72-year-old 'young' writer and his first book 'coming out' from Facebook

For a long time, Ms. Dao Tuan Anh wrote a small status every day, about her family, her hometown, her childhood..., and enjoyed reading it. Many people, including me, commented and urged her to continue writing so that it would become a book, and then she would be... a young writer but... not young.

And she wrote it. Then she copied it and asked some friends to read it. I was one of the people she sent the file to read first.

And I read the manuscript of "The Midwife" by Ms. Dao Tuan Anh in one sitting. When there were only a few dozen pages left, I was afraid that I would run out, so I read slowly, but I found it very fast to the last page, even though I had read it bit by bit on her Facebook page before as I said.

In my experience, if you read it and find it finishes quickly, it is a good book.

The book "The Midwife" by author Dao Tuan Anh. Photo: Tre Publishing House

3 stories in a book revolve around the life of the author's extended family, full of joys, anger, love, and hate. Reading some parts makes me laugh out loud like crazy, some parts make me tear up and secretly wipe away tears. Writing about my family, but I don't see any individual, I don't see any petty personal complaints, but I see society, a whole generation, a period. I also see myself in it.

The important thing is the great voice. The story naturally reveals itself, the author's intentions are hidden, only vaguely visible, the rest are the grandmother, the mother, the older sister, the younger sister... the characters are clearly visible as if they are in front of us, talking to us.

And there are many stories too. Stories about the thrill of the forest, stories about food, stories about love, stories about land reform, stories about areca breasts, stories about the countryside, stories about the city, stories about fights...

I met Ms. Dao Tuan Anh through... Facebook, and always thought that being her friend, just a Facebook friend, was an honor. Now is the era of Facebook, people ask Facebook for everything they need. There was a time when Google was the advisor for everything. Now Facebook has taken over. The only time I heard her voice was when I... called her on the phone. Oh my god, that clear and light voice, a characteristic of the standard Northern urban accent. If I hadn't known that it was the voice of a famous Associate Professor, Doctor who retired a long time ago, I would have thought I was talking to a young woman. As for meeting in real life, we made an appointment to meet in Pleiku last July, accompanied by poet... Nguyen Duy, who is also in his 80s.

Author Van Cong Hung (left) with Associate Professor, Dr. Dao Tuan Anh and poet Nguyen Duy. Photo: Van Cong Hung

I read her on Facebook, and I realized a sharp intelligence and wit. One must be smart to be witty. Actually, praising Associate Professors and real Doctors for their intelligence is... very rude, but the truth is, many Professors and Doctors I know, their seriousness and seriousness overshadow their wit, so most people think they are good but their intelligence is nowhere to be found.

The style of this book is very enjoyable to read. At first, I knew that she was a researcher, her research writing was very easy to read, even though she wrote about Russian literature when Russia's time was over, sharp, salty and open. Then suddenly I read her criticism. It was both profound and full of journalistic qualities, which means it was also very attractive. Her exchange with writer Do Tien Thuy was very interesting to read, free-flowing, fast, sudden, the problem was exposed after each bullet point of the dialogue. And now, the prose. She seemed to have escaped all the influence of research and criticism, to be fresh in this book.

Here is the scene description:“It felt like the sky was shaking and the earth was crumbling, but the river was still calm. A huge net was slowly being pulled up, a few white-bellied fish were struggling frantically, before diving into the hole below. On the other side of the river, a vast green color of newly-grown rice was running all the way to the horizon, where I thought I would eventually reach. In the distance, on the dike, an ancient fig tree stood alone, frowning as if to say, even though it was old, it still had to take care of this many children and grandchildren. At the base, the fig trees had fallen, turning golden yellow, and no one picked them up, because it was rumored that the fig tree was haunted. The whole sky and earth were filled with the scent of fig trees. It seemed that to make it less lonely, a kapok tree grew nearby. The two trees were probably the same age, because they were equally tall, equally old, and equally rough and scarred. The kapok flowers were bright red in the area, the plump flowers looked like hands with fingers spread out, raised high, as if trying to pull themselves up to the blue sky but couldn’t.”

This is a description of a person:“Our fairy gracefully swayed to the rhythm of the instrument and the singing, sometimes leisurely and gently, sometimes quickly and vigorously, her belts fluttering, her hands like a pair of soft white butterflies writhing. The joyful eyes of the people sitting around followed the pair of butterflies, the whispers of “bowing to you, bowing to you” were respectful. She did not sway or wave her hands monotonously, like most of the male and female mediums in the mediumship performances I later saw. The melodies of the Cheo screen at the communal house seemed to permeate the dance of the mediumship performance, making it rich, ordinary and very close. The audience was almost fascinated by the sounds and colors, familiar and strange. Their heads swayed, some even clapped their hands to the rhythm of the flute and the slow singing. In a moment, as if being infused with a strange life energy, they entered the mediumship, came to Miss Hai, Miss Ba, Miss Nam, Miss Chin, and told their stories. As for my grandmother, through those fairies, she met Lady Lieu. - mother of all creatures, confides her feelings, asks about things she cannot understand…”.

This is... funny:“My grandmother and my aunt, two itinerant ambassadors of “shuttle diplomacy” who took me from my paternal home to my maternal home and vice versa. They were the two ends of the thread connecting me to my two families. They were the two ends of the ruler measuring the world of my childhood, which was more than 10 km long.”

Observing and writing like this, in my opinion, is redundant:“A huge black cloud grabbed the moon and stuffed it into a giant bag, then used a huge safety pin – a dim light – to tightly seal the bag. After eating its fill of the giant rice cake covered with sesame and stars, the black cloud expanded, covering the rest of the sky.”

And here it is:“Until the stove fire seemed unable to bear the craving, jumped up to the edge of the pan, intending to grab a piece of meat, he turned off the stove, quickly scooped the meat onto a plate.”

There are several good books in this type of self-narrated story on the literary world, each book is good in its own way (I'm talking about the ones I've read). Dao Tuan Anh's book is good in both story and writing. The U80 old lady writes with occasional Facebook style, so there are many passages where you have to take selfies while reading...

But, to try to “summarize” an entire book in a few pages is very risky. And I have never dared to take that risk, so I timidly return the right to read books to you.

Of course, I still keep myself interested when reading this manuscript on the laptop that the author kindly sent to me by his younger brother... And through this book, I once again see the usefulness of Facebook. For those who write for their profession, Facebook is the place to practice their profession. It nurtures emotions, provides information, is the driving force, the place to force you to be diligent, to be determined not to give up... and from there, there are results, and the case of the veteran researcher, "young writer" Dao Tuan Anh is a proof.