Kim Thuy
Kim Thúy arrived in Canada in 1979, at the age of ten. She has worked as a seamstress, interpreter, lawyer and restaurant owner. She currently lives in Montreal where she devotes herself to writing.
Her debut novel Ru won the Governor General's Award for French language fiction at the 2010 Governor General's Awards. An English edition, translated by Sheila Fischman, was published in 2012 and was a shortlisted nominee for the 2012 Scotiabank Giller Prize.
Thúy spent her early childhood in Vietnam before fleeing with her parents as boat people and settling in the Montreal suburb of Longueuil. She has degrees in law, linguistics and translation from the Université de Montréal.
“If a mark of affection can sometimes be taken for an insult, perhaps the gesture of love is not universal: it too must be translated from one language to another, must be learned.”
Kim Thuy
“...love comes from the head and not the heart. Of the entire body, only the head matters.”
Kim Thuy
“…….one horizon always hides another and it goes on like that into infinity, to the unspeakable beauty of renewal, to intangible rapture. As for me, it is true all the way to the possibility of this book, to the moment when my words glide across the curve of your lips, to the sheets of white paper that put up with my trail, or rather the trail of those who have walked before me, for me. I moved forward in the trace of their footsteps as in a waking dream where the scent of a newly blown poppy is no longer a perfume but a blossoming: where the deep red of a maple leaf in autumn is no longer a colour but a grace; where a country is no longer a place but a lullaby.”
Kim Thuy
“A Saigon Proverb: Doe la chine tran, neu buon la thua. Life is a struggle in which sorrow leads to defeat.”
Kim Thuy
“If I had known what it meant to love, I wouldn't have had children, because once we love, we love forever, like Uncle Two's wife, Step-aunt Two, who can't stop loving her gambler son, the son who is burning up the family fortune like a pyromaniac.”
Kim Thuy
“I moved forward in the trace of their footsteps as in a waking dream where the scent of a newly blown poppy is no longer a perfume but a blossoming: where the deep red of a maple leaf in autumn is no longer a colour but a grace; where a country is no longer a place but a lullaby.”
Kim Thuy
“Après le décès de cette vieille dame, tous les dimanches, j'allais au bord d'un étang à lotus en banlieu de Hanoi, où il y avait toujours deux ou trois femmes au dos arqué, aux mains tremblantes, qui, assises dans le fond d'une barque ronde, se déplaçaient sur l'eau à l'aide d'une perche pour placer des feuilles de thé à l'intérieur des fleurs de lotus ouvertes. Elles y retournaient le jour suivant pour les recueillir, unes à unes, avant que les pétales se fanent, après que les feuilles emprisonnées avaient absorbé le parfum des pistils pendant la nuit. Elles me disaient que chaque feuille de thé conservait ainsi l'âme de ces fleurs éphémères.”
Kim Thuy