The Power of Storytelling

I’ve had the honor of meeting readers at book events and school visits who have shared with me how much my book, The Yellow Áo Dài, means to them. I am especially moved when readers of all ages tell me that my story helps them feel seen, proud of their Vietnamese heritage and that my words are “healing their inner child”. This is how I feel about Ly Ky Tran and her coming-of-age memoir, House of Sticks. 

Hanh: Please share the inspiration for your book. What do you hope readers will connect with from House of Sticks? 

Ly: I was an avid reader growing up. I loved getting lost in books and imagining all the different lives and different worlds. But as my own life became increasingly complex and difficult, I found myself yearning to see a story that resembled mine. I wanted to feel less alone in my experiences, but to no avail. When I discovered the power of my own written word, I figured that I could be the one to tell my story, and in the off chance that there was someone out there who experienced what I’d experienced, that at the very least I could help eradicate their loneliness. 

It makes me incredibly happy to see the increase in AAPI representation in literature and the arts in general, and I’m thrilled to see your beautiful book, The Yellow Áo Dài, gracing the shelves. There is so much warmth and tenderness emanating from your characters, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much of it is inspired by your own family and experiences. Could you tell me about the sources you drew from to write this beautiful story? 

Hanh: I’m delighted that you were touched by this story inspired by my daughter and beloved mother-in-law. I appreciate what you shared about your wish to write your own experiences into existence between the pages of your book and to offer comfort to those who may feel the loneliness you experienced. You certainly succeeded in helping others feel seen and less alone. 

My mother-in-law passed away when my daughter was just a baby. My daughter felt alone and different from most of her friends who have grandparents. She began to feel curious about her grandmother. I realized this was the perfect opportunity for me to share with my daughter her special connection not only to her grandmother, but also our Vietnamese heritage. 

In your memoir, you shared the challenges you faced navigating two worlds and how that impacted your day-to-day life. Your words resonated with me because I too grew up in a traditional Vietnamese household feeling the pressure to honor my heritage while also searching for a sense of belonging beyond my homelife. Was there a defining moment in your life that empowered you to believe that you can have agency over who you wanted to be?

Ly: There was this point when I was in my second year of college. I was depressed beyond belief and could barely bring myself to wake up, feed myself, go to school, etc. It was a dark time full of regret, living a life that seemed headed for nothing but failure. In those days, I was always searching for someone or something to blame, my parents, my family, institutions, systemic oppression. It was so easy to point that finger. But after some time, I realized that blame was not a solution. I needed a way to move forward and rewrite my narrative. So, I made the drastic decision to drop out of school. It didn’t make sense to anyone else but me. But I truly felt that if I could fail on my own terms, I could succeed on my own terms as well. Despite not knowing what the future would hold, it was at that moment that I reclaimed my agency. 

In many ways, Naliah’s story is also one of self-ownership while honoring one’s heritage. I adore how Naliah embraces her culture with the help and support of a loving family and admire her courage in owning up to her mistake. What is a moment in your life that required courage? And how did that change you? 

Hanh: Your words resonate with me on so many levels. When I was in high school, both of my grandparents became ill. I was raised by my grandparents. My grandmother passed away during my first year of college. I felt utterly lost and struggled to move forward on my life’s journey. After all, my grandmother was my moral compass and anchor in this world. I was torn between feeling like a failure in school or going to college as expected coming from a traditional Vietnamese household where education is prioritized as the path to success. I told my family that I wanted to drop out of school, and they felt I was making a mistake. I’ve always been raised to be obedient to my elders, but I decided to do what I felt was best for my broken self. 

It took a lot of courage for me to make a choice that went against what others believed was best for me. From that moment on, I learned to trust myself and listen to my inner voice. When I was ready to return to college in order to realize my dreams of becoming a teacher, I enrolled in school for me and that made all the difference in the world. My head and heart space were in a better place to navigate the challenges of college life.

How long did it take from the first draft to publication? What has been the most meaningful part of your creative journey?

Ly: The publication journey took me about seven years. When I received my book deal, I had just graduated college, and I was still living the story I was telling. It not only took time to hone my craft but to also create the distance needed to honor the truth of my story. I didn’t set out with some grand notion of love or forgiveness. I set out to simply understand my past, my parents’ past, examine all the details that characterized my life up until that point. And by the end of the process, I was utterly transformed. From the soil of understanding, love and forgiveness blossomed. It was alchemical. 

What did your process look like? And could you talk about your experiences collaborating with an illustrator to make your words visually come to life? The art is absolutely stunning.  

Hanh: My creative process organically stemmed from my need to be a part of the change I wanted to see in our world. I recognized the need for positive representation of marginalized voices in children’s literature and stories that authentically represented the experiences of refugees. I felt a responsibility to write about the many layers of my experiences as a refugee child in hopes that my stories may foster empathy and inspire kindness. After all, I am a testament to the impact of kindness and allyship. 

My collaboration with Minnie Phan, the illustrator for The Yellow Áo Dài, was surreal. To see my words come to life with Minnie’s art was even better than I imagined. Minnie felt a special connection to my protagonist’s experiences in the story because of her own childhood with her mother. The gorgeous art Minnie created for our book elevated the text and made this story even more meaningful and engaging. 

Hanh: When did you know that you wanted to become a writer? How did your own childhood and lived experiences influence your stories? 

Ly: Storytelling has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I learned it from my father, who told me stories about his time in the re-education camps, and I learned it from my mother, who told me fables and parables to teach me valuable lessons. When life got too unbearable, I turned to storytelling as a coping mechanism. But it wasn’t until I read Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye in the ninth grade that I felt the draw of the written word and its power. It was the first book to ever move me to tears. I wanted that, whatever it was, that ability to touch someone’s heart so profoundly that it could make them cry. I think that’s when the seed was planted, and I watered that seed over the years, writing countless iterations of my story until it grew into something that I finally felt was worth sharing with the world. 

How about you? When did you decide you wanted to be a writer, and how does your experience as a schoolteacher impact your writing?

Hanh: I decided to become a writer later in life as a second career in hopes that my stories may help children who have yet to see themselves represented in books. My experiences as a teacher deepened my desire to write stories that show all children that their family experiences and culture are worthy of being shared and have a place on bookshelves. 

Do you feel that there is a through-line or particular theme you’re drawn to, whatever you’re writing, regardless of genre? 

Ly: Yes, I think on a cellular level, the themes I’m drawn to include mental health, womanhood, and loneliness. These themes are ubiquitous in my own life, so I have a lot to draw from. On a more macro-level, I’m interested in the idea of breaking free from the narratives that prevent us from embracing our humanity in all its beauty and all its flaws, and having the courage to be who we are meant to be.

Thank you for having the courage to share your truths. May our words inspire others to know their experiences matter and are needed between the pages of books. I cherish our sisterhood as women and writers.

~~~

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