While arguably a lesser theme in On Earth we’re Briefly Gorgeous, the novel is based on Little Dog’s stories and those told to him by others, and memory is nevertheless an important part of Ocean Vuong’s book. For example, Little Dog puts his father back together using only his memories, and his Vietnamese identity is closely related to his grandmother Lan’s stories, and her ability to remember their life back in Vietnam. For the most part, Lan’s stories never change, with the exception of “minuscule details,” like “the time of day, the color of someone’s shirt, two air raids instead of three, an AK-47 instead of a 9mm, [or] the daughter laughing, not crying.” According to Little Dog, “shifts in the narrative” are inevitable, as the past “is never a fixed and dormant landscape but one that is re-seen” through memory. “Memory is a second chance,” Little Dog says, and this belief is reflected in the letter he writes to his mother, Rose. Through On Earth we’re Briefly Gorgeous, Vuong highlights both the power and limitations of memory and ultimately argues that which is truly important is never forgotten.
In Little Dog’s letter to his mother, he tells the story of the macaque monkeys that serves as a metaphor for the importance of memory, which is imperative to the telling of Little Dog’s story. Little Dog writes about the macaque monkeys of Southeast Asia, which are the most hunted primates in Vietnam. Men consume the brains with alcohol and garlic, as the monkey “kicks beneath them.” Macaques, whose brains are considered a delicacy and a cure for impotency, are “capable of self-doubt and introspection,” and they are able to remember the past and use their memories to stay alive. In consuming the monkey’s brains, the men symbolically consume their memories. Asian men eat the macaque’s brain until the skull is empty and the animal stops moving. “When nothing’s left, when all of its memories dissolve into the men’s bloodstreams,” Little Dog says, “the monkey dies.” The monkey stays alive until the last memory is gone, which again highlights the importance of memory in Vuong’s novel.
Little Dog also recounts the story of his mother and her client at the nail salon, which also serves as a metaphor for the importance of memory in the novel and further suggests that some memories can never be forgotten. Rose’s pedicure client is an amputee, and she asks Rose to pretend to massage her missing leg. “I can still feel it down there,” the woman says. “It’s silly, but I can.” Even though the woman’s leg has been removed, it still holds memories, and her body still remembers what it feels like. Rose massages the woman’s invisible leg, and when she is done, she slides a “towel under the phantom limb” and pats the air, “the muscle memory in [Rose’s] arms firing the familiar efficient motions, revealing what’s not there, the way a conductor’s movements make the music somehow more real.” This story relies equally on Rose’s memory, as well as her client’s, and this connection again underscores the importance of memory in the novel and the power of memories to remain, even after everything else is gone.
Rose tells Little Dog “that memory is a choice. But if you were god,” Little Dog says to his mother, “you’d know it’s a flood.” Memory can’t be avoided or ignored in On Earth we’re Briefly Gorgeous, but Little Dog records his memories in the letter to his mother just in case. Rose believes in reincarnation, and even though Little Dog isn’t convinced of life after death, he still hopes it is real. “Maybe then,” Little Dog says to Rose, “in that life and in this future, you’ll find this book and you’ll know what happened to us. And you’ll remember me. Maybe.” Memories keep the connection alive between Little Dog and his family, again illustrating the importance of memory in Vuong’s novel.
Memory ThemeTracker
Memory Quotes in On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
If we are lucky, the end of the sentence is where we might begin. If we are lucky, something is passed on, another alphabet written in the blood, sinew, and neuron; ancestors charging their kin with the silent propulsion to fly south, to turn toward the place in the narrative no one was meant to outlast.
“If it’s the same price anyway,” she says. “I can still feel it down there. It’s silly, but I can. I can.”
I’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the pieces floating, finally legible.