Butterfly Yellow

“From the cowboy’s hisses their father taught her English while her little brother practiced hissing.”

Hằng remembers watching Clint Eastwood movies with her father, which her father used to teach her the English language. Here we see that while the siblings have a common origin, they may have always been different. In particular, Linh may have always been thorny, gravitating toward learning to hiss rather than express words.

“The gray guilt had grown heavy, refusing to pause its relentless infusion into her joints and marrow. After all, it was her fault her brother was taken.”

Hằng is never able to confess the truth about her brother’s disappearance to her family. Guilt over her mistake, as well the silence about it, is shown here to take over her body. Hằng lives with her guilt not only in her memories but in her physical experience, suggesting that trauma has physical as well as emotional consequences.

“When he’s cornered, he talks. When he’s stumped, he talks. When he’s outwitted, he talks. Right now, the conditions for running his mouth are tripping all over themselves.”

Once he has agreed to drive Hằng to her destination, LeeRoy reflects on how talking is his instinctual response to almost any difficult situation. In this, he stands in sharp contrast to Hằng, who, besides finding the English language difficult to navigate, is quiet and private by nature. This is highlighted later in the story, when Hằng sits silently by LeeRoy as she processes difficult memories in her mind’s eye, even as she urges him to keep talking.

“The more the girl talks, the more he gets used to her way of pronouncing things. If he waits, letting the context and syllables melt together, her words reveal themselves.”

LeeRoy does not find it difficult to understand Hằng’s speech. His reflection here showcases two things—an instant connection between the unlikely pair despite the language barrier, and LeeRoy’s natural kindness and perceptiveness. He has the patience and willingness to listen to and decipher Hằng’s speech from the very beginning.

“It wasn’t possible to pronounce that many syllables without getting lightheaded. Every word in Vietnamese is monosyllabic, a compact, crisp language where the drama lies not in syllables but within minute tonal shifts.”

Hằng describes why English is a difficult language for her to learn, especially in contrast to her mother-tongue, Vietnamese. Language and Communication in Relationships is an important theme in the book, and despite Hằng’s focus on overcoming the language barrier, she discovers that there are other things that impede communication in a relationship.

“…Mrs. Brown sighs, knowing she’ll likely see crippled soldiers, screaming mothers and babies, maybe a burnt girl running crying down a dirt path. Wars never differ all that much, no matter how many she has lived through.”

Mrs. Brown expects Hằng to draw specific kinds of images that she associates with a war. Her observation is that wars and their consequences don’t differ much irrespective of the causes they are fought for. This highlights the theme of “The Horrid and the Sublime” and the idea that the impact and trauma of any war is inescapable.

“After six years of chanting ‘pho dê-rô phai me-sì-quýt,’ it feels like a betrayal to switch dense anticipation toward another corner in Tê-sát.”

Hằng learns of her brother’s new address. Despite the fact that this is good news, she is nevertheless unsettled at having to contend with a different address in Texas from the one she has spent so many years memorizing. This reaction underscores the single-minded focus Hằng has had with respect to finding her brother; it also foreshadows that any outcome besides the one she expects and has prepared for, will be a colossal letdown.

“How unpredictable that the person who drank cow milk and smacked celery equals the same one who sacrificed his best possession, for her.”

Hằng is amazed by how easily LeeRoy sacrificed his truck to help her escape her uncle. Hằng’s surprise is perhaps echoed by the reader, especially since LeeRoy has continually complained about being forced into helping Hằng. However, this act belies his inherent kindness and helpfulness, despite the tough cowboy front he tries to put up.

“…when the low sun hits just right, muting her usual crabby self, she’s not half bad to look at. Not cute, she’s never cute, but pretty in an intense way. […] He sneaks glances her way, especially when her eyes are off somewhere he can’t reach.”

As they spend more time together on the ranch, LeeRoy begins to develop romantic feelings for Hằng. This particular passage showcases LeeRoy’s perspective, and displays that LeeRoy is fairly self-aware about his emotions and is already recognizing his changing feelings toward Hằng.

“David rubs his horse’s neck and sniffs long and deep. He can’t ever tire of smelling salt and sweat and earth and grass. She’s the first thing that truly belonged to him. And he in turn felt as if he belonged here.”

David rubs down his horse, thinking about how she is the first thing that has made him feel at home, that he can remember. This is partly ironic, because even though he cannot remember his life in Vietnam, horses symbolize a significant connection to his sister, as Hằng took him to the airport with the promise of horses in America. Significantly, David names his horse “Linh”, the Vietnamese name he was given at birth.

“A fuzzy mix circulates—sadness for herself that Linh doesn’t want to leave, happiness for him that he wishes to stay.”

Hằng overhears her brother talk about her as a disruption to his life and experiences conflicting emotions about this. She grapples with a similar mix of happiness and sadness later in the book when she realizes that despite him remembering parts of his childhood or listening to her stories, he will never leave his new life. It reflects the coexistence of joy and pain in life, highlighting the theme of “The Horrid and the Sublime.”

“Her brother’s once-favorite song. She sings again and again about a butterfly, in hopes her brother might join her. He does not.”

On the way back to the ranch from the rodeo, Hằng sings “Butterfly Yellow,” a Vietnamese song that was once her brother’s favorite. He does not respond or show any indication that he remembers it at this point in the story. Later in the book, however, once Hằng and her uncle are no longer a threat to his current life, David relaxes enough around her to let his old memories in. When Hằng sings the song again to him, he slowly remembers the lines and the accompanying hand gestures. This is also where the book derives its title from.

“Bà nodded and offered him more wine, telling Hằng in secret she didn’t bother to correct the leader because cruel people like him exist on every side, in every war. His side won so he got to be right.”

Hằng remembers how Bà appeased the Communist leader who came courting Mother after the war, all the while plotting to escape the country. Bà’s response displays her practicality and equanimity in the face of trying circumstances. It is her wisdom that Hằng later remembers and relies on when she faces conflict herself. Bà embodies the theme of “The Horrid and the Sublime,” particularly in accepting the existence of both in life in equal measure.

“In bed something rises above the mint toothpaste, something floral and light and sweet and fresh, deep inside each taste bud. He swallows and tries to get rid of the taste, which grows all the sweeter.”

After receiving multiple drawings of fruit from his childhood, David begins to remember what they tasted like. Fruit is an important symbol throughout the book, recurring in different ways. One of the things they signify is the shared connection Hằng and David have to their childhood and the life they lived together in Vietnam.

“Hằng opens her mouth. Nothing. Her voice evaporates as guilt wrings her gut. If only there weren’t so much fear and anguish on Cora’s face. Countless times Bà held that same compressed panic. […] It is the panic of a protector unable to protect.”

Hằng finds herself unable to lie about the circumstances of her brother’s “kidnapping.” Besides the guilt she feels, she also recognizes that Linh feels safe with Cora, and that Cora truly cares for her brother. Despite retrieving her brother having been her life’s single purpose these past six years, her ability to recognize that the situation requires a different response than what she had prepared, highlights her resilience and compassion. Thus, she finally confesses the truth.

“Angie knows plenty about the war and its aftermath. Her dad has never stopped feeling guilty that while his mother and brother suffered, he was here eating too much and driving too fast. He wants to make it up to them by providing for her cousins.”

Angie and her father drive back home after Hằng confesses the truth about the airport, leaving them with no legal recourse to claim Linh. Angie understands her father’s disappointment as rooted in the guilt he feels for his family’s suffering while he built a life for himself in America; his actions have been motivated by an intense sense of obligation. Chú Quốc’s character is yet another reminder of the theme of The Gap Between Dreams, Expectations, and Reality, of knowing when to let go of the former when faced with the latter.

“‘Thóc mo. Ai lai-kờ ít.’ ‘You’d like me to talk more? That’s a first.’”

When Hằng first met LeeRoy, she was both amazed and appalled by the amount he could talk. As their relationship progresses over the course of the story, she comes to appreciate this same quality, for different reasons. As she is weighed down under the barrage of painful memories she cannot keep at bay any longer, she now asks him to talk because she finds his voice soothing. Understandable, LeeRoy is surprised at this request, though not unpleasantly so, and immediately obliges.

“…he does like seeing her happy. Somehow, that is taking precedence over what would make him happy, namely a gorged belly and long, warm days roaming rodeos. What has happened to him? How did he turn into such a sap?”

LeeRoy indulges Hằng’s request that he keep talking while she silently processes her traumatic memories. As he talks into the silence, LeeRoy becomes aware that he is doing so simply to make Hằng feel better. Even through his confusion regarding his behavior, LeeRoy is able to acknowledge his feelings for Hằng, displaying remarkable perceptiveness and self-awareness.

“Some things you don’t poke at. Someday she might want to flesh out that rap poem to someone. And if he’s around, attentive, that someone might be him.”

Hằng repeats a few lines of a self-composed “rap poem” that hints at some of the horrific things she has experienced over her young life. Despite being a natural talker, LeeRoy also knows when he must not push someone else to talk, and he doesn’t ask for more details. In addition to displaying his natural kindness and emotional intelligence, it also displays how LeeRoy and Hằng’s relationship has surpassed the need for language to bring about comfort and connection.

“On his outstretched hand, sticky with red juice, a yellow butterfly has landed. […] David twitches. ‘It tickles.’ The butterfly takes off.”

A butterfly lands on David’s hand while they are atop the Ferris wheel, before taking off again. The butterfly is an important symbol in the book, and this moment is a significant one. Hằng sings “Butterfly Yellow” to her brother once again, and this time he remembers some of the lines and hand gestures, signaling a movement forward in their relationship. The butterfly itself is also an important symbol of metamorphosis, indicating all the change that has taken place in the different dynamics between characters, as well as their individual journeys.

“Millions of years from now, when the sea between Việt Nam and Thái Lan has evaporated to dust, perhaps a hiker will find a trace of Mother among fossilized recordings of what was.”

Hằng thinks about how her mother’s body may one day turn up as a fossil, when the sea between Vietnam and Thailand turns into a dust bowl millions of years in the future. This is based on LeeRoy having told her that the canyon in Texas once was a sea. Hằng’s reflection indicates how she is continuing to process and grieve her mother’s death, as she tries to imagine a trace of her mother existing in the world many years beyond their time.

“Maybe without war people do flit around fluffy as birds, their wants equal their needs equal their present equals their future. But then Bà always said the only constant in life is impermanence.”

Hằng envies the easy communication that exists between LeeRoy and Linh, something that she has yet to achieve. She understands that the baggage she carries from the war, something that Linh doesn’t remember, has greatly impacted the way she approaches the world; this is what has impacted her communication and relationships with people around her, including and especially her brother. It points to the theme of Language and Communication in Relationships. However, her reflection on Bà’s wisdom also indicates her understanding for the need to adapt and move forward, highlighting the theme of “The Horrid and the Sublime.”

“At any time in any place an act of horror is being committed. At any time in any place an act of sublimity is being felt. Each circulating, sniffing the other like dogs, but one cannot destroy the other.”

Hằng reflects on how there are always horrific and beautiful things taking place in the world simultaneously, with neither cancelling the other out. She accepts their co-existence as a fact of life, and this helps her reconcile her own conflicting feelings about the situation surrounding her brother. The reflection also points to the theme of “The Horrid and the Sublime.”