Jane Sullivan
August 20, 2011
ABOUT halfway through Alice Pung’s new memoir, Her Father’s Daughter, comes a section that hits the reader like a sledgehammer. We’re taken from contemporary Melbourne to Cambodia in Year Zero. The people of Phnom Penh, relieved the civil war is over, are smiling and welcoming their Khmer Rouge liberators. ”They were an army of children,” Pung writes. ”They did not smile back.”
The surreal atrocities of Pol Pot’s killing fields are well documented but Pung’s story has all the more impact here because the ”Black Bandits” do dreadful things to a man we have come to know well: her father, Kuan, and his extended family, many of whom were murdered. After reading these chapters, I had trouble sleeping.
Pung had trouble writing this, too, particularly towards the end. Even now she worries how Her Father’s Daughter is going to be received.
”Will the high school students ask: ‘Where’s all the humour and sarcasm’?” she says.
The humour and sarcasm provided the charm and bite in Pung’s best-selling and much-loved first book, Unpolished Gem. Her memoir of a girl high on education and achievement but low on self-esteem, growing up in a Chinese-Cambodian family in Braybrook, won the Australian Book Industry newcomer of the year award and was shortlisted for the Victorian and New South Wales premiers’ literary awards and The Age book of the year. Read more of this post
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