Today's Read Contributor Ocean Vuong’s second novel, The Emperor of Gladness, has emerged as a standout literary phenomenon this summer, striking a chord for its quiet yet profound exploration of empathy, mental health, and found family. Published on May 13, 2025, by Penguin Press, the novel draws readers into the decaying, fictional town of East Gladness, Connecticut, where life unfolds with a raw intimacy rarely seen in contemporary fiction.
The story begins on a somber summer evening, as 19‑year‑old Hai—a Vietnamese American battling depression and addiction—stands on a bridge, contemplating ending his life. His rescue comes not from a dramatic intervention, but from Grazina, an elderly Lithuanian widow grappling with dementia, whose spontaneous act of kindness halts Hai’s spiral. This catalytic moment escorts Hai into Grazina’s home, marking the start of their unconventional, intergenerational companionship.
While some critics have labeled the novel’s prose as “overwritten” or its dialogue occasionally forced, many others celebrate its lyrical depth. The Financial Times, for instance, acknowledged Vuong’s ambitious venture into a sprawling narrative that, despite being “clumsy” in places, courageously probes postindustrial despair and immigrant legacies. Meanwhile, The Guardian describes the novel as “poignant,” emphasizing the emotional heartbeat of Hai and Grazina’s bond as a source of healing and self-discovery. NPR’s review lauded the book’s authenticity and existential resonance, noting how its fragmented scenes evoke deeper moral reflection.
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Vuong’s background informs much of the novel’s authenticity. A professor of creative writing at NYU and a 2019 MacArthur “genius grant” recipient, Vuong draws from firsthand experience in food service and elder care. He describes the novel as a “slump book,” acknowledging a deliberate slowing of pace and voice to match its introspective themes. He also credits his Buddhist practice with shaping his perspective: crafting small yet morally charged moments that linger long after the narrative ends.
The Emperor of Gladness resists the traditional immigrant narrative of upward mobility. As Vuong himself articulates—and as emphasized by Publishers Weekly—it instead honors the pursuit of “a decent life” over grand achievement or model‑minority tropes. In the fictional town’s HomeMarket restaurant, Hai works alongside fellow marginalized individuals—Maureen, Russia, Sony—each crafting small survival strategies in the face of economic desperation and social neglect. Through these bonds, Vuong reframes true success as the ability to care, connect, and endure.
Grazina’s dementia narrative interweaves with Hai’s trauma to form a complex tapestry of memory loss, refuge, and reclamation. As Vuong explains in interviews, the novel seeks to unpack cultural denial of illness and mortality through the lens of everyday kindness. The result is a narrative that dares to explore war, genocide, and generational trauma—not through spectacle, but through lived experience, emotional nuance, and metaphoric resonance.
Despite some critiques, the literary world has rallied behind The Emperor of Gladness. Kirkus Reviews hailed its “sui generis take on the surprisingly cruel ways violence passes across generations,” praising its bold moral inquiry. Time magazine, British GQ, Pride, and Electric Literature included it on their most anticipated books lists for 2025. In addition, the novel was selected as the 114th pick for Oprah’s Book Club in May—an endorsement that underscores its cultural significance.
In a summer landscape dominated by fast-paced thrillers and genre-heavy blockbusters, Vuong’s introspective and poetic narrative offers a powerful counterpoint. It reminds us that stories rooted in empathy, everyday vulnerability, and moral complexity can resonate more deeply than spectacle. As Real Change magazine attests, Vuong transforms grief into “a language we begin to comprehend,” and invites readers to witness lives often relegated to the margins.
The Emperor of Gladness is a testament to Vuong’s evolution as a writer. It is sprawling yet intimate, meditative yet unsettling—a novel that refuses glib resolutions in favor of a tender reckoning with what it means to live, care, and persist. As the literary community continues its summer engagement with Vuong’s latest work, the novel’s quiet insistence on kindness and integrity stands as both a tribute and a challenge to readers.
