Review by Booklist Review
From fleeing the Khmer Rouge to surviving war-torn Saigon and enduring Thai refugee camps, Chantha Nguon's memoir-with-recipes serves diverse plates of resilience set against inconceivable human suffering. Demonstrating an exceptional sensitivity to the cultural, social, and political significance of food, Nguon extends cooking metaphors across documentations of war, poverty, sexual exploitation, and authoritative terror--a fearless invitation for readers to taste the pain of families torn apart and futures broken down. Alongside this narrative of losses, Nguon whisks genres to include recipes for remaking her family's dishes and surviving traumatic moments, providing an unforgettable, tactile intimacy between writer and reader. A survivor, witness, and cofounder of the Cambodian Stung Treng Women's Development Center, Nguon details others' suffering--particularly that of women forced into prostitution--with empathy, creating a long-term recipe for resilience, coined "Slow Noodles logic," that foregrounds self-sufficiency. With hunger for gender equality and attention to class differences, this memoir is also a redemptive homecoming to parts of Cambodian history still fresh in many minds and a meditation on the beginnings of a new Cambodia.
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
In this engrossing and evocative debut memoir, Nguon recounts how her mother's recipes sustained her family through poverty and genocidal violence. Raised in a middle-class, half Vietnamese family in Battambang, Cambodia, in the 1960s, Nguon learned to cook Khmer food by shadowing her mother, whom she affectionately called "Mae." In 1970, as the Vietnam War spilled over Cambodia's borders and communist revolutionary Pol Pot began his rise to power, Nguon and her siblings fled to Saigon, leaving their mother and oldest brother behind to "sort out the family's affairs." Five years later, after the death of her mother and most of her siblings, Nguon escaped Saigon with her boyfriend, Chan, and bounced around various refugee camps in Thailand, where she worked as bartender, brothel cook, medical assistant, and silkweaver. Eventually, Nguon returned to Cambodia to open the Stung Treng Women's Development Center, where she continues to provide food and education to Khmer women. Throughout, Nguon interweaves the hardships she endured with her favorite recipes and the memories attached to them, offering readers evocative glimpses of the bursts of light that sustained her through long stretches of harrowing darkness. This haunting yet hopeful account will appeal to foodies and history buffs alike. Agent: Joy Tutela, David Black Literary. (Feb.)
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Review by Library Journal Review
Activist Nguon, assisted by writer and public radio producer Kim Green, offers a fierce debut memoir, recounting the hunger, insecurity, and loss she experienced after Pol Pot's ascension to power. Nguon, the daughter of a Cambodian father and a Vietnamese mother, grew up in Battambang, Cambodia, living comfortably until the 1970s, when Cambodia became increasingly unsafe for people of Vietnamese descent. Forced to flee to Saigon in 1975, Nguon lost her mother and siblings, her home, and her livelihood. Later, she spent years in Thai refugee camps before returning to Cambodia and opening a center to support Khmer women, by providing education, medical care, and job training. Throughout unthinkable hardships, Nguon was sustained by memories of family recipes, 20 of which are recorded here. Nguon's daughter, Clara Kim, narrates her mother's story with a measured, lyrical tone that perfectly matches the author's words. Kim skillfully conveys Nguon's range of emotions, many of which are tied to the recipes she shares--wistful delight at remembering her mother's fish amok, pointed reproach in her recipe for Go-Home Rice, and the exquisite relief of tasting a simple Cambodian noodle soup. VERDICT A gracefully told portrait of resilience, enhanced with recipes that are both mouthwatering and evocative.--Sarah Hashimoto
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Review by Kirkus Book Review
In an evocative, haunting memoir, a survivor of Cambodia's "Year Zero" generation recounts how memories of her culinary heritage have sustained her. Some tragedies are almost too large to describe. One of history's most notorious was the genocide imposed by Pol Pot on Cambodia in the early 1970s, a project to destroy the societal structure and replace it with an agrarian society based on twisted Marxist principles. "The murderers among us would have us believe that history is slippery and unknowable," she writes. "Insisting otherwise is an act of defiance." Nguon and her family, half Vietnamese, were obvious targets, and they escaped to Saigon just in time for the arrival of the conquering North Vietnamese army. Nguon managed to scrape together a living with various jobs, although she often subsisted on small bowls of rice with some salt. Through the years of suffering and resilience, the author remembers the beautiful, subtle tastes of the Khmer dishes made by her mother, and she punctuates the book with recipes and the memories tied to them. Ngoun was shuffled between refugee camps before she was sent back to Cambodia, which was slowly emerging from chaos. Among other jobs, she worked as a cook for brothel workers, and she had the advantage of being literate and was good at making contacts. With the help of aid organizations, she was able to set up a center for helping Khmer women, teaching them silk weaving and providing literacy classes. Many parts of the text are heart-rendingly sad, but the author leavens the narrative with recipes for dishes like chicken lime soup and banh sung. Though the subject matter makes the book a sometimes difficult read, those who dive in will find it a remarkable and important piece of work. A moving book that mixes horror and hope, disaster and good food, creating a poignant, fascinating read. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
