On the contrary, I want to remind myself: to a greater or lesser extent, the question of which author or work to translate should always be a matter of careful consideration rather than a careless act of amateurishness.
Over a decade ago, I wondered how Nguyen Nhat Anh's works would be received in another language. The question "Why translate Nguyen Nhat Anh?" came back to me more directly when, together with my friend Kaitlin Rees, we translated his fourth book into English: * There Are Two Cats Sitting by the Window* (Youth Publishing House, 2025). (The three previous books we translated were: *I See Yellow Flowers on Green Grass *, *Have a Good Day* , and *Sitting and Crying on a Tree *).
Book cover of "There Are Two Cats Sitting by the Window" (Youth Publishing House) - translated by Nha Thuyen and Kaitlin Rees
PHOTO: PROVIDED BY THE AUTHOR
Besides being a literary connection – working with the author and receiving orders from the publisher – I wanted to take this opportunity to delve deeper into some of the works I translated to reflect on, or broaden my perspective on, the creative achievements of Nguyen Nhat Anh, an author who brought me and my friends bursts of laughter when we were ten or eleven years old, in a small town back when books weren't as readily available as they are now.
Translating Nguyen Nhat Anh's works is neither overly challenging nor easy, given the use of everyday language and specific cultural and social contexts. This difficulty requires me to reread, to finish reading, an author from my childhood, and to retain that reading memory.
A bestselling book is, of course, not necessarily a literary phenomenon. In the case of Nguyen Nhat Anh, the number of books sold is living proof of the appeal of his work to teenage readers, and at the same time, proof of his quality and character as a writer. In the face of books that consistently top bestseller lists in a somewhat stagnant young adult literature scene, one can always hear the murmuring, skeptical voice of a discerning reader, saying that his writing is "easy," "repetitive," and that "critical voices and academic analysis are needed." But the books are still written, and the author continues his journey of honing his writing skills and caring for his readers.
When approaching Nguyen Nhat Anh, I intentionally wanted to set aside trendy jargon, sales statistics, awards, and titles, in order to understand and read him solely as a writer—someone who creates books. I believe this is the purest approach I can take from the perspective of a reader and translator.
Nguyen Nhat Anh, the poet of school days.
I belong to a generation of readers—around the same age as Nguyen Nhat Anh's characters, perhaps around the age of his daughter—who embraced the "Kaleidoscope" series from its very first volumes and waited monthly for the uncle who rented out books in town to bring back new volumes of the purple-covered pocket-sized series from Kim Dong Publishing House in Hanoi , of course, along with a host of other books from the "Golden Book Collection ," or thin, rectangular novels from various publishers, conveniently allowing me to read 10 to 20 volumes at once during leisurely afternoons.
Later, after reading his early poems and the collection of poems published jointly with Le Thi Kim, "April City" (1984), I imagined that Nguyen Nhat Anh was, and always will be, a poet of school days, of a city, with stories, memories, skies, and lives all wrapped up. His poetic persona is most clearly revealed, perhaps, in the work "Two Cats Sitting by the Window" : a poet named Cat Bear, a reader who becomes a poet named Tiny, an author who occasionally weaves his own poetry into the story to remind the reader of his poetic nature, and he himself is translating cat poetry into human poetry.
As a young reader, Nguyen Nhat Anh's lighthearted stories, his narratives delving into the intricacies of life with witty storytelling and familiar, everyday language, piqued my curiosity. Reading from a retrospective perspective, I became more interested in how he posed socio-humanistic questions, considering the potential impact of his works on teenage readers, especially in terms of their widespread appeal, rather than just his writing style and literary technique.
We can expect further critiques and in-depth studies of Nguyen Nhat Anh's perspective on social and humanistic issues, including his limitations and biases, if any, such as the underlying inequality between rural and urban areas (for example, manifested through the motif of budding schoolboy romances being separated because one leaves the village for the city, or the precarious living conditions of impoverished groups), environmental and nature issues, the voices of animals, and, along with them, how love and friendship stories transcend boundaries, differences, and prejudices.
The pages of this book innocently unfold, revealing a present dimension of nostalgia.
What I find most enjoyable about reading Nguyen Nhat Anh in the present day is perhaps something that our generation, and then our children's generation, growing up amidst popular discourses about globalization and economic development, more or less lack: a fresh and authentic sense of community. In most of his works, the communal lifestyle of the Vietnamese village is vividly and strongly reflected in the characters' personalities and relationships, in the details of their living spaces, whether the stories are set in the countryside or the city, in Vietnam or abroad.
As in "Two Cats Sitting by the Window ," the community of mice, cats, symbiotic groups of mice and birds, and humans, despite the uncertainties of violent invasions, still exudes a tender and poetic beauty. That community might consist of just two cats, or simply a cat and a mouse watching the rain and talking about fanciful love affairs. In these villages within the city, where the city resembles a village, parents can become kings and queens, and children can become princesses and princes creating fairy tales, and the species are always curious to learn each other's language. Children grow up familiar with the plants and alleys of the village, never refusing to listen to adults recount stories of their ancestors and grandparents. This is the lifeblood that nourishes a warm, trustworthy world , where one is never too alone, a world that is complex and flawed but not dramatized, and always holds a glimmer of hope, because of the everyday sharing among neighbors, friends, and strangers.
I think, to some extent, it is this sense of a vibrant, existing community that gives Nguyen Nhat Anh's works, in Vietnamese or in other languages, the potential to connect readers – descendants of Vietnamese people living in many different parts of the world, or to foster shared experiences across similar cultural regions, such as Southeast Asian communities. Reading Nguyen Nhat Anh, I sometimes find myself anxiously stepping into a living archive, into a lost, and fading, communal living space, and the innocent pages of his books can open up another dimension of nostalgia in the present.
The young reader within me remained in the old town. But sometimes, living the life of an old person, I find peace in the simple joys of memory. In today's cluttered cultural landscape for children and teenagers, Nguyen Nhat Anh's books still radiate the gentle beauty of an adult affectionately watching children play, an adult engaging in quiet conversation with growing children about life's values without raising their voice. I imagine adults, like Nguyen Nhat Anh, like the giant in Oscar Wilde's fairy tale, possessing a beautiful garden, opening its gates to children who rush in, while he sits quietly, watching, and those children still carry with them a wealth of secrets.
Source: https://thanhnien.vn/nguyen-nhat-anh-nguoi-lam-vuon-185250701102809197.htm
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