There was a sergeant writer

Sergeant is the middle rank of non-commissioned officer, encompassing corporal, sergeant, and staff sergeant. This was the rank Xuân Tùng, a young man from Hanoi , received upon leaving the army after years of fighting on the Cambodian battlefield. And as if by fate, his first memoir, "Stories of Soldiers in the Southwest," cemented his pen name, Trung Sĩ (Sergeant). This unusual and distinctly military pseudonym became familiar to writers and readers alike, solely through this memoir.

There is a writer sergeant - photo 1 — Sergeant writer

I read *Stories of Southwestern Soldiers* shortly after the author released it. The book was enthusiastically received by readers and writers alike. Aside from books given to me by authors, my habit is to always seek out books that generate public discussion. It's a characteristic of saving time when searching for practical books.

The story of the soldiers in the Southwest captivated me from the very first lines. A soldier who fought in the Cambodian war, after several decades, perhaps due to the overwhelming trauma of the battles, one day put pen to paper to recount what happened in that war—his own experiences and those of his comrades. These unembellished, raw memoirs, filled with all the facets of truth, evoked incredibly powerful emotions.

As a soldier who fought in the war before 1975, I vividly felt the essence of the conflict experienced by Sergeant and his comrades. The ferocity and death were undeniable, but beyond that, there were also deeply human thoughts, simple reflections on life and death. The scenes of battle, the hunger and hardship, the daily lives of soldiers, and the range of emotions experienced by soldiers in the many situations of war were depicted.

Sergeant Trung was a Hanoi native. Although it was his first time writing a book and he had no prior literary knowledge, his background as a Hanoi student who loved to read, his understanding of current events, and his upbringing in a traditional bourgeois urban family made his entry into the story seem effortless. It's difficult to find any forced writing; instead, it's a complete explosion of language, of the truth of war, and of the author's emotions.

It's hard to imagine a novice writer like Sergeant Trung's; his writing bears the mark of professional language, rich imagery, and masterful storytelling, with incredibly captivating passages and concluding points imbued with philosophical reflections on the world and life, presented in a simple, humanistic way. "Stories of the Southwestern Soldiers" completely captivated even a discerning and experienced reader like myself.

It should also be added that, at the time "Stories of Southwestern Soldiers" was published, a series of non-fiction literary phenomena had already emerged: books by authors who were soldiers recounting their battle experiences. I was particularly impressed by "Memoirs of a Soldier" by Vu Cong Chien, a soldier who fought in the C battlefield (Laos), and by Nguyen Quang Vinh, who wrote about the Battle of the Citadel in 1972 .

All three authors are real soldiers who wrote about their own battles, without embellishment or fiction, and perhaps their purpose was not for literary gain but simply to release the frustrations and haunting memories of a time that has passed not so long ago, despite the vast distance in time.

I was originally a referee. With authors like Trung Si, I always felt the need to meet and chat, to exchange ideas. But it seems I wasn't lucky this time. Trung Si was elusive, appearing and disappearing, and his whereabouts were very difficult to find. A considerable amount of time passed, and my intention gradually faded, until one day, while watching a Vietnamese football match at a friend's house near Hoan Kiem Lake, I met Trung Si.

To be honest, it's relatively difficult for writers to get along because of their differing personalities, but if they're soldiers, all barriers disappear very quickly. I approached Sergeant at a football drinking party in the most sociable way possible. Despite two wars, the generation of soldiers like Sergeant and I weren't much different, especially in our memories of Hanoi.

After a few dates and meetings, we felt confident enough to share our feelings as friends. Of course, that also included learning about each other on Facebook and in newspapers. Sergeant Trung posted many vivid recollections of battles as well as memories of Hanoi. These soldiers, who had faced life and death together, held each other in a very unusual way.

Like many young men from Hanoi who enlisted in the army, Xuan Tung possessed many talents. Growing up in a family where his father was a doctor and his mother a teacher, from a bourgeois family that had donated property and villas during the industrial and commercial reform, young Tung received a good education and, especially, had access to a wide range of books from a young age. In this respect, I believe the most important asset for any writer is the knowledge gained from books in their childhood. Perhaps that is why the language of " Stories of Soldiers in the Southwest" is particularly sharp and impactful, perfectly suited to a book about war.

Despite our limited interaction, I quickly recognized Sergeant Tung's abilities in many areas. The detail about him smashing the guitar in "Stories of Soldiers in the Southwest" speaks volumes about this veteran from Hanoi's talent for singing and playing musical instruments. Tung drank little but enjoyed himself immensely with songs about Hanoi. Honestly, sitting with him and listening to those songs that young soldiers used to sing together after marches, or even after battles with the smoky haze of bombs and smoke, filled me with a strange sense of nostalgia and emotion.

Meeting Sergeant Trung, I gradually understood why, with just one book, his name had become so well-known. His memory is exceptionally sharp. This is easily noticeable in the smallest details about the soldiers who participated in battles and his memories of Hanoi. His vast information retention combined with his linguistic abilities, I believe that if Sergeant Trung continues his literary career, he will mature and achieve great success.

Most recently, Sergeant called and arranged to meet at my house. I thought it would just be a casual get-together, like the way we usually do, but no, he brought me a brand new book, still smelling of fresh ink. I was completely unsurprised to receive this second book, fresh from the press. Excerpts from this book had already been posted by Sergeant on Facebook and in several newspapers. It was another memoir. You could call it that, but it could also be considered an autobiographical novel. I opened a glass of wine for Sergeant, and we chatted a bit about the book.

It was just a gift book, but after the author left, I buried myself in reading. It was still my old Hanoi and the Hanoians' Hanoi. "Hanoi, Straw Hats and Ration Coupons" is a thick, large-format book with 270 pages. A bygone era of Hanoi gradually comes to life vividly. Many established authors have written about Hanoi. Even contemporary writers have formed a large group. One could mention Do Phan, Nguyen Viet Ha, Nguyen Ngoc Tien...

I also have a couple of essays about Hanoi. But Sergeant Trung's writing style is completely different. Most authors write about Hanoi in separate, short pieces: a hobby, a dish, a street memory, or historical landmarks. There's so much more; each author has their own perspective and interpretation of Hanoi.

The story of Hanoi, the Straw Hat, and the Ration Coupons has a completely different structure. It's a long, continuous narrative about Hanoi, encompassing family origins, ancestry, childhood experiences of evacuation while studying, and the hardships of the subsidy era. And the writer of that old Hanoi is a young boy from Hanoi of yesteryear, incredibly perceptive...

I was deeply impressed by the few lines of commentary by writer Binh Ca at the end of the book: “ Hanoi, Straw Hats and Ration Coupons take readers on a boat of memories, drifting back to a difficult, arduous, and naive time, yet still sparkling with beauty in a space filled with laughter, worries, and even doubts and anxieties. To accurately record those moments requires a profound love for Hanoi…”

A deep love for Hanoi, that's right. The young boy Xuan Tung and the soldier Sergeant, now a writer with this unusual pen name, could not have written about the war years of his life, his nation, and a thousand-year-old Hanoi without a sensitive heart and a love forged by truly precious experiences.

Overwhelmed by the intense emotions about Hanoi that resonated with me from the book, I couldn't resist writing an introduction. Immediately, Sergeant Trung texted me, "Brother, please stop the introduction for now, the book hasn't been submitted for copyright registration yet." When the book was released to the public, Sergeant Trung persuaded me to come to Vietnam National Radio to introduce the book with him on a television program. I was very hesitant to appear in front of the camera, because when the lights came on, I became dazed and almost lost all reflexes, but out of respect for my fellow soldier, and also because I liked the book, I took the risk and agreed. That day, luckily, I suddenly became lively and spoke fluently in the studio. Later, I realized that what Sergeant Trung had written was also the recollection of a young Hanoi boy—that's me.

In recent years, Sergeant has consistently released new works to readers. "The Scout Team and the Dog Sara," "The Short-Haired Warrior ," and "The Valley of the Golden Valley" —not many, but enough to establish Sergeant's literary reputation.

I occasionally ran into Sergeant Trung at book launches or gatherings with friends. He always carried a guitar with him to meetings or drinks. During a drinking session, while the boisterous group was still clinking glasses, Sergeant Trung would open his case, play a tune, and sing with such passion, as if that were the very reason for his presence. Oh, my fellow soldier, the writer Sergeant Trung!

There was a sergeant writer

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