All the Broken Pieces

“It’s no wonder

the soldiers are broken,

Dad says.

When they left, they were

high school heroes,

stars of the football team,

with pretty girlfriends.

Now look at them—

hobbling on crutches,

rolling themselves

in wheelchairs,

while people throw things—

tomatoes,

rotten apples,

dirty words.”

This quote introduces the particularly destructive legacy of the Vietnam War that is explored throughout the novel. Not only did “high school heroes”—young men with promising futures—give up opportunities to fight in the war, but they came home to find themselves blamed for the unpopular conflict. These men must now contend not only with physical injuries, but with continued attacks from the fellow Americans who could be supporting them. As the novel continues, Matt meets and develops relationships with these “broken” veterans and empathizes with them as well. Both Matt and these men have gone through traumatic experiences in Vietnam, and they find themselves the objects of blame and resentment even in the supposedly safe, welcoming US.

“When you are grown,

if you still remember,

you can come back.

How can I go back?

Where would I look?

What would I say?

If I remember.

How can I forget?”

In this quote, Matt recalls his mother encouraging him to leave Vietnam even though he doesn’t want to leave her and his brother behind. While Matt has already stated that he remembers only “little” (3) of his Vietnamese past, here he reveals that at the same time, he can’t “forget.” Bogged down by painful memories and guilt, Matt is unable to feel fully at ease in his new American life, yet at the same time, he isn’t sure he can ever return to his Vietnamese one. Wondering how he’d go back, what he’d say to the family he left behind, Matt can’t fit fully in either the American or Vietnamese worlds. As the novel continues, Matt must find a way to confront, express and accept his memories, and integrate his past and present in order to feel at peace.

"You are safe, my precious child.

You are safe now, you are home.

We have found you and we love you.

You will never be alone.

There are no mines here,

no flames, no screams,

no sounds of helicopters

or shouting guns.

I am safe.

How can I

be home?”

This quote begins with the lyrics of a lullaby Matt’s American mother sings to him repeatedly throughout the novel. The words Matt’s mother chooses demonstrate how deeply she loves Matt, and how much she wants him to feel safe and secure in his new home. Her choice to use music to soothe her son is also an example of the emphasis on music as a source of comfort and healing throughout the novel. However, for Matt, who spent the first ten years of his life in a war zone, safety is not familiar. In the final line of the quote, Matt potently states why he can’t feel completely comfortable with his American family: for Matt, safety is not “home.” The legacy of the Vietnam War has left Matt with a lingering, tortured anxiety, just as it has for the veterans Matt meets as the novel continues. In the rest of the novel, Burg explores how refugees like Matt, as well as former soldiers, can reconcile experiences of fear and violence and find a way to feel safe once more.

“My Vietnam

is drenched

in smoke and fog.

It has no parks

or playgrounds,

no classrooms

or teachers.

It is not

on any map

or in any book.

My Vietnam is

only

a pocketful

of broken pieces

I carry

inside me.”

In this quote, Matt introduces the motif of “broken pieces” that reoccurs throughout the novel, and also gives the book its title. Matt says that in contrast to the Vietnam legends, fairy tales, and celebrations he learns about in his adoption agency classes, as his own Vietnam is simply “broken pieces.” This image emphasizes both the destruction the Vietnam War has caused—it has created a country so full of violence that children have no place to play or learn—and the “broken,” fragmented nature of Matt’s own memories. Just as Vietnam itself is broken by war, so are Matt’s memories of his childhood in a war-torn country. Matt, however, isn’t ready to let go of his violent past; instead, he carries it “inside,” where it continues to haunt him.

“Jeff is slow, patient,

quiet.

But he isn’t

an afraid quiet.

Just a calm quiet,

like he’s looked not

a closet of monsters

and found empty

candy wrappers instead.

I wish I

could do that.”

This quote describes Jeff Harding, a musician and veteran who becomes Matt’s mentor and role model. By giving Matt piano lessons and encouraging him to express himself through music, Jeff’s character adds to the novel’s emphasis on music. In particular, Matt notices and envies the “calm” and “quiet” way Jeff both plays the piano, and approaches life in general. Matt and Jeff both have similar “monsters” to overcome—their memories of Vietnam—but Jeff already seems to have faced his. As the novel continues, Jeff will guide Matt to face his monsters both through the comfort of music, and by sharing memories and connecting with a group of Vietnam veterans.

“If bombs fall here,

if something so terrible

ever happens

that I get sent away,

I’ll stuff everything

I can fit

into my pockets.

Even the broken pieces

are worth something

to me.”

Here, the author again uses the motif of “broken pieces,” as Matt describes holding on to “broken” things like pencil stubs, hoarding whatever he can in case of disaster. The quote illustrates just how much deprivation Matt faced growing up in a war-torn country, where “broken” things were the most he could possess. In Vietnam, even Matt’s family was “broken,” as his father abandoned him and his brother was terribly injured. Yet even after becoming part of an American family where his needs are provided for, Matt cannot let go of the “broken pieces.” Matt doesn’t believe the safety and security of his new home are guaranteed. Because of past abandonment, his own guilt, and early years spent in a violent, unstable country, Matt thinks he could lose his new family at any moment, and that he must remain vigilant. At the same time, when Matt says the broken pieces are “worth something,” he’s referring to more than broken pencil stubs—rather, Matt will hold on to the fragmented memories of his family and childhood, even if he can’t make them into something whole.

“When I play the piano,

I’m sheltered

in that safe place

where the only thing

that matters

is music.”

This quote emphasizes the comfort music provides for Matt throughout the novel. While Matt does not always feel safe in his American home—he believes his parents might send him away, and faces bullies on the baseball team and his own dark memories and guilt—music bypasses words and rational thought to soothe Matt. Matt likes the way musical notes “always stay / the same” (33), so he always knows what to expect; he also finds a “calm quiet” (42) in his piano teacher and the music he makes. Matt’s reliance on music contrasts with his fear of “messy” (129) words that can be violent and unpredictable. Throughout the novel, music gives Matt a “safe place” to return to, develop his confidence, and eventually find the courage to express himself in other ways as well.

“Maybe love is like

a monsoon rain.

When it rains

really hard and heavy,

it seems like

it will never end

and we’ll swim in mud

forever.

But then the wind shifts,

And the earth grows

dry and cracked.

Every gurgle and ooze

tiptoes away

and we’re left wishing

and waiting

for rain again.

Maybe love is like that.

Maybe the wind shifts

And love just tiptoes away.”

This quotation encapsulates Matt’s understanding of love in the opening portion of the novel. Because Matt has been abandoned—at least in his own perception—by both biological parents, and he believes he’s abandoned his brother as well, Matt finds it impossible to trust fully in love. While he acknowledges that love can be as strong as the “monsoon rains” of his homeland, and he himself expresses a love this strong for his birth mother and brother, he also believes that this love can easily “shift.” Matt’s perspective of love mirrors his perspective on life in general after growing up in a violent, unsafe and unpredictable environment: Matt feels he can’t count on anything, and as a result, he can’t feel safe and secure as the recipient of his new adopted family’s love.

“I wonder what happens

to people if they don’t

live a good life,

if they do something terrible.

Do they ever find peace?”

Matt succinctly expresses his own deep feelings of guilt, while distancing himself from his own emotions by voicing his worries in the third person. Matt is internally reacting to a conversation he’s overheard between his parents, where they talk about attending the funeral of someone who’s lived a “good life” (83). Matt is concerned about what happens to those who haven’t lived this “good life” because he believes that he himself is part of that category, that he has done “something terrible.” At this point in the novel, Matt has not explicitly stated his feelings of guilt, but he is clearly not at peace, suffering from frequent nightmares and fragmented, violent memories. As the novel continues, Matt will have to acknowledge, confront and share the “terrible” thing he believes he’s done in order to overcome it.

“I lift him

and carry him home,

falling deeper and deeper

into heavy, thick mud

that sticks to my skin,

and weighs me down,

and makes him

so heavy

even though

I carried him

on my back

so easily

just yesterday.”

In this quote, Matt begins to relive the memory that has caused him to feel guilty and left him stuck in the past. Matt remembers struggling to carry his brother through a “thick mud” that seems as metaphorical as it is physical. Although readers aren’t sure exactly what has occurred, Matt is clearly weighed down by the serious nature of whatever has befallen his brother; while he was able to care for and protect his brother “so easily” the day before, now he can no longer do so. In another layer of metaphor, the mud of this memory seems to “stick” and cling to Matt long after the actual event has passed, as it haunts him and causes him to experience a disturbing flashback.

“And she’s there too,

her eyes closed,

cradling him,

telling me

it isn’t my fault,

it isn’t me

who leaves traps

for small children

or rains down bombs

that fall like dead crows.” 

In this quote, the author begins to hint at what actually happened to Matt’s brother, while also developing the theme of blame and guilt even more explicitly. Matt’s mother tells him he’s not responsible for bombs or “traps” left for children, suggesting that Matt’s brother was injured by a bomb or land mine. Matt’s mother also seems to instinctively know Matt will blame himself for what happened, as she reassures it “isn’t [his] fault”—but judging by the guilt Matt expresses elsewhere in the novel, he doesn’t internalize the message. This quote also illustrates the theme of war’s horrific, damaging nature. While Matt isn’t responsible for the harm that comes to children like himself and his brother, war itself certainly is.  

“Mom, Celia, Chris and me,

we used to be good friends…

He leaves his sentence

hanging in the air.

Sometimes the words people don’t say

are as powerful as the ones they do.”

The author combines the themes of war’s impact and the power of words—or the lack thereof—in one short but impactful passage. Matt’s father doesn’t have to say that the war destroyed his and his wife’s friendship with another young couple, just at it destroyed so many other relationships. Rather, leaving this truth unstated is just as “powerful,” or even more so, as the words seem to be so painful that Matt’s father simply can’t speak them. The quote also brings to mind all the words Matt doesn’t say throughout the novel, the truths he keeps hidden out of fear, which continue to haunt him. By the end of the novel, Matt learns he must speak up and share his truths and feelings, in order to keep more relationships from being damaged.

“Chris and Celia were

high school sweethearts.

We all envied their relationship.

But the war changed Chris.

The war changed

all of us, Matt.

Whether we went,

or whether we stayed,

the war changed us all.” 

The author emphasizes the wide-ranging effect the Vietnam War had on American society as a whole, not only on those who actually fought in Vietnam. Matt’s father, who is speaking here, is one of those who chose to “stay” rather than fight overseas, but even he struggles with the war’s impact: he has lost friends like Chris, and he feels guilt—another of the novel’s central concerns—over his choice not to fight when his friends lost so much. Chris, in contrast to Matt’s father, “changed” on a much more obvious, physical level, as he now has a scarred face, is missing an arm and is in a wheelchair, even as his psychological changes caused his wife Celia to leave him. In this quote, Burg suggests that the changes caused by the Vietnam War are both physical and invisible, obvious and subtle—and the invisible ones, like the guilt Matt’s father feels and many Americans’ resentment of the soldiers, are often just as damaging as those that are visible.

“Because of you, Matt-the-rat,

there’s no place for me.

Because of you, my wife left.

Because of you, my brother died.

Because of you, I have stumps instead of legs.”

Matt expresses the intense feelings of guilt that leave him unable to feel at home in his new country. Readers sense that Matt’s guilt truly stems from his last statement, where he imagines his brother blaming Matt for the fact his legs were destroyed. Because his feelings of culpability are so great, they’ve expanded to the point that Matt feels responsible for every bad thing that’s happened in Vietnam, such as Chris's wife leaving and Rob’s brother dying. Matt himself is a reminder of the destruction the war has caused, and as such, he wonders if he will ever feel he deserves to live in a safe American home.

“Maybe for Dad

I’m like the coin

you drop in the poor box

at church.”

In this quote, Burg demonstrates how extreme guilt can lead to a lack of faith in love. Matt’s father frequently shows his love for his son, playing catch with him every weekend, encouraging him to talk about his feelings, and telling Matt he’ll “always be our MVP” (51). Yet still, when Matt hears his father expressing guilt that he didn’t fight in Vietnam, Matt is quick to believe that his father adopted him as a way to make up for his past decisions. Furthermore, Matt doesn’t share his concerns with his father—he is unable to communicate his feelings in words, another key theme of the novel—so his father can’t tell Matt he’s making a false assumption. Because Matt is so familiar with guilt himself, as he believes he caused his own brother’s injuries, Matt thinks of guilt as a stronger motivator than love.

“Sometimes it’s useful

to open things up

and have a closer look.

Sometimes it helps

to understand why things

work the way they do.

I don’t think dissecting

a baseball is going to make

me play better or

understand anything better,

but I put all the broken pieces

in my pocket.”

In this quote, the author combines two major motifs in the novel: the “broken pieces” Matt collects and baseball. Matt’s coach has asked every member of his team to unravel a baseball, see what’s inside, and hopefully “understand why things / work the way they do.” This small activity mirrors Matt’s journey throughout the novel as a whole, as he must unravel all the emotions and memories he carries within himself, take them out and truly confront them in order to move forward in life. At this point in the novel, Matt is not ready to face his inner feelings fully; similarly, he’s not sure he’s gained anything by dissecting the baseball. Yet at the same time, Matt continues his habit of saving “broken pieces.” This is both a defense mechanism—Matt fears he will lose the good things in his life and hangs on to the remnants he could keep in the case of such a loss—and a way for Matt to keep the things he values close to him.  

“Words are messy.

Words spill out

like splattered blood,

oozing in every direction,

leaving stains

that won’t come out

no matter how hard you scrub.”

Here, the author develops the theme of the power of words and communication by revealing why words frighten Matt so much. Matt recognizes how destructive words can be, comparing them to the violence he’s experienced so much of in Vietnam. Matt realizes that while words themselves might not last long, their impact certainly does, creating “stains” that might never disappear. While Matt is reacting here to the words of others—the Vietnamese veterans who share memories of a trauma Matt is all too familiar with—the impact of his own potential words scares Matt even more. Matt is convinced if he speaks aloud what happened to his brother in Vietnam, his family and the people he respects will reject him—thus, words will cause irrevocable damage Matt can never “scrub” away.

“Americans who’ve never

been to Vietnam

don’t understand.

They spit at us.

They call us baby killers.

But we can’t have been all bad,

or what mother

would have given us her child,

knowing she might never

see him again?

What kind of faith is that?

What kind of love?”

In this quote, the author addresses both the difficult legacy of the Vietnam War and the theme of the power of love. Vietnam vet Jeff, speaking to other vets here, expresses the particular challenge those who fought in Vietnam face, compared to soldiers who took part in other wars. Many Americans blame soldiers for their part in what they perceive as a pointless, misguided conflict, one that took the lives of innocent children. Soldiers already dealing with their own guilt most contend with others’ anger as well, but Jeff encourages the soldiers to acknowledge the good deeds they did in Vietnam, such as offering child war victims better lives in America. In addition, this quote allows Matt to understand that his mother gave him up not because she blamed him for what happened to his brother, but because she loved him and wanted him to lead a safe, happy life. As Matt begins to understand that he is loved and is deserving of that love, he can overcome his traumatic past and feel secure in his new life.

“But I can tell you, the war was worse

than this cancer I got.

It destroyed us

from the inside. […]

It’s still spreading its poison,

and I don’t know

of any treatment that can stop it.

That’s up to you.”

In this quote, Burg draws a parallel between the cancer Coach Robeson refers to here and the Vietnam War. Both are “poisons” that come from the inside rather than an outer force, and according to Robeson, war is the more destructive of the two. As the coach’s words here imply, the most damaging impact of the Vietnam War is not the violence and trauma the soldiers have experienced, but the division the war has caused in communities, as people blame and resent each other for a conflict that has caused suffering for all. Coach Robeson suggests that the key to overcoming this poison lies in Matt’s generation, as young people must accept and connect with each other rather than continuing a legacy of separation and blame. Robeson hopes that rather than mistrusting their new coach because he is a veteran in a wheelchair, and bullying Matt because he is from a country destroyed by war, his young team will “give each other a chance” (173).

“It’s okay

if you don’t want

to talk about it right now,

he said.

But someday,

I hope you will.

I need to tell them.

But will I find

the words again?

And what will happen

once I say them?”

This quote again emphasizes the sometimes frightening power of words, as despite Matt’s parents’ encouragement throughout the novel, Matt is afraid to share the truth of what happened in Vietnam. Matt understands that words can have far-reaching consequences, and for much of the novel, he assumes that those consequences will be negative. Matt believes that if he tells his parents his brother was injured while Matt was watching him, his parents will hate him and send him away. Matt’s father, on the other hand, believes Matt needs to talk about his past because doing so will allow him to confront and rise above his demons. Matt’s father understands that words can have a positive power as well as a negative one, and Matt too, saying he “need[s]” to tell his family the truth, seems to be coming to a similar realization. 

“You can love us both,

Matt. It won’t mean

you’ve forgotten her

or that you didn’t care.

The heart always

has room

for more love.

It won’t mean

That you’ve forgotten.”

Once Matt shares the story of his brother’s tragic accident in Vietnam, Matt finds that his parents accept and support him rather than blame him, and he recognizes both the strength of the words he’s shared and the power of love. Matt’s mother expresses how love can expand to take in more relationships, so Matt doesn’t need to fear that by loving someone new, he’s abandoning someone he loved before. Love is the key to Matt moving forward despite his traumatic memories, while at the same time, making sure he hasn’t “forgotten.”

“Mr. Brennan was right.

You shouldn’t wait

to thank people

for the good they do.

Words are messy,

but sometimes,

words are all you’ve got

to show what matters most.”

In one of the novel’s strongest statements of the power of words, Matt still believes that words are “messy”—they can bring up difficult emotions and have damaging consequences, which has led him to avoid words for most of the novel. However, by the end of the book, Matt understands that words can be the only way to “show what matters most”—they’ve allowed his adoptive parents to show their love for him and have helped Matt express his own love for his Vietnamese family, as well as his fears. Matt finally speaks up and tells his coach how important he is to Matt, something he wanted to do earlier in the book but lacked the courage to follow through on. Words enable Matt to strengthen an important relationship, while also illustrating his personal growth over the course of the novel.

“Vietnam is beautiful,

I say and

I am not remembering

stories someone told me

or pictures from books.

I am just remembering.

White cabbages grew

as big as pumpkins.

And before a storm.

the purple-blue of the

sky was the same

purple-blue as my

mom’s favorite shawl.” 

In this quote near the end of the novel, Matt again finds the ability to speak up in an environment where he was formerly afraid to communicate, a veterans’ meeting. Because he has worked through his painful, violent memories of Vietnam, Matt is now able to remember and share the beauty of Vietnam as well. Matt compares the color of the Vietnamese sky to his American mother’s shawl, thus tying together his past and present. When he shares this memory, Matt finds some of the veterans nodding as if they understand, so words allow him to forge new connections here as well.