The Mountains Sing

Like many of their real-life countryfolk, the members of the Trần family endure unimaginable hardships across the 20th century. While most respond at one point or another with hatred and a desire for vengeance, the events of Nguyễn’s novel present a forceful argument for the greater value of treating people with love and forgiveness, even when they seem undeserving.

There are many faceless enemies in The Mountains Sing: the French colonizers, the Japanese invaders, the South Vietnamese soldiers and their American allies. While individuals representing each of these groups visit great harm on the Trần family, there are also plenty of decent folk whose examples invalidate any meaningful attempts to vilify their people. In an early example, despite her hatred for the United States, Hương cannot help but feel pity and respect for the American pilot, noting that “[h]e didn’t make a sound when the rock hit him; he just bent his head lower” and that there seemed to be “tears trickling down his face, mixing with his blood,” all of which makes her wonder “what would happen to my parents if they faced their enemy” (13). Her instinct to humanize her enemy, whom she realizes might “have a daughter like me” (41), is vindicated when Đạt tells her that an American soldier saved his life: “In that instant,” Đạt tells his niece, “we looked into each other’s eyes as if into mirrors” (162). While similar episodes occur with other antagonistic factions in the novel, Đạt’s observation gets at the crux of Nguyễn’s theme, that love and forgiveness are worthwhile, for they allow us to recognize the humanity common to all, even those we think of as enemies. Hương expresses this succinctly as she reflects on her uncle’s war stories: “Somehow I was sure that if people were willing to read each other, and see the light of other cultures, there would be no war on earth” (161).

In most circumstances in the novel, love and forgiveness bear obvious and immediate fruit. When Hương manages to love Ngọc even after learning the tragic truths of her war experiences, and in turn when Ngọc forgives Diệu Lan despite the terrible choices she had to make as a mother, their relationships improve and their lives grow richer for it. The real test of the value of love and forgiveness, though, is whether similar benefits follow when less deserving figures are involved. Diệu Lan’s instinct to connect with the first group she encounters upon entering Hanoi appears to have been a bad one, as these men injure her, rob her, and nearly do much worse. However, the women who save Diệu Lan lead her and her family toward salvation. Invoking her mother’s wisdom that “[g]ood luck hides inside bad luck,” Diệu Lan tells Hương, “The robbers had stolen all my money, but it was the injury they caused that led me to Master Văn, and it was Master Văn who would help change my fate” (251). Within this pathway itself is further evidence for the value of love and forgiveness. Châu’s unreasonable jealousy of and cruel treatment toward Diệu Lan might still have led Diệu Lan to wish her harm, and yet Diệu Lan’s bravery in using Văn’s Kick-Poke-Chop techniques to save Châu’s life as well as her husband’s leads Châu to gift her the coins that enable her to recover her children. Treating these reprehensible figures with love and forgiveness, even when they are so clearly undeserving, not only helps Diệu Lan live in accordance with her values but also leads to a better life for her and her family.

For Diệu Lan, who strives to practice “Nhắn, the [Buddhist] principle of patience, which teaches me how to love other human beings,” believing “[o]nly through love can we drive away the darkness of evil from this earth” (286), Wicked Ghost presents by far the greatest obstacle to her spiritual bliss. She acknowledges this dilemma explicitly to Hương: “Years later, when I became a Buddhist, I learned that I should forgive people for their wrongs, but when it comes to Wicked Ghost, I can’t, Guava. I don’t ever want to breathe the same air as such a terrible man” (93). That even Wicked Ghost might not be beyond redemption is hinted at by Tâm’s assertion that he spends much time “weeping and mumbling to himself” (271), a habit Diệu Lan also attributes to him even before he leaves Nghệ An. When Hùng and Công hunt Wicked Ghost down to avenge the murder of Diệu Lan’s mother, Wicked Ghost, “drunk and alone,” denies culpability yet “dared Hùng and Công to kill him” (92).

From a perspective of hate, these facts might not evoke much pity, but they heavily imply that Wicked Ghost feels guilt for his crimes yet does not know how to own them, let alone atone for them. He does at least confess his crimes to his daughter on his deathbed, though whether he expresses remorse or asks for forgiveness is not made clear. Whether Diệu Lan forgives him is left unstated, though forgiving his family leaves her “no longer [with] sorrow on her face” and looking “as peaceful and calm as Buddha” (337). Finally, while Hùng’s and Công’s motivations for sparing Wicked Ghost’s life are unknown, it is reasonable to imagine that some fundamental instinct to love and forgive is at play, even if only subconsciously. Given the distinct possibility that killing him would have prevented Tâm from meeting Hương, if not his birth altogether, as well as the happiness and healing that Tâm brings not just to Hương but to her entire family, that act of mercy is yet another tremendous show of the value of love and forgiveness.

While it is difficult to demonstrate definitive causality between the compassion of these characters and the favorable outcomes that follow, the frequency of these situations speaks to Nguyễn’s advocacy for centering love and forgiveness. The value of living in such a way is internal, as Hương realizes in her meeting with Minh: “[I]t didn’t matter how long or short we lived. It mattered more how much light we were able to shed on those we loved and how many people we touched with our compassion” (299). For Hương, her grandmother, and the other virtuous characters in The Mountains Sing, our lives are only as meaningful as the amount of love and forgiveness we contribute to the world.