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A review by bisexualbookshelf
The Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong

challenging dark reflective slow-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Character
  • Strong character development? Yes
  • Loveable characters? Yes
  • Diverse cast of characters? Yes
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.5

How strange to feel something so close to mercy, whatever that was, and stranger still that it should be found in here of all places, at the end of a road of ruined houses by a toxic river. That among a pile of salvaged trash, he would come closest to all he ever wanted to be: a consciousness sitting under a lightbulb reading his days away, warm and alone, alone and yet, somehow, still somebody's son.

In The Emperor of Gladness, Ocean Vuong writes with the aching clarity of someone who has both mourned deeply and hoped against all odds. Set in the post-industrial ghost town of East Gladness, this novel is a poetic meditation on grief, addiction, class, chosen family, and the slow burn of surviving under capitalism. Hai, a 19-year-old Vietnamese American who has dropped out of college and relapsed after rehab, is ready to die when Grazina—a batty, owl-collecting, carrot-loving widow with dementia—calls him back from the edge. What unfolds is not some feel-good redemption arc, but a quiet epic of mutual care, memory, and the stories we tell to keep going.

Vuong’s prose is as devastating as it is tender. He renders poverty, overdose, and trauma with a lyricism that never romanticizes but always humanizes. This book is full of ghosts: of Hai’s dead friend Noah, of the immigrant dreams his mother worked herself raw for, of a town rotting from the inside out. But amidst the haunting is also community—raw, flawed, and deeply loving. Hai’s coworkers at HomeMarket (including his neurodivergent cousin Sony), Grazina herself, and even the memory of his grandmother come together to offer not salvation, but solidarity.

I was especially moved by Vuong’s exploration of how hard it is to just be—a nobody, a decent person, alive. The philosophical heart of this book lies in those small, weary acts of tenderness: a birthday cake baked after a long shift, a story told in character to soothe a war-torn mind, a decision not to steal, even when no one would know.

That said, the handling of Sony’s neurodivergence felt underdeveloped and occasionally careless. While it’s hinted that he may be autistic, the portrayal relies too often on stereotype or vagueness. Still, Vuong’s characters—Hai especially—lingered with me long after I closed the final page. This isn’t a book about fixing what’s broken. It’s about holding it, gently, in the light. Thank you, Ocean, for Hai and Grazina. I won’t soon forget them.

📖 Read this if you love: lyrical fiction that mourns and dreams in equal measure; stories about intergenerational memory, working-class tenderness, and queer coming-of-age; and any of Ocean Vuong’s previous works.

🔑 Key Themes: Grief and Survival, Addiction and Recovery, Chosen Family, Capitalism and Class, Interdependence and Community Care.
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