The Sympathizer by Viet Thanh Nguyen
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I told two friends that I was reading a book about a Vietnamese spy living in America after the Vietnamese war and that it was really funny, and they replied in the same way, ‘That doesn’t sound funny’. And indeed, the central drive of the book, the questions and most of the scenes that make up the narrative are very dark indeed.
But the protagonist IS very funny, in a dark way, with such wit and incisive, cutting observations. It’s a complex reaction: laughter and horror all at once that reflects the constant double vision of the book: a mixed-race hero, reconciling and unreconciled to his Western and Eastern race and culture and location, a spy for the North, infiltrating the South Vietnamese military refugees, who have emigrated from Vietnam, and immigrated to the USA, communities within communities full of conflict and tension, forces that seem opposed at times, and mirrored at others.
It brings to my mind Salman Rushdie, how comic his voice while tackling big questions of history and morality, as in Midnight’s Children and the Satanic Verses. And this too, is a major work, a deep exploration of a part of history, of political and philosophical systems and regimes, and I found it thrillingly engaging.
I found myself making book ears on pages that struck me. The first one simply signalled how beautiful I think Nguyen’s prose is: at the sad burial of the wife and child of the protaganist’s friend, ‘I tried believing that those two bodies were not truly dead but simply rags, shed by emigrants journeying to a land beyond human cartography.’
I know that not all the reviewers here were engaged by the book, but if you’re Asian growing up in North America, there will be parts that make you laugh out loud, the Chair of the department who had ‘hung an elaborate Oriental rug on his wall, in lieu, I suppose, of an actual Oriental’. His description of an immigrant life is as spot-on as I’ve read: ‘we did not simply life in two cultures’ but lived displaced, in ‘two time zones, the here and the there, the present and the past… reluctant time travelers… going in circles’.
I won’t spoil the section by quoting it extensively but where the expert in Vietnamese history and Asian culture, Dr. Hedd, lectures the Vietnamese General and protagonist on the American concept of happiness, and colonial history, and Vietnam, there is a page that sums up so well the improved vision of minorities and outsiders: the General knew ‘as a nonwhite person… he must be patient with white people, who were easily scared by the nonwhite… We were the greatest anthropogists ever of the American people… and we certainly knew white people better than they ever knew us.’ Their relatives read their ‘field notes’ with ‘hilarity, confusion, and awe’.
But of course, the book is much more than that, a page-turner with something profound to say about politics and ideology and the human condition, and incredible social commentary and social history. It really is one of the best books that I’ve read in recent years. Amazing.
Hey, I’m not even going to note in the title that the Paddington is in Paddington, but I was surprised to learn that Merivale took over not only this pub, the Paddington, and started a restaurant, Fred’s, with a hot reputation, and that it’s all so popular that they’re doing take-out chicken at a little stall in between them.
We split a full roast chicken, and it came with tasty fries and some perfectly dressed lettuce leaves. I may have lived in Australia since 1999 but asked for ketchup with the fries, and my husband explained that they really don’t do that here.
It’s really impressive. They turned a non-descript corner of Broadway Mall into a hipster chic dining area. As designed by George Michael (yes, seriously), and modelled after NYC’s Eataly, it’s a perfectly designed little food experience with a barista, a bakery, a bar and a bunch of other stalls. The first time we ate here, it looked like some of the places were still getting established, but now it’s a hub of activity – and efficiency, with a glamorous host who shows you to a table and a team of very hardworking and fast-moving waiters.
I worry a little for the other humble food stalls, of which we’ve tried a few, when we’re doing our Saturday morning shopping at Harris Farm Markets (and a stop at the butcher perhaps, or buying a new pot for my succulents from Kmart). But it is a big mall, and this place only seats so many. But really, what a fantastic idea and feel. The pastries look mouth-watering! The coffee was delicious.
My better half had an apricot danish, very nice, and I had this perfect bowl of granola. Yum.
Review sites and restaurants intrigue me. How does the Spice Room consistently make it into the Top Ten restaurants on TripAdvisor, when it’s not a particularly known restaurant, say, in other listings or guides? Is it that TripAdvisor’s clientele all stay near Circular Quay and need a good restaurant to go to?
Regardless, the Spice Room’s good ratings, and that it’s constantly busy, did make me want to come here, so I finally arranged it before a most excellent concert by James Vincent McMorrow at the Opera House.
So, we ordered too much. The portions are generous, compared to some other Indian restaurants. I think the selection of pakora did us in (very nicely done; cheap pakoras can be so greasy; here, they were light and crisp and tasty), though the fried beet patties were also substantial. The emperor’s biryani was delicious as was a dahl that was the specialty of the house. And we split my favourite naan, the one with fruit and coconut in it.
We also thought that the decor was particularly charming. It’s done just right, so cozy and cool, great food and service; this is a really good option for eating in the area (and certainly better than the tourist traps along Circular Quay).
It’s impressive any time a restaurant can keep going so long in the tough and fickle Sydney market, and remain busy, buzzy and popular. Izakaya Fujiyama has been around for yonks and many friends consider it a favourite place to go to.
I loved the texture and combo of the Yellowfish tataki, but it did need the soya sauce and there wasn’t quite enough of it. Grilled cauliflower with radish and either onions or perhaps fennel? In teriyaki sauce was also a nice combo of flavours and texture and a generous serve.
I think they forgot about the wagyu beef cheeks sliders (actually a soft rice flour bun). This was SO delicious. They might have brought it out, and then decided to serve it to us later or something; we had to ask for it twice and it took forever to come. Oops.
So, looks like a successful concept imported from the Gold Coast (and then Brisbane) and now to Foveaux Street in Surry Hills. I’ve walked by this place a few times, and been intrigued: it’s a huge, open space and certainly inviting compared to the closed in pubs and little restaurants. And though it’s buzzy and hip, it’s also really relaxed, and the tables are spaced out enough that it was both busy but really comfortable to be in.
I could equally title this post ‘Drinking in Sydney’ as we mainly stopped in here for a drink on a Friday night. Amusing menus served on licence plates. We ordered a very tasty Malbec to split between the three of us from a friendly and engaging waitress. I looked it up on Vivino right away and though it was a cheapie (most people spent $9 for it), for Surry Hills prices, $40 for a decent red, split between us, was absolutely fine.
But what will lure me back to this marijuana-themed restaurant is the mind-blowing Oreogasm which we split which could have been a very bad idea, but was very good indeed. Deep-fried Oreos. I’d never tried them and man, they’re good. Served up with ice cream and it was ridiculously good. The waitress says their other dessert is just as good, if not better, and with other reviews complimenting their monster burgers, seems like it will be worth a try.
Friends suggested this humble cafe as a place to meet for Saturday brunch and though I’ve passed by this place one zillion times, I’ve never stopped in. The outdoor tables are all filled so we grab a comfortable one inside, but not before James shows me the intriguing table and swing-out chairs in the back underneath the large flower plant wall arrangement: with Nepalese or Indian writing, perhaps something from a South Asian train station? A beautiful object, though uncomfortable seats, apparently.
The coffees were great. Nice and strong. We jumped in and ordered the special. $18 each for a breakfast platter with everything on it. This could have been a dangerous move: too much food, or a stodgy variant of an all-you-can-eat buffet. But it did have everything on it, and nearly everything was pretty good: those fantastic industrial hashbrowns like you get at McDonalds, with a good helping of scrambled eggs (yum), tasty sausages, ripe avocado, some mushrooms, feta, and little bacon and egg sliders (yum). And on top, some perfectly toasted banana bread, a chocolate-covered biscuit and ice cream!
OK. We had criticism. The toast should have been buttered. We had to ask to get plates cleared to have a final coffee (and even then, it was only half-cleared). It would have been nice to have the dessert (and ice cream) served last so the ice cream didn’t melt. And probably some small bowls to divide the ice cream up (rather than the plates we got). But it was still pretty good, and a lovely morning, and you can’t get more Newtown than this: people streaming out of the train station and going to the train station and all passing in front of you while crossing King Street, as the traffic zooms towards you and away from you at the same time.
On 4 March 2017, we had the very interesting experience of a night with David Helfgott at the Sir Stamford Hotel. It was arranged as a sort of cocktail party with music, where we had canapés and drinks before the first part of the concert, more at the interval, and wine and cheese after. The room was a conference or event room of the hotel, rather than a formal concert setting.
I was curious of course. The movie ‘Shine’ was extraordinary, both for the story it told and the performances of the actors in it. I’d heard that Helfgott made noises during the performance, but in fact, he speaks, talks, hums along and mumbles during all of the music. Yet the piano playing is beautiful and accomplished. I’d read a terrible review from over a decade ago that said that the music could lack depth and rhythm, and possibly tried to please the audience too much.
The experience was as much theatre as concert. Because Helfgott talked, I noticed that some audience members felt they could chat among themselves. Others were using their iPhones to video the performance, and there was a large screen set up in one corner, which we couldn’t see where we were, where a camera was trained on his fingers. In a shimmering silk top, Helfgott was a completely unique presence, expressing delight to meet people and perform. And it was as much an event as theatre, as we had a very pleasant time at this well-organised event with tasty treats and delicious drinks. So, yes, a memorable evening.