There is a moment in one of Ho Anh Thai’s collection of short stories Behind the Red Mist when one of the characters, among his circle of now middle-aged revolutionaries and facing the miseries of aerial bombardment and privation, asks whether this is, at least in part, all our own fault. It is a moment that lifts the story above so many others from the Mekong Region which I have read over the years and which fail to ask the same question.
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