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The Sympathizer
A Novel (Pulitzer Prize for Fiction)

Viet Thanh Nguyen

Apr 2016

First Trade Paper Edition


Trade Paper

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

20 per carton




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

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.

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?