East Gladness, Nowhere Town

East Gladness is a small, overlooked New England town, a place where the past and present blur, and the landscape is marked by decay, resilience, and the ghosts of those who never left. The town is a microcosm of working-class America, with its overgrown lawns, shuttered businesses, and a population that feels both invisible and deeply rooted. The narrator, Hai, introduces us to this world, where the river is both a boundary and a lifeline, and where the only things that stop are the people themselves. The town's history is layered with loss, migration, and the slow erosion of dreams, setting the stage for a story about survival, memory, and the search for meaning in the margins.

Bridge at the Edge

Hai, a nineteen-year-old Vietnamese American, stands on King Philip's Bridge, contemplating ending his life. The bridge, a relic of failed optimism, becomes the site of an unexpected intervention when Grazina, an elderly Lithuanian woman, spots him and calls him back from the edge. Their awkward, life-saving encounter leads Hai into Grazina's home, where a strange, tender connection forms. The bridge is both literal and symbolic—a threshold between despair and the possibility of renewal, and the moment marks the beginning of Hai's journey back into the world, tethered by the fragile kindness of a stranger.

Grazina's Kitchen Gospel

Grazina's home is a cluttered, timeworn sanctuary filled with owl figurines, old magazines, and the detritus of a long, complicated life. Over cigarettes and stories, Grazina and Hai share their wounds—her dementia and loneliness, his addiction and estrangement from his mother. Grazina's rituals, like crushing bread rolls in the mud to banish sorrow, become acts of shared healing. She offers Hai a place to stay, and together they form a makeshift family, navigating the daily challenges of memory loss, poverty, and the need for connection. Their relationship is built on small acts of care, humor, and the mutual recognition of pain.

Bread, Pills, and Ghosts

Hai becomes Grazina's caretaker, managing her complex regimen of pills and the unpredictable tides of her dementia. The house is haunted by the ghosts of Grazina's past—her lost family, her daughter Lina, and the traumas of war and migration. Hai, too, is haunted: by the death of his friend Noah, his failed attempts at college, and his mother's disappointment. The two navigate hallucinations, kitchen disasters, and the daily grind of survival, finding solace in each other's company. The boundaries between caretaker and cared-for blur, as both seek redemption and a sense of belonging.

HomeMarket: Thanksgiving Forever

Hai finds work at HomeMarket, a fast-casual restaurant that promises "Thanksgiving every day." The crew is a patchwork of misfits: BJ, the overzealous manager with wrestling dreams; Wayne, the rotisserie chicken master; Maureen, the foul-mouthed cashier; Russia, the drive-thru kid; and Sony, Hai's neurodivergent cousin. The restaurant is both a sanctuary and a site of exploitation, where the rituals of food service—reheating, serving, cleaning—become a way to anchor oneself in the world. The camaraderie of the crew, their banter and shared struggles, offers Hai a sense of purpose and community, even as the work is grueling and the pay meager.

The Art of Surviving

Hai's addiction to painkillers shadows his every move, a secret he manages with the same precision as Grazina's pills. Flashbacks reveal his failed attempt at college, his mother's sacrifices, and the lies he tells to protect her hope. A stint in rehab is both a reprieve and a revelation, exposing the cycles of trauma, poverty, and the thin line between survival and self-destruction. The narrative explores the ways people cope—with humor, with stories, with small rituals—and the cost of carrying the weight of other people's dreams. Survival is an art, learned in kitchens, on the line at HomeMarket, and in the quiet moments of care.

Sergeant Pepper's War

As Grazina's dementia worsens, she and Hai retreat into elaborate role-play, reenacting World War II scenarios where Hai becomes "Sergeant Pepper," her American savior. These games are both coping mechanisms and acts of love, allowing Grazina to process her trauma and Hai to find meaning in caretaking. The boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, and the house becomes a battlefield, a sanctuary, and a stage for their shared fears and hopes. Through these performances, they confront the violence of history, the pain of memory, and the possibility of forgiveness.

The Penguin and the Diamond

Sony, Hai's cousin, is obsessed with the Civil War and dreams of finding a diamond supposedly embedded in his absent father's hand. His neurodivergence is both a challenge and a source of unique insight, and his relationship with Hai is marked by loyalty, misunderstanding, and shared wounds. Together, they embark on a quixotic journey to Vermont, accompanied by the HomeMarket crew and Grazina, in search of the diamond—a quest that is as much about healing as it is about closure. Along the way, they confront family secrets, the limits of storytelling, and the meaning of home.

Corn Cake and Cornbread

HomeMarket's signature corn bread is revealed to be more cake than bread—a metaphor for the small deceptions that sustain both business and personal life. The crew faces layoffs, corporate pressure, and the indignities of low-wage labor. The restaurant becomes a battleground for dignity, with BJ's wrestling ambitions, Maureen's conspiracy theories, and the daily grind of serving a community that is itself struggling. Food, in all its processed, reheated glory, is both comfort and con, and the rituals of service become acts of resistance against despair.

The Emperor's Butchery

A side job at a local slaughterhouse exposes the crew to the brutal realities of meat production. The killing of hogs, the blood and chaos, become metaphors for the violence embedded in everyday life—the violence of poverty, of history, of the body. The experience is both traumatic and bonding, forcing the characters to confront their own complicity and the ways in which survival often requires the sacrifice of others. The "emperor hogs" of legend, bred for the tables of the powerful, echo the fate of the workers themselves—used up and discarded by systems that demand endless productivity.

Family, Lies, and Loss

Hai's relationship with his mother is fraught with love, disappointment, and the burden of unfulfilled dreams. Both are haunted by the past—her sacrifices as a refugee, his failures as a son. The family is fractured by addiction, incarceration, and the lies told to protect one another. Sony's quest for his father's diamond is revealed to be a search for connection and meaning in a world that offers little of either. The narrative explores the ways families survive—through denial, through hope, through the stories they tell themselves and each other.

The Great Escape Attempt

As Grazina's condition deteriorates, social services move to place her in a nursing home. Hai and Grazina stage a desperate, imaginative escape, riding her scooter through the fog in a final bid for freedom. Their journey is both literal and symbolic—a last stand against the institutional forces that seek to contain and erase the vulnerable. The escape is doomed, but it is also an act of dignity, a refusal to go quietly. In the end, Grazina is taken away, and Hai is left with the memory of their shared resistance.

The End of the Line

With Grazina gone, Hai is adrift. He gives away the last of his money to help Sony and Aunt Kim, and finds himself sleeping in a dumpster behind HomeMarket, contemplating the cycles of waste and renewal that define his world. The crew disperses, the restaurant changes hands, and the town continues its slow, stubborn existence. Hai's relationship with his mother remains unresolved, but there is a sense of acceptance—a recognition that survival is itself a form of grace, and that the small acts of care and connection are what endure.

The Last Supper

In the final scenes, Hai and Grazina share a late-night meal at a diner, a moment of quiet communion before the end. The world outside is indifferent, but inside the ritual of eating, of sharing stories, becomes an act of defiance against oblivion. The salamanders crossing the parking lot, the music on the radio, the taste of coffee and bread—these small, sensory details become the threads that tie the characters to life, to each other, and to the possibility of gladness, however fleeting.

The Dumpster and the Stars

Hai, now alone, lies in a dumpster behind HomeMarket, talking to his mother on the phone and looking up at the stars. The world is unchanged—full of suffering, loss, and the relentless demands of survival—but there is also beauty, connection, and the stubborn persistence of hope. The novel ends with a sense of transcendence found not in grand gestures, but in the quiet, everyday acts of care, memory, and imagination that make life bearable.

The Emperor of Gladness

The story closes with Hai reflecting on the lives that have touched his own—the dead, the lost, the forgotten—and the ways in which their stories continue to shape him. The emperor of gladness is not a person, but a state of being: the ability to find joy, however brief, in the midst of suffering; to create meaning out of chaos; and to persist, against all odds, in the act of living. The novel ends with a benediction for all who survive, and a recognition that, in the end, we are all emperors of our own small gladness.

Characters

Hai

Hai is a young Vietnamese American man adrift in the aftermath of loss, addiction, and failed dreams. Estranged from his mother and haunted by the death of his friend Noah, he is both caretaker and cared-for, moving through the world with a mix of cynicism, humor, and deep vulnerability. His relationship with Grazina becomes a lifeline, offering him a sense of purpose and belonging. Hai's psychological landscape is marked by guilt, longing, and the struggle to reconcile his own needs with the expectations of family and society. Over the course of the novel, he moves from despair to a hard-won acceptance, learning to find meaning in small acts of care and connection.

Grazina

Grazina is an elderly Lithuanian woman living with dementia, whose life is a tapestry of trauma, migration, and survival. Her home is a museum of memory, filled with owl figurines and relics of the past. She is both sharp and forgetful, capable of biting humor and profound tenderness. Her relationship with Hai is transformative for both, as they navigate the challenges of illness, poverty, and the encroaching loss of self. Grazina's psychological complexity lies in her oscillation between lucidity and confusion, her fierce independence, and her longing for dignity in the face of decline. She is a survivor, a storyteller, and, in her own way, an emperor of gladness.

Sony

Sony is Hai's neurodivergent cousin, obsessed with the Civil War and driven by a quest to find a diamond in his absent father's hand. His disability shapes his worldview, making him both vulnerable and uniquely insightful. Sony's relationship with Hai is marked by deep loyalty, misunderstanding, and a shared sense of being outsiders. His journey is one of seeking connection, meaning, and a place in a world that often excludes him. Sony's innocence is both a shield and a source of pain, and his story is a meditation on the costs and gifts of difference.

BJ (Big Jean)

BJ is the manager of HomeMarket, a woman of formidable presence and boundless energy. Her dreams of wrestling stardom are both a source of pride and a mask for deeper wounds. She is a leader, a caretaker, and a performer, whose need for validation drives her to both inspire and alienate those around her. BJ's psychological complexity lies in her oscillation between confidence and vulnerability, her desire to be seen, and her struggle to reconcile her ambitions with the realities of her life. She is both comic and tragic, a figure of resilience and longing.

Maureen

Maureen is the foul-mouthed, world-weary cashier at HomeMarket, a woman whose humor and skepticism mask a deep well of pain. She is a survivor of loss—her son's death, her own health struggles—and her conspiracy theories are both a coping mechanism and a form of resistance. Maureen is fiercely loyal to her crew, and her relationship with Hai is marked by a rough tenderness. Her psychological landscape is shaped by grief, defiance, and the need to find meaning in a world that often seems senseless.

Wayne

Wayne is the rotisserie chicken master at HomeMarket, a man whose identity is tied to his craft and his family legacy. He is a figure of quiet strength, carrying the weight of generational trauma and the expectations of masculinity. Wayne's pride in his work is both a source of dignity and a shield against the racism and indignities he faces. His psychological complexity lies in his struggle to maintain his sense of self in a world that devalues his labor and his history.

Russia

Russia is the drive-thru kid at HomeMarket, a young man from a post-Soviet immigrant family, marked by alienation and a restless creativity. His origami penguins, blue hair, and sardonic humor set him apart, and his relationship with his sister's addiction is a source of both pain and motivation. Russia's psychological landscape is shaped by displacement, the search for belonging, and the need to create beauty in the margins.

Hai's Mother

Hai's mother is a Vietnamese refugee who has sacrificed everything for her son's future. Her pride and disappointment in Hai are intertwined, and her love is both a source of comfort and pressure. She is haunted by the losses of war, migration, and the death of her own mother. Her psychological complexity lies in her struggle to reconcile her hopes for Hai with the realities of their lives, and her own need for recognition and rest.

Aunt Kim

Aunt Kim is Sony's mother, a woman marked by estrangement, incarceration, and the burden of single motherhood. Her relationship with Sony is fraught with guilt, love, and the weight of secrets. She is both a victim and a survivor, navigating the systems that have failed her and her son. Her psychological landscape is shaped by regret, resilience, and the longing for redemption.

Lucas

Lucas is Grazina's son, a pharmacist who is both caring and emotionally distant. His approach to his mother's decline is pragmatic, focused on safety and efficiency, but he is also haunted by the complexities of their relationship and the traumas of their shared past. Lucas's psychological complexity lies in his struggle to balance duty and detachment, and his inability to fully connect with the people he loves.

Plot Devices

Dual Narratives of Memory and Survival

The novel employs a dual narrative structure, weaving together the present-day struggles of Hai and Grazina with flashbacks to their respective pasts—Hai's childhood, his mother's sacrifices, Grazina's war-torn youth. This structure allows for a deep exploration of how memory shapes identity, how trauma is inherited and transformed, and how the act of storytelling becomes a means of survival. The narrative blurs the boundaries between reality and imagination, using role-play, hallucination, and fantasy as both coping mechanisms and windows into the characters' inner lives.

Symbolism of Food and Labor

Food is a central motif, symbolizing both the comforts and deceptions of daily life. HomeMarket's corn bread—more cake than bread—becomes a metaphor for the small lies that sustain individuals and communities. The rituals of cooking, serving, and eating are acts of care, resistance, and identity. The labor of food service, with its routines and indignities, is both a source of exploitation and a site of solidarity, where characters find meaning and connection in the midst of precarity.

The Bridge and the River

King Philip's Bridge and the river it spans are recurring symbols of transition, danger, and the possibility of renewal. The bridge is the site of Hai's near-suicide and his rescue by Grazina, marking the threshold between despair and hope. The river is both a boundary and a lifeline, a place where the past is washed away and the future remains uncertain. These motifs underscore the novel's themes of migration, survival, and the search for belonging.

Role-Play and Imagination

As Grazina's dementia worsens, she and Hai retreat into elaborate role-play, reenacting wars and escapes as a way to process trauma and maintain dignity. These performances blur the line between reality and fantasy, allowing the characters to confront their fears, rewrite their histories, and find moments of joy and connection. Imagination becomes both an escape and a form of resistance against the erasure of self and history.

The Emperor Hog and the Butchery

The legend of the "emperor hogs," bred for the tables of the powerful, becomes a metaphor for the violence embedded in everyday life—the violence of poverty, labor, and history. The scenes in the slaughterhouse are both literal and symbolic, forcing the characters to confront the costs of survival and the ways in which systems demand sacrifice from the most vulnerable. The emperor of gladness is both a figure of power and a reminder of the fragility of joy.

Foreshadowing and Circularity

The novel is rich in foreshadowing and circular motifs—scenes, phrases, and symbols recur in altered forms, suggesting the inescapability of certain patterns and the possibility of transformation. The story's structure mirrors the cycles of addiction, memory, and survival, with characters returning to the same places, questions, and wounds, each time changed by the journey.

Analysis

**A luminous elegy for the working class, the immigrant, and the forgotten, The Emperor of Gladness is a novel about survival, memory, and the stubborn persistence of hope in the face of erasure. Ocean Vuong crafts a world where the margins are the center, where the rituals of food, labor, and care become acts of resistance against despair. Through the intertwined lives of Hai, Grazina, and the HomeMarket crew, the novel explores the costs of survival—addiction, loss, the slow violence of poverty—and the ways in which small acts of kindness, imagination, and connection can redeem even the bleakest circumstances. The book interrogates the stories we tell ourselves and each other—the lies that sustain us, the fantasies that heal, and the truths that wound. In a world that demands endless productivity and punishes vulnerability, Vuong finds beauty in the broken, dignity in the discarded, and gladness in the act of enduring. The Emperor of Gladness is ultimately a testament to the power of community, the necessity of storytelling, and the possibility of joy, however fleeting, in the midst of suffering.

Last updated: June 3, 2025