Nam Le’s first anthology of short stories “The Boat” has met with critical and commercial success internationally. Peril was lucky enough to catch him on the run.

The installation Pho Dog provoked a reaction from the Vietnamese Community Association in Western Australia.

Passing, Failing – Interviews with Nam Le and Mai Long, and a variety of short prose pieces and poetry in response to the theme. We invite people to comment on our commentary with their views.

I spent the first fifteen years of my life trying to ignore the fact that I am Asian. Ironic, considering I was born and raised on the small island of Hong Kong and its population of 6 million other Asians.

The Jammed is a political film that attempts to represent Australia’s modern ‘subalterns’, the voiceless and exploited women ‘jammed’ between global capitalism’s voracious hunger for human lives, and the borders which govern them.

My grandfather saw devils, right before he died. “They’re here, they’re here!” he exclaimed to my mum and cousins, who were in the room at the time. His fearful eyes were wide open. My cousins splashed holy water in the corner where he saw the devils. My grandfather looked to the right, where a statue of the Virgin Mary stood. It was this image that he took with him. His eyes fluttered, body shaking. And then he was gone.

Falling failing falling.  Failing used to mean: failing an assignment, an exam, a subject.  Falling behind.  Failing chemistry: no matter how hard I tried – I never achieved more than a C.  Not an F, but it may as well have been.  My dad wanted to go and speak with my Chemistry teacher and ‘sort it all out’.  But it wasn’t Mr Jagdeo’s fault – he went over compounds and properties and how oxygen was formed through lunch times and after school with me – but to no avail, I …

According to Ba, my biological imperative is to marry and have children. I was dozing before this, but his words shake me up. His voice travels far: he and Ma are having their morning conversation with condensed-milk coffee at the back of the house while I’m in the front, but it sounds like he’s shouting in my ear. Quit writing. Get married. Have babies. That’s an order, Daughter.

gone
she is
a million billion
scattered atoms
each complete unto
itself and I am at peace

Slicing the knot of the ancestors
Diving through the heavens
He came.
Headfirst, warm-wet, amphibian,
He slithered into the light
Sleek with both our blood.