56 pages • 1 hour read
The Sympathizer begins with a declaration by a nameless narrator: “I am a spy, a sleeper, a spook...a man of two minds.” Told in first-person, the narrator addresses this story—his “confession”—to the Commandant, who is holding the narrator in a solitary confinement cell somewhere in the Commandant’s camp. The details of why or where the narrator is being held are unclear at this point.
The narrator’s story, as told to the Commandant, starts in April 1975 in South Vietnam, just before the fall of Saigon. The narrator is an “aide-de-camp and junior officer of intelligence” to the General, a high-ranking member of the Special Branch, which is a CIA-like intelligence organization of South Vietnam (5). The narrator, in spite of his high-ranking position in the Special Branch, is actually an undercover Communist spy, who has somehow infiltrated the primary hub of anti-Communist South Vietnamese intelligence. In addition to the narrator, the General is also advised by Claude, an American CIA member.
With the impending invasion by North Vietnam, Claude informs the General he can arrange to have ninety-two people evacuated from Saigon to Guam, a mere fraction of the family, staff, and others that need to leave. The General entrusts the narrator with the difficult task of creating a list of evacuees. Those who are left behind are sure to be imprisoned, or worse, by the North Vietnamese. As the narrator works on crafting this list, he remembers another list that haunts him: Sometime in his past, a woman, another Communist spy, was caught with a list of Special Branch officials on her person and, although the narrator half-heartedly tried to save her, in order to maintain the appearance of an anti-Communist official, he allowed her to be caught and imprisoned. The narrator feels guilty about being unable to save her and keeps “her folder on his desk, a reminder of my failure to save her” (10). Returning to the present evacuee list, the narrator asks the General if he may add Bon, one of the narrator’s closest childhood friends, to the list. The General agrees, and Bon and his family—a wife and toddler—are added to the list.
On his final day in Saigon before the evacuation, the narrator packs a meager rucksack with only the essentials. He then meets Bon and Man at a beer garden to say their final goodbyes, before, hopefully, meeting again in the Guam. Bon, Man, and the narrator are best childhood friends: “These men were better than any real brother I could have had, for we had chosen each other” (15). Unlike Man and the narrator, Bon is a “genuine patriot” and anti-Communist—he has no idea that the narrator and Man are undercover spies. Despite their different political affiliations and stations, their kinship cannot be broken: “Ever since our lycée days, we had fancied ourselves the Three Musketeers, all for one and one for all” (16). When they leave the beer garden, they encounter a group of drunken and belligerent soldiers, who call the narrator a bastard, referring to the narrator’s half-Vietnamese and half-French heritage: “My mother was native, my father was foreign, and strangers and acquaintances had enjoyed reminding me of this ever since my childhood, spitting on me and calling me bastard, although sometimes, for variety, they called me bastard before they spit on me” (19). The confrontation diffuses when the group of men hears the sound bombs falling, likely on the airport. Bon and the narrator say goodbye to Man, who, unbeknownst to Bon, will stay in Vietnam to join his Communist comrades when Saigon falls.
In two blue buses, the evacuees make their way to the airport. Through bribery and his uncanny “ability to finesse the fine line between the legal and illegal,” the narrator had arranged for passports and all the necessary paperwork for the ninety-two evacuees to flee Vietnam (21). En route to the airport, the General takes a detour to give a final salute to an American marine memorial. The narrator, looking out the bus window, recalls just the week before having a secret rendezvous with Man in a Catholic church. There, the narrator receives his new assignment from Man to observe the General and inform Man about any plotting to take back Vietnam from the Communists. Man, in his secret rendezvous with the narrator, expresses that he is confident the war will continue, even after the Fall of Saigon: “Your general isn’t the only one planning to keep on fighting. Old soldiers don’t fade away. The war’s been going on too long for them to simply stop” (29). Man also tells the narrator thatgoing forward, to avoid suspicion from the General and the Special Branch, an aunt in Paris will serve as the intermediary for communication between the narrator and Man. The narrator will send letters addressed to his “aunt” (really Man’s aunt), which will have encoded information written in invisible ink.
The buses finally make their way to the airport, which is completely mobbed with frantic people attempting to get out on a limited number of flights before the airport shuts down completely. The General’s group, however, is given priority and brought to the front of the immigration line. Bombs drop in the distance as the narrator, Bon, and his family settle into a holding area where they wait for their turn to board the plane.
To pass the time, the narrator flirts with three prostitutes also waiting to board an evacuation plane. At nearly four in the morning, the General’s group is finally called to board, so they make their way to another set of buses bound for the tarmac, where the C-130 Hercules is waiting. Their plan is “a garbage truck with wings attached,” the narrator says, with a “big flat cargo ramp dropped down to receive us” (42). The passengers are soon stuffed into the plane, “contours of skin and flesh separating one individual from another merged, everyone forced into mandatory intimacy” (43). With everyone boarded, the plane begins to taxi down the runway when, suddenly, a deafening explosion somewhere on the tarmac sends the passengers into a frenzy. The plane’s engines are destroyed in the initial blast, rendering the plane useless.
Bombs and gunfire continue to rain down on the airport in “an apocalyptic light show that revealed the evacuees dashing for the concrete divider, stumbling and tripping along the way, suitcases forgotten” (45). Bon, his wife, and child escape the plane along with the narrator. Crouched out of sight on the tarmac, Bon and the narrator cannot tell if the Communists or anti-Communists are responsible for the bombing—each side has its reasons for wanting to bomb the airport.
When another C-130 Hercules arrives on the tarmac, the evacuees rush to stake their place on the plane, as it is clear that this will be their last chance to leave Saigon. “What remained of the armed forces at the airport was evacuating itself with whatever air mobile vehicle was at hand,” the narrator notes to himself, as he observes more than a dozen soldiers squeezed inside a quickly departing helicopter (49).
The General and his family make it safely to the C-130. The narrator does too, but when he turns to help Bon’s family onto the plane’s ramp, they are not there. That is when, about twenty meters away from the plane, the narrator sees Bon holding his wife and child’s limp bodies. Bon is “rooted by grief,” having just witnessed his family being fatally wounded by “something [that] had torn through [the toddler’s chest] and through his mother” (49). The narrator drags Bon, along with the bodies of his wife and child, onto the plane as it narrowly escapes the quickly collapsing South Vietnam.
The opening chapters situate The Sympathizer at a precise moment in history: in South Vietnam during the fall of Saigon, which many regard as the event that marked the end of the Vietnam War. As historical context, it is important to remember that the Vietnam War was a civil war, in which the Communist North fought against the anti-Communist South. As many historians have noted, America’s involvement in Vietnam as allies to the anti-Communist South is quite controversial, and further reading from the vast body of writing on the Vietnam War can deepen our understanding of the complex power dynamics between North and South Vietnamese, Americans and non-Americans, and East and West—which interplay, sometimes overlapping, with each other in The Sympathizer. In these opening chapters, themes of the tragicomic absurdity of war, Americanization, and duality are all introduced through identities heightened by the politics of the Vietnam War.
Chapters 1 through 3 also establish the overarching narrative structure of the book. This story is a confession told by our narrator to a mysterious Commandant, who is holding the narrator captive. We do not yet knowthe Commandant’s name, where he is located, or anything else about him. This storytelling technique generates a layered form of intrigue. We know that the narrator has been caught (but how?), and if this is his confession then we must assume it is the truth (or is it)? Given that secrecy, manipulation, and lies are part of the narrator’s job as a spy, there is an underlying tension. The reader needs more information to evaluate the situation with the Commandant.
The complexity of a split identity, especially around racial/ethnic lines, is another major theme that emerges in the book’s opening chapters. The narrator’s mother was a Vietnamese woman, his father a French Catholic priest and this heritage—bifurcated between French colonizer and colonized Vietnamese—is both a blessing and a curse to the narrator. Because of his divided self, he says he is “able to see any issue from both sides. Sometimes I flatter myself that this is a talent…[but] the talent you cannot not use, the talent that possesses you—that is a hazard, I must confess” (1). This fissure in the narrator’s identity mirrors other opposing dualities in the book—North vs. South Vietnam, Orient vs. Occident, etc.
Adding another dimension to his already complicated identity, the narrator has become quite Americanized after studying at Occidental College in the 1960s. His American education allows him to be a better spy: “The mission [of studying in America]…was to learn American ways of thinking. My war was psychological” (12). With impeccable English and an appreciation of American culture, the narrator represents colonization and Americanization and Vietnam all in one being. “I am not some misunderstood mutant from a comic book or a horror movie,” the narrator says, “although some have treated me as such” (1).
Another important plot element is the intense friendship—sealed in blood—between the narrator, Bon, and Man. They all bear the same scar on their hands when, in their childhood, they took a blood brothers oath and made a pact to remain friends forever. The narrator and Man are both secretly Communists; Bon, the only “genuine patriot” and anti-Communist, is completely unaware of both Man and the narrator’s secret affiliation. Somehow, this makes sense for their friendship: “This had been our system since our lycée days when we secretly pursued one road via a study group while Bon openly continued on a more conventional path” (27). Living with the contradictionthat Bon is the narrator’s enemy and also, his best friendis a motif we see in many forms throughout the novel.
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By Viet Thanh Nguyen