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A review by orionmerlin
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
Characters – 8.5/10
Little Dog is vulnerable, complicated, and poetically overexposed—which, honestly, is both his strength and his Achilles heel. I cared about him, even when he was drowning in a sea of self-reflection. His mother, Rose, is vivid and terrifying and tragic in a way that feels earned. But some of the secondary characters—especially Trevor—felt undercooked. Trevor is either a metaphor for doomed queer love or a warning sign with good hair. Either way, he’s more symbol than person. I kept forgetting this was fiction, not memoir, which says something about how convincing Vuong’s character work is—but also reveals how much it leans on personal gravity over crafted narrative arcs. I wasn’t bored—but I wasn’t sobbing either.
Little Dog is vulnerable, complicated, and poetically overexposed—which, honestly, is both his strength and his Achilles heel. I cared about him, even when he was drowning in a sea of self-reflection. His mother, Rose, is vivid and terrifying and tragic in a way that feels earned. But some of the secondary characters—especially Trevor—felt undercooked. Trevor is either a metaphor for doomed queer love or a warning sign with good hair. Either way, he’s more symbol than person. I kept forgetting this was fiction, not memoir, which says something about how convincing Vuong’s character work is—but also reveals how much it leans on personal gravity over crafted narrative arcs. I wasn’t bored—but I wasn’t sobbing either.
Atmosphere / Setting – 7.5/10
This book swims in mood like it’s trying to drown. Everything drips with tone: Connecticut becomes a haunted landscape of migrant toil, Vietnamese kitchens throb with memory, and the rural U.S. is a foggy, tobacco-scented dreamscape. It’s rich, sure—but it’s also relentless. Sometimes I didn’t know where I was, only that it was metaphorically significant. Vuong has an incredible eye for texture, but setting often takes a backseat to the narrator’s feelings about it. I needed more ground under my feet before I could appreciate all the butterfly-symbolism flitting around my head.
This book swims in mood like it’s trying to drown. Everything drips with tone: Connecticut becomes a haunted landscape of migrant toil, Vietnamese kitchens throb with memory, and the rural U.S. is a foggy, tobacco-scented dreamscape. It’s rich, sure—but it’s also relentless. Sometimes I didn’t know where I was, only that it was metaphorically significant. Vuong has an incredible eye for texture, but setting often takes a backseat to the narrator’s feelings about it. I needed more ground under my feet before I could appreciate all the butterfly-symbolism flitting around my head.
Writing Style – 7.5/10
Vuong’s prose is undeniably beautiful—but sometimes beauty becomes a performance. Every page reads like it’s auditioning for a literary prize. When it works, it really works: sentences that crack open a memory and let it bleed truth all over you. But too often, it feels like style is doing the emotional heavy lifting that character and plot should be handling. There’s a fine line between poetic and precious, and this book does a wobbly tightrope act across it. I appreciated the language. I just didn’t always trust it.
Vuong’s prose is undeniably beautiful—but sometimes beauty becomes a performance. Every page reads like it’s auditioning for a literary prize. When it works, it really works: sentences that crack open a memory and let it bleed truth all over you. But too often, it feels like style is doing the emotional heavy lifting that character and plot should be handling. There’s a fine line between poetic and precious, and this book does a wobbly tightrope act across it. I appreciated the language. I just didn’t always trust it.
Plot – 6.5/10
Calling this a “novel” is generous. There’s a story in here—a young Vietnamese American queer boy writing to his illiterate mother—but the structure is so fragmented, it often feels like flipping through someone’s artful journal while they’re in the next room crying. There’s no real narrative tension, just a pile of beautiful and devastating moments. I wanted more causality, more momentum. Instead, it’s a book that circles its pain until it’s dizzy. Poignant? Absolutely. Cohesive? Not really.
Calling this a “novel” is generous. There’s a story in here—a young Vietnamese American queer boy writing to his illiterate mother—but the structure is so fragmented, it often feels like flipping through someone’s artful journal while they’re in the next room crying. There’s no real narrative tension, just a pile of beautiful and devastating moments. I wanted more causality, more momentum. Instead, it’s a book that circles its pain until it’s dizzy. Poignant? Absolutely. Cohesive? Not really.
Intrigue – 7.5/10
This isn’t a page-turner in the traditional sense, but Vuong knows how to keep a simmer going. Even when nothing “happens,” there’s a quiet ache that makes you want to keep reading, just to see where he’ll hurt you next. It’s less "what happens next" and more “how many ways can a sentence rearrange my insides.” That said, some sections lost me. The lyrical detours can feel like digressions into emotional fog. I didn’t always want to follow—but I was almost always curious.
This isn’t a page-turner in the traditional sense, but Vuong knows how to keep a simmer going. Even when nothing “happens,” there’s a quiet ache that makes you want to keep reading, just to see where he’ll hurt you next. It’s less "what happens next" and more “how many ways can a sentence rearrange my insides.” That said, some sections lost me. The lyrical detours can feel like digressions into emotional fog. I didn’t always want to follow—but I was almost always curious.
Logic / Relationships – 8/10
There’s emotional logic here, and it hits hard. The mother-son relationship is brutal and beautifully rendered, and Vuong doesn’t flinch from its contradictions. Their bond is the book’s spine. The queer romance, though? Not as convincing. Little Dog and Trevor felt more like an idea than a real relationship. I bought their chemistry, but not their intimacy. Still, the internal logic of the world holds together—nothing broke the spell. I believed these people. I just didn’t always feel them as deeply as I wanted to.
There’s emotional logic here, and it hits hard. The mother-son relationship is brutal and beautifully rendered, and Vuong doesn’t flinch from its contradictions. Their bond is the book’s spine. The queer romance, though? Not as convincing. Little Dog and Trevor felt more like an idea than a real relationship. I bought their chemistry, but not their intimacy. Still, the internal logic of the world holds together—nothing broke the spell. I believed these people. I just didn’t always feel them as deeply as I wanted to.
Enjoyment – 8/10
Did I enjoy this book? Not in the "giddy beach read" sense—but yeah, I did. I admired it. I felt things. I got annoyed and then seduced again a page later. It’s one of those books that’s less about joy and more about being willingly devastated. Was it occasionally overwritten? Yes. Did it sometimes mistake obscurity for profundity? Also yes. But was it worth reading? Absolutely. It’s flawed, intense, beautiful, indulgent—and worth your time if you're willing to meet it on its terms.
Did I enjoy this book? Not in the "giddy beach read" sense—but yeah, I did. I admired it. I felt things. I got annoyed and then seduced again a page later. It’s one of those books that’s less about joy and more about being willingly devastated. Was it occasionally overwritten? Yes. Did it sometimes mistake obscurity for profundity? Also yes. But was it worth reading? Absolutely. It’s flawed, intense, beautiful, indulgent—and worth your time if you're willing to meet it on its terms.
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is like a handwritten love letter soaked in cologne and regret: seductive, excessive, and not quite built to last—but damn if it doesn’t leave a mark. I forgot it was fiction half the time, which speaks volumes about its intimacy... and maybe a little about its structural identity crisis.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal death, Child abuse, Domestic abuse, Drug use, Emotional abuse, Physical abuse, Sexual content, Suicide attempt, War
Moderate: Addiction, Alcoholism, Gun violence, Homophobia, Mental illness, Panic attacks/disorders, Racism, Suicidal thoughts, Suicide, Toxic relationship, Grief, Car accident, Death of parent, Schizophrenia/Psychosis
Minor: Cancer, Cursing, Misogyny, Self harm, Transphobia, Xenophobia, Vomit, Medical trauma, Abortion, Cultural appropriation, Sexual harassment, Classism
The book deals heavily with intergenerational trauma, queerness, and immigrant identity through emotionally intense and often raw recollections. While technically a work of fiction, it draws heavily from the author’s lived experience and reads like autofiction, blurring lines between personal essay and novel. Much of the content is emotionally devastating and should be approached with care if you're sensitive to themes of abuse, trauma, or loss.