War, Trauma, and Abuse Theme Analysis

Ocean Vuong’s epistolary novel On Earth we’re Briefly Gorgeous is a letter from Little Dog, a young Vietnamese American, to his mother, Rose, who grew up near Saigon during the Vietnam War. Little Dog recounts his mother’s experiences during the war, as well as those of his grandmother, Lan, and the result is a stark picture of violence, suffering, and starvation. At the age of five, Rose watched as her school collapsed after an American napalm raid, and much of her childhood was punctuated by gunshots, frequent bombings, and mortar fire. Little Dog confronts the lasting effects of such trauma, including the posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) Rose lives with after the war. The violence of Rose’s childhood in Vietnam is mirrored in the violence of Little Dog’s childhood in Hartford, Connecticut. “I read that parents suffering from PTSD are more likely to hit their children,” Little Dog says, and this is certainly his experience. Rose frequently abuses Little Dog, and he recounts this violence in his letter, too. With the portrayal of war and trauma in On Earth we’re Briefly Gorgeous, Vuong underscores the multigenerational effects of war and ultimately argues that there is a direct relationship between war, trauma, and abuse.

As Little Dog is growing up in Hartford, Connecticut, Rose frequently displays symptoms of PTSD, which underscores the lasting trauma of war. When Little Dog is a young boy, just five or six years old, he hides behind a door to prank his mother, and as Rose walks by, he jumps out and yells, “Boom!” Rose screams, her face “raked and twisted,” and breaks down into tears, grabbing her chest and gasping for air. Little Dog means only to scare her as a joke, and he doesn’t understand Rose’s catastrophic reaction. Rose lived her early life in a state of constant fear and anticipation of violence, and this state remains even after the war. One Fourth of July, when Little Dog’s neighbors set off fireworks in celebration, Rose throws herself on top of Little Dog and covers his mouth. “Shhh. If you scream,” she says to Little Dog, “the mortars will know where we are.” It has been several years since the war, but the booming sound of the fireworks and Rose’s lasting trauma launch her right back to Vietnam in the 1970s. After dinner one night, the sound of gunshots ring out, and Rose drops to the floor, screaming. “Someone turn off the lights,” she yells. According to Little Dog, gunshots are not uncommon in Connecticut and can often be heard from their apartment. Rose’s disproportionate reaction to the gunshots is further evidence of her lasting trauma.

Little Dog’s own childhood is rife with violence in the form of Rose’s abuse, which reflects the violence and stress Rose was subjected to during the Vietnam War. Little Dog’s first memory of Rose’s abuse is when he is just four years old. “A hand, a flash, a reckoning,” Little Dog says, “My mouth a blaze of touch.” Little Dog never does say why his mother hits him, but Rose’s violent reaction to such a young and innocent child suggests she is struggling to cope with her own stress. One day, Little Dog fails to pick up his toy soldiers before Rose returns home from work. When she comes in to the scattered soldiers, Rose beats Little Dog until Little Dog’s grandmother throws herself on top of him, absorbing the blows. Rose’s reaction to the mess—which has symbolic significance, given that the toys are soldiers and are scattered about as if in death—is more than excessive, and her violence again implies she is struggling with trauma connected to the war. Then, when Little Dog is just ten years old, Rose becomes angry for an unspecified reason and picks up a kitchen knife, shaking. “Get out. Get out,” she says quietly to Little Dog. Rose’s violent anger implies she has the potential to seriously hurt her son, which Little Dog directly links to the deep and lasting trauma Rose herself encountered as a child during the Vietnam War.

Little Dog questions when a war ends, and he ultimately decides that it never truly does—at least not as long as those affected are still living. “Once [war] enters you it never leaves,” Little Dog says, “but merely echoes.” In this vein, the violence of the Vietnam War echoes in Rose, and this violence is released on Little Dog, which will in turn echo in him. “I’m not a monster,” Rose says to her son, and Little Dog seems to agree. Rose isn’t a monster, Vuong argues; she is a mother deeply affected by the violence of war, struggling to cope with the stress and trauma even after the fighting has stopped.