The Emperor of Gladness

This is the kind of novel that makes you grateful to be alive just to read it. The Emperor of Gladness is a stunning second act from Ocean Vuong—an offering so intimate and tender it feels like your heart has gone through a carwash. You'll find it spit-shined and sparkling at the end.

Vuong's superpower has always been his vulnerability. And while his brilliance was never in question, this novel confirms it: he's my number one, full stop. His prose doesn't just tell a story—it resuscitates something in us, those cold and quiet places we forgot were still alive.

The novel begins with Hai, a nineteen-year-old Vietnamese American boy who has spun a web of lies so dense he can't see a way out. At the edge of his own life—literally about to jump—he's unexpectedly stopped by Grazina, an elderly Lithuanian widow with dementia who happens to be watching from her window. This moment, gentle and jarring, blooms into a strange and beautiful friendship.

Together, Hai and Grazina navigate memory, grief, and the quietly absurd grace of staying alive. What grows between them is not just love but a kind of salvation—the kind only found when two people the world tries to erase decide to see each other instead.

This novel is about chosen families and the ones we're born into. It's about unlikely friendships, the grace of second chances, and the kind of redemption that doesn't come loudly but lingers. It reminds us that human connection—fragile, awkward, miraculous—is still the most powerful thing we've got.

It's a masterpiece. Read it slowly; it's one to be treasured.