. Vuong's prose asks a lot and the plot is deliberately thin. If you want to sink into language you'll adore it; I kept wanting slightly more forward motion.
Everyone talks about the poetry, but the sections about work — the restaurant, the shifts, the exhaustion — are the most clear-eyed writing about labor I've read in years. East Gladness feels like a real place.
Hai and Grazina is one of the great odd-couple relationships in recent fiction. A nineteen-year-old on a bridge and an old woman with dementia shouting him back — and then a whole year of them keeping each other alive. Astonishing.