Poet Ocean Vuong’s Novel Debut Is Ambitious, Raw, and Evocative, But Also Often Pretentious and Ostentatious

“On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous” is one of the series of books that I’ve been reading ahead of attending the Sun Valley Writers Conference, one of the country’s most premiere writing events, since its author, acclaimed poet Ocean Vuong, will be there speaking. And it was … totally alright. But just alright. Because “On Earth” is alternately incredible and potent, but also self-important and cheesy.

What does it have going for it? Structure, for one, as Vuong builds “On Earth” as a semi-autobiographical, fictitious novel-length letter from a narrator, nicknamed Little Dog, to his illiterate mother, Rose. But the “letter” is intentionally a bit wandering and nonlinear, as Little Dog essentially looks back at his relationship with his mother, his grandmother, and his first love in a kaleidoscopic and fascinating way. The way Vuong describes the memories and instances he’s recounting is clipped and dreamlike, just like it can be when we’re going through our own memories, and the effect works really well.

Another great aspect of the novel is how brazenly vulnerable Vuong is here. He speaks blatantly about Little Dog’s mother’s abusive behavior, his families brutal tribulations and isolation during the Vietnam War and later in America as Vietnamese immigrants, his sexual experiences with his first love, Trevor, and much more. It can be cliche to call a novel or story “brave,” but I think it truly applies here, as Vuong airs all of his naked trauma through Little Dog’s story for the world to see.

But what works against the novel, in the opinion of Your Humble Reviewer, is that the poet in Vuong can’t help but aim for profundity and universality, and because of that there are points where the book can be just eye-rollingly cliched or maudlin.

I’m not much of a poetry guy, and tried to monitor that bias while reading “On Earth,” knowing that Vuong was a poet. So I reeeeally worked to see past some of these cloying, ostentatious phrases and verbiage and tell myself that maybe I just don’t understand poetry.

And that might be the case. The book is super lauded and acclaimed. And there are definitely some acclaim-worthy aspects, like the structure and vulnerability. But it was just a little too sappy, as if Vuong was trying a little too hard when he didn’t need to, that it wasn’t as rewarding an experience as I thought it’d be.