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The Sympathizer
A Novel (Pulitzer Prize for Fiction)

Viet Thanh Nguyen


Apr 2016

First Trade Paper Edition

NONE

Trade Paper

$16.00 US
($20.99 CAN)
978-0-8021-2494-4 | 9780802124944
0-8021-2494-1 | 0802124941

20 per carton

Fiction/Literature

FICTION

Literary

Spring 2016

Title Rights: USCO* (ex AG, BB, BD, BM, BN, BS, BT, BW, BZ, CM, CY, FJ, GD, GH, GM, GY, IN, IQ, JM, JO, KE, KI, KN, KW, KY, LC, LK, LS, MM, MT, MU, MV, MW, MY, MZ, NA, NG, NP, NR, PG, PK, SC, SD, SG, SL, SO, SZ, TC, TT, TZ, VC, VG, VU, YE, ZA, ZM, ZW)

Product Safety: Mfgr warrants no warnings apply

Published by Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Grove Press

Description:
The winner of the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, as well as six other awards, The Sympathizer is the breakthrough novel of the year. With the pace and suspense of a thriller and prose that has been compared to Graham Greene and Saul Bellow, The Sympathizer is a sweeping epic of love and betrayal. The narrator, a communist double agent, is a “man of two minds,” a half-French, half-Vietnamese army captain who arranges to come to America after the Fall of Saigon, and while building a new life with other Vietnamese refugees in Los Angeles is secretly reporting back to his communist superiors in Vietnam. The Sympathizer is a blistering exploration of identity and America, a gripping espionage novel, and a powerful story of love and friendship.


Excerpt:
I am a spy, a sleeper, a spook, a man of two faces. Perhaps not surprisingly, I am also a man of two minds. I am not some misunderstood mutant from a comic book or a horror movie, although some have treated me as such. I am simply able to see any issue from both sides. Sometimes I flatter myself that this is a talent, and although it is admittedly one of a minor nature, it is perhaps also the sole talent I possess. At other times, when I reflect on how I cannot help but observe the world in such a fashion, I wonder if what I have should even be called talent. After all, a talent is something you use, not something that uses you. The talent you cannot not use, the talent that possesses you—that is a hazard, I must confess. But in the month when this confession begins, my way of seeing the world still seemed more of a virtue than a danger, which is how some dangers first appear.

The month in question was April, the cruelest month. It was the month in which a war that had run on for a very long time would lose its limbs, as is the way of wars. It was a month that meant everything to all the people in our small part of the world and nothing to most people in the rest of the world. It was a month that was both an end of a war and the beginning of . . . well, “peace” is not the right word, is it, my dear commandant?

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