Inside Out and Back Again: A Newbery Honor Award Winner

Her favorite things are papayas, a dog-eared doll, and her mother. Her name is Ha and as the story opens, she is ten years old, living in Saigon in 1975. When the story ends, she is eleven years old, living in Alabama. Although I don't ordinarily read children's literature, I loved this book. I read it in connection with a graduate level course in Writing Literature for Children. The characters, historical moment, and narrative arc of Inside Out and Back Again fit comfortably yet originally within familiar literary archetypes. Her beloved father is away fighting in the war, and the mother and children are increasingly vulnerable and impoverished, a theme that brings to mind Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Each day they must choose between staying and fleeing: should they live another day under the harsh conditions of war and the oppression of an autocratic dictatorship, or abandon their duty to their country, community and family? Siblings disagree; loyalties shift. Mother is torn between her duty and desire to wait for her husband, her fear that he may be dead, and her hope for a better life for her children. Ultimately the family climbs aboard a Navy ship in search of safety and winds up with a completely new way of life. Thus begins the voyage, fraught with danger from the very beginning; they begin to second-guess their decision to leave and continue to do so through each hardship they face, and to grieve what they left behind. Ha notes that "No one would ever believe me but at times I would choose wartime in Saigon over peacetime in Alabama". At some time or another, every immigrant story I've read expresses the frustration of adjusting to a new culture, the demoralization of "having to begin again at the lowest level of the social scale" and for the refugee, "the shame of abandoning our own country and begging toward the unknown". Any child who has moved, or changed schools, or even given up a team to move to a higher level or pursue another interest knows these feelings. Ha struggles, as any person would in a new situation, with making her new location a home, and finding her place in her new school and neighborhood. The welcome she receives is often well-meaning but awkward, as when her teacher introduces the class to Vietnam by showing iconic photos of the war, rather than the papaya trees, distinctive foods and humid weather that define Vietnam for Ha. At times, though, her new community greets her with racism and xenophobia; after a brick "shatters the front window...along with a note" which "Brother Quang refuses to translate", they go door to door with their sponsor to meet neighbors who refuse to open their doors to them. To survive, she learns quickly who to trust, without necessarily knowing what trust is or how she knows. In the case of her family's sponsor, she has no choice but to trust him. In other cases, she watches others to evaluate their trustworthiness, as when two children join her for lunch with giggles that become smiles rather than "explode into laughter thrown at me". She calls this diary entry "Most Relieved Day." In this new environment, she has to learn how to solve some of her problems on her own, since her mother doesn't understand the language or culture. She trades her innocence for competence and self-respect by struggling through situations as they arise, standing up for her mother, and receiving help graciously. Ha is growing up. Ha's character emerges authentically and robustly through her own voice. The story is written as Ha's diary, in verse. Allowing Ha to speak for herself puts the reader on a ten-year old level. The diary format frees the author from filling in every detail, thereby focusing on what matters to Ha. Like most people, Ha doesn't write in her diary every day, and she only records significant matters, such as the progress of the first papaya ripening on the papaya tree she planted from a seed. Her birthday wishes, confessed confidentially to her diary, chronicle her disappointments: "I wish...I could do what boys do and let the sun darken my skin and scars grid my knees...I could stay calm no matter what my brothers say...I had a sister...Father would come home" . My copy of the book includes an interview with Lai, in which she admits that she "struggled for fifteen years to tell Ha's story in a voice that would be authentic". After attempting many different styles, she "started jotting down exactly what Ha would be feeling, lonely and angry on the playground. The words came out in quick, sharp phrases that captured her feelings in crisp images", which she wrote in verse form, as entries in a diary. The terse sentence structure evokes the simple thought pattern of a child and the brusque sound of the Vietnamese language being spoken. Ha captures the distinct personalities of her brothers, her classmates, and her neighbors through incisive observation in her diary, zooming in on discrete behaviors of each character to demonstrate their personalities while simultaneously establishing each as a metaphor. Brother Khoi represents Buddhist compassion; when it's his turn to eat the egg their hen lays four times a week, he "refuses to eat his, putting each under a lamp in hopes of a chick." Brother Quang, the oldest, views the world politically, expressing the moral outrage that a grateful refugee feels but can't afford and the cynicism of one who is dependent on a government who bears a great deal of responsibility for their dilemma. For example, "Mother is...amazed by the generosity of the American government until Brother Quang says it's to ease the guilt of losing the war." Because he's the only one who knows English, he serves as a liaison with their new community, highlighting the vulnerability of the family when he refuses to translate or is not around. Brother Vu embraces American culture and, by giving martial arts lessons in the front yard, is the first in the family to assimilate. Lai chose Ha's observations carefully, portraying each person as an individual and as an archetypal character yet exposing them solely within the context of their relationship with Ha. In some ways, the story calls to mind The Diary of Anne Frank: a young girl, recording in her diary her most personal thoughts and her careful observations about her life at a time of extraordinary political upheaval. Like Anne's, Ha's voice is simple and unfiltered, unhindered by intellectual interpretation, the need to justify herself or her story, or exhausting description. After all, a diary is written for the writer, not for an audience. She tells what happened, how she felt about it and what she did about it, then skips to the next matter of interest to her. Inside Out and Back Again is not technically an autobiography and is not a contemporaneous diary, but forty-something year old Lai seems to have invoked her own inner ten year old, letting her tell the story in her own words, affirming the significance of herself as sufficient context, never mind the sweep of history in which she exists. In doing so, Lai gives the reader a rare gift: the opportunity to experience the historic, cultural, social and psychological richness of a great humanitarian tragedy through the eyes of a child. Ha experiences the world primarily as a member of the family; she is always the smallest and youngest of four children, and the only girl in a family of three boys. Readers in these positions in a family will relate easily to Ha's experiences. At different times, she and her siblings find ways to irritate each other but also to comfort and even rescue each other. Ha particularly loves her mother, and many of her diary entries detail the qualities of her mother that matter the most, for example the love, sorrow, and tenderness conveyed when her mother says, "You deserve to grow up where you don't worry about saving half a bite of sweet potato" Her mother's beautiful eyes, as well as her modesty, sensitivity, and compassion come up frequently. We sense her father's memory slipping away when the image of a helpful uncle comes to mind more readily than the appearance of the father she knows only through photographs. The family relationships are characterized by love, loyalty and trust. There is enough drama outside this family to keep the story rich without introducing family dysfunction as well. The use of verse tightens the writing; there is no excess. The whole book can be read in less time than it takes to read a dense article in the Sunday New York Times. Her diary records her fantasies, disappointments, and experiences honestly and authentically in the staccato sentences of a smart young girl. The lyrical structure makes room for imagery that might interrupt an organized prose and frees Lai to use incomplete sentences for emphasis: “No more migration. No more letters. No more family”. Animals are at work in ordinary human endeavors and her emotions are expressed in physical terms. As Ha's mother sews the small backpacks that will hold everything they take with them when they leave Saigon, "the stitches appear in slow motion, the needle a worm laying tiny eggs that sink into brown cloth". When she gives the bully at her new school in Alabama his come-uppance, he looks "like a caged puppy." Righteous indignation is "an old, angry knot expanded in my throat”, happiness is when "Mother's lips curl upward", and anxiety is when "dragonflies do somersaults in my stomach" When she screams in anger, "a lion's paw rips up my throat" and when she can scream no more and is in the arms of a loving adult, she continues to "thrash about like a captured lizard" Lai resists the temptation to lay out the grand narrative of Vietnam, since Ha clearly doesn't have the bigger picture. Instead she interjects key historical facts here and there as Ha hears about them in a more personal context. For example, on her birthday, Ha wishes for her mother to tell her stories of her childhood in North Vietnam, and her escape to the South just as "the country divided in half...North and South closed their borders. No more migration. No more letters. No more family". As the family weighs their options, Mother explains life under communism: "Suddenly Quang will be asked to leave college. Ha will come home chanting the slogans of Ho Chi Minh, and Khoi will be rewarded for reporting to his teacher everything we say in the house". Thus the reader is given a child-size introduction to the themes of civil war, oppression, and communism without compromising Ha’s naïve perspective. Ha is not preoccupied with the war or politics, but it comes up as “in the distance bombs explode like thunder…distant yet within ears…not that far away after all”, and when the weekly current events time at school is cancelled because the war is the only news. Ha introduces other aspects of Vietnamese life: Vietnamese food, the heat and humidity on a particular day, and her papaya tree. She details how she celebrates Tet, lists the special foods and clothes she enjoys during the festivities, and expresses her smug excitement that although Tet is technically everyone's birthday, she, as the youngest child and only daughter, is allowed to celebrate the anniversary of the actual day she was born. Suspense kept the pages turning even as I wanted to relish the vivid imagery. I found myself biting my nails, wondering: Is Father alive, and will they be reunited? Will the war reach them before they escape? Will they survive the journey? Why does her brother stink? Will their cowboy sponsor in Alabama exploit them? Will the bully clobber her? Will she ever fit in? And ultimately, will they be okay? This story helps the reader empathize with the life of refugees and immigrants, a theme as relevant now as it ever was. I cried, holding the book to my chest, when she sacrificed the only item she brought with her from Saigon by choice in a show of unity with her brother, when she listed what they left behind in Saigon, when South Vietnam ceased to exist, when she ate her lunch in the bathroom at school, when some of the Alabama neighbors refuse to be neighborly, when the bully chased her, when her mother lost her wedding ring, and when they decided to give up hope that her father was alive. I felt completely helpless witnessing her vulnerability as a child, as a defector, as a daughter, as a baby sister, as a refugee, as a speaker of "second hand" English, as a small person for her age. I held my breath as she courageously faced each challenge, as some of those who could have hurt her, didn't, and as those who hurt her experienced consequences. I felt her frustration but laughed at her sweetness as she complained, "whoever invented English should have learned how to spell". Is this children's literature? It deals with mature themes, but Lai maintains the integrity of the voice by allowing Ha to record in her diary things that she saw or overheard but didn't understand, and giving them a personal context since a child her age would likely not care about the political significance. When Ha quotes her university-age brother saying, "One cannot justify war unless each side flaunts its own blind conviction” and follows up with her own thought that "Since starting college, he shows off even more with tangled words," Lai doesn't have to interpret. She trusts the reader to understand that Ha admires her brother, recognizes the importance of what he's saying, wants to be a part of the conversation, and bristles at the limitations of her ability to understand. Supposedly, anything can be written more concisely. In Inside Out and Back Again, Lai wrung out every excess word. “It’s over; Saigon is gone”. Supposedly, writing should “Show, Don’t Tell.” Lai tells just enough. We know it’s hot, humid and crowded as Ha’s family boards the boat to leave Saigon because “our family sticks together like wet pages” We know they have become poor because “Mother measures rice grains left in the bin. Not enough to last till payday” Each short diary entry is complete in itself yet serves to hold the narrative. In this quick read, there is enough tension to shred the reader’s nails, enough vulnerability to soften the reader’s heart, and enough humor to dry the reader’s eyes. There is no magic in this novel, no fairy godmother, no imaginary friend. Every situation is no doubt being played out around the world millions of times every day. I loved this book so much that I started reading her most recent book, Listen Slowly. The main character in that book was annoying, which is not unusual in children's literature, but she stayed annoying for too many pages. I felt like she could have been redeemed a bit earlier, and I didn't finish the book to find out when and if she was.

Every now and then a story comes along that leaves you breathless. It is so beautiful you think about it more and more. Finishing the book doesn't stop you from thinking about it. You tell people about the book, pass it on to others, and think about it some more. This is how I felt about Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai. I couldn't get it out of my mind. Ha's family is from North Vietnam, but her parents made the decision to leave the north and move south to escape the Communists. Ha's father has been missing for years, but they all hope he will return home one day. Ha knows she should be a good girl, but she can't help it sometimes. During the New Year, she knows her brother is supposed to be the first out of bed in the morning because boys are good luck. That doesn't stop her from putting her big toe on the ground before he gets out of bed. She doesn't like being told girls aren't good luck too. When Ha's uncle tells them they must escape Vietnam as the war comes their way, they reluctantly leave the only home they have ever known. The journey from Vietnam is very scary and involves a ship and the hope of rescue. When they see the American ship, they know they are saved, but their future is uncertain. They wait for a long time to be chosen by an American host family. When they are chosen by a Cowboy, they begin their new life in Alabama. There Ha experiences prejudices and alienation by people who just see her as Vietnamese. As different. She and her brothers struggle to learn English and fit in in this scary new land. Most of all, she misses her father. Ha lives more "life" in her few short years than most people live in a lifetime. Inside Out and Back Again is a book written in verse. While the writing reads a lot like prose, enough so for someone to understand it easily, it is still incredibly beautiful and melodious. As you read each short chapter, you find yourself amazed by how powerful each bit is. As with most poetry, each word is carefully chosen for maximum power and effect. No emotion is wasted, no word is unnecessary. The book left me reeling from philosophical statements that force you to examine the world and life as a whole. This is a powerful book that you won't forget for a long time. I would suggest this book for any class or tutoring situation where you will have the opportunity to read it aloud with a child. It is so beautiful and full of discussion-worthy content, you will be happy to spend time picking your way through it. The language is not complex, but the meaning behind it is. The story of a young child leaving a war-stricken land is so foreign to our students it would make a good learning experience as well. They will learn a lot from Ha and her family. In fact, I guarantee they will think about Ha for long after you finish the final stanza.

The end of the Vietnam War comes alive for young readers in this thoughtful book of prose poetry. Ha, the poet, is a ten year old girl living in Saigon with her mother and three older brothers as 1975 dawns. We follow her heartbreaking, hopeful journey over the course of a year: the war creeps closer, the Communists close in, and Ha and her family are fortunate enough to make it onto a South Vietnamese naval boat turned refugee ship, but they must leave their home - and their tenuous connection to Ha's father, who was captured by the Communists over 8 years ago - behind. Eventually, the family arrives in America. The author, who in truth is telling much of her own personal history in this book, refuses the temptation to tie the book up with happy endings. Instead, we read of the many challenges, especially racist words and actions, that Ha and her family face as they adjust to life in America. At the same time, though, we also learn of the humane and compassionate people who help her family settle in. Most importantly, Ha tells her story in an unflinching voice, revealing a robust range of emotional truths that run the gamut from anger and shame through hope and excitement all the way to bewilderment and frustration as Ha labors to be understood and to understand the world into which she has been thrust. This book is an excellent choice for middle grade students studying America's war history, life as a refugee, the cultural realities of the US in the mid-1970's, or who are learning how to use evocative details and emotional commentary in order to keep a reader engaged. Terrific work!

Exquisite simplicity. With few words, the author is able to completely convey the emotions, hope, beauty, and resilience of this child, her family, and of the people from this culture. Like all 10-year-old girls, she has issues with her siblings, secret aspirations, epic frustration, struggles being obedient to her mother, rapture when certain things, like the papayas, and then there are things particularly unique to her, such as her indomitable strength, her backbone, her loyalty to her family, and her love of learning. This book truly shattered my heart. This book is, from start to finish, a wonder of incredibly powerful prose, yet the author has a deft hand, because she uses sparse sentences and clear language to convey such extraordinary depth. This book is an incredible tool to help you empathize with the immigrants in your community. How foreign and strange and incomprehensible the most basic things must seem to them. A trip to the grocery store, for example, must be completely discombobulating. And yet, most of us are utterly unaware of how Herculean these basic tasks are and how exhausting and alienating the basics of assimilation are, the "basics" that our immigrant neighbors, and especially "English language learning" children, face every day. One brief example: via charity, this refugee immigrant child is given some clothing. She wears her new dress to school. All the children laugh at her, because she's wearing a nightgown. And she is angry, how was she supposed to know this was not a dress, that this is actually a nightgown? All the children laugh at her and say it's made out of flannel, of course. But to this child, that's completely irrational and a ridiculous "code". Fabric dictates the kind of place a particular item of clothing is to be worn and not worn? It's this kind of example that really shows you how difficult it is to navigate the passage between an old home in a different country, and a new home in a new country where not one single thing is the same. Not the language, not the food, not the "rules", not the religion, not the landscape, not even the trees. I loved, loved this book. It's been a long, long time since I felt so strongly about a novel. This is quite simply a wonderful read that will stay with you long after the book is finished. I plan to reread it many, many times. It is a compelling, interesting, positive, highly readable, and elegant book. Thank you for writing it.

A good book, helps to explore development of our society.

Let me start by saying I am normally very wary of books on this subject matter. I always assume it's going to be some sort of Joy Luck Club-esque bundle of trials and tribulations that no one is willing to criticize or rate poorly, because how can you criticize another's experience through a cross-cultural situation? Truth be told, these stories can be very redundant. Perhaps not to someone wholly ignorant of that culture, but to someone with my background, they become tiresome quickly. I am also not a fan of poetry. Put all this together and I was absolutely floored when I picked it up, read it, and loved it. This book deserves every award and word of praise. The use of free verse was highly effective. The story was engaging with a good balance of heartache and humor. I gave this book to my mother who also escaped Vietnam with my father that same year. Her English is good, but she can only read comfortably at a middle school level so she was able to follow this book and enjoyed it immensely. Her experience, though different, had a great number of similarities. She loved how it also highlighted the simple beauty of life in Vietnam-- something that is often neglected when remembering this time. This book opened up an opportunity for me to ask more about this dramatic period in my parent's life. Something I had always been afraid to inquire about-- fearing it would bring back bad memories they would rather forget. Instead I was able to re-experience Kim Ha's story, but this time through my mother's eyes. That alone was absolutely priceless. This novel obviously has a special meaning for me, but I wouldn't hesitate to recommend this book to ANYONE. It is a phenomenal piece of writing that can stand on it's own. Oh and for anyone who's interested in hearing more about this topic, there is a TED talk called "My Immigration Story" by Tan Le you might enjoy.

In 1975, ten-year-old Ha and her mother and brothers flee Saigon, before the Communists take over. After a grueling sea voyage on an overcrowded ship, and time spent in refugee camps, they end up in Alabama through the sponsorship of a "cowboy." There they must learn to navigate life in this new world, and Ha despairs of ever fitting in and not feeling stupid. Told through Ha's eyes, this story chronicles her life before leaving Saigon, and after coming to Alabama. I love, love, LOVE this book! Written in free verse form, Lai's turn of phrase is so lyrical, beautiful, and evocative. For example, when they're embarking on the refugee boat: "We climb on and claim a space of two straw mats under the deck, enough for us five to lie side by side. By sunset our space is one straw mat, enough for us five to huddle together. Bodies cram every centimeter below deck, then every centimeter on deck. Everyone knows the ship could sink, unable to hold the piles of bodies that keep crawling on like raging ants from a disrupted nest. But no one is heartless enough to say stop because what if they had been stopped before their turn?" And then later, when Ha is trying to learn English: "Brother Quang says add an s to nouns to mean more than one even if there's already an s sitting there. Glass Glasses All day I practice squeezing hisses through my teeth. Whoever invented English must have loved snakes." Isn't that gorgeous imagery? I couldn't stop reading this book. I desperately wanted to know what was going to happen to Ha and her family, and I ached for them as they tried to find a place in the new world they fled to. Thank you for writing such a marvelous book, Ms. Lai.

“This book touched my heart deeply. Thanhha Lai’s poetic storytelling paints vivid emotions and experiences of a young girl navigating immense change and hardship. It’s a powerful, honest, and uplifting read—perfect for readers of all ages looking for a moving story about courage and hope.”

Loved how it is written. Such an innocent story and so well captured. Heartbreaking at a times and funny too. Glad to have stumbled upon this gem.

Great Book fresh off the press by the looks

A metà tra diario e poesia, ci racconta la fuga da Saigon fino in Alabama della piccola Ha, dieci anni, e della sua famiglia composta dalla madre e dai tre fratelli maggiori. Il padre è disperso in guerra dopo essere stato catturato dai soldati del nord, e anche gli altri famigliari erano rimasti bloccati nel Vietnam del nord quando era scoppiata la guerra. Assistiamo alla vita quotidiana di questa famiglia vietnamita durante gli ultimi mesi di guerra, tra povertà e bombardamenti. Li seguiamo durante la fuga in nave verso gli alleati americani. E siamo con loro mentre tentano di iniziare una nuova vita nell'aliena Alabama, in un mondo completamente diverso dal loro per lingua, costumi, tradizioni, usanze, aspetto. Siamo con loro mentre cercano di mantenere la dignità, mentre cercano di integrarsi, mentre lottano contro le incomprensioni e le difficoltà. Il tutto narrato magistralmente e poeticamente dai brevi appunti poetici di Ha, che ovviamente è basata sull'infanzia dell'autrice. Una bellissima lettura.

I've never read a book of poetry cover-to-cover (Jelly Belly excepted) but this is so much more than poetry. It stands as I would say the defining novel of the Vietnamese immigrant experience in the US (not that I've read any other). It's an easy read that I would say is very relatable to anyone over 30 and probably many in their teens. It tackles tough issues without ever seeming preachy. Should be required reading for people convicted of hate crimes as part of their rehabilitation. Amongst the tear-evoking memories of the author are moments of humour, love, and kindness that makes it a bit of an emotional roller-coaster, but one well worth the price of admission.

Dieses Buch habe ich im Januar zu meinem “Favoriten des Monats” gekürt – aus gutem Grund. Es ist ein trauriges, schönes, ehrliches, poetisches Buch, über das man noch einige Zeit nachdenkt, nachdem man die letzte Seite gelesen hat. Hà ist 10 Jahre alt als der Vietnam Krieg ihr zu Hause erreicht: Saigon. Bis dahin hatte sie eine glückliche Kindheit, liebte ihre Familie, Freunde und vor allem ihren Papayabaum hinten im Garten, den sie selbst gepflanzt hat. Doch als die Stadt droht, in den Kriegswirren unterzugehen und den Kommunisten in die Hände zu fallen, sind sie und ihre Familie gezwungen zu fliehen. Der Vater wird schon lange vermisst und so macht sich die Mutter alleine auf, ihre Kinder in Sicherheit zu bringen, wohl wissend, dass sie ihren Ehemann wohl nie wiedersehen wird. Jedes Familienmitglied darf nur einen persönlichen Gegenstand mitnehmen, der Rest wird vernichtet, damit er nicht den Soldaten in die Hände fällt. “I choose my doll, once lent to a neighbor who left it outside, where mice bit her left cheek and the right thumb. I love her more for her scars.” Nach einem gefahrvollen Weg bis zum Hafen erreichen sie schließlich ein Schiff und hoffen, mit ihm das Land verlassen zu können. Die Überfahrt ist lange und gefährlich, Platzmangel und Hunger zerren an den Nerven, doch wie durch ein Wunder gelingt die Flucht nach Amerika. Aber dort wird nicht alles automatisch besser, dann der Kampf der Familie geht weiter. Sie sind Fremde im Alabama der 70er Jahre, sie sehen anders aus, sprechen anders und essen anders… “Inside Out & Back Again” ist aus der Sicht der kleinen Hà geschrieben und daher ist die Wirkung umso stärker. Aus kindlicher Perspektive wirkt der Krieg, die Vertreibung, der Neuanfang umso grausamer. Mit klaren, ehrlichen Worten beschreibt Hà die Gefahren, ihre Gefühle und Ängste, die Schwierigkeiten auf See und die Probleme, mit der sie in der neuen Heimat zu kämpfen hat. Aber auch ihr Ärger und ihre Wut auf die Welt und die Menschen, die ihnen all das angetan habe, finden ihren Weg nach draußen. War sie in Vietnam immer eine der besten in der Schule, muss sie jetzt von vorne anfangen. “I’m furious, Unable to explain I already learned Fractions And how to purify River water. So this is What dumb Feels like. I hate, hate, hate it.” Interessant auch Hàs Beobachtungen der amerikanischen Kultur, ihre Schwierigkeiten mit dem für sie widerlichen Essen, der komischen Sprache oder der Ausblick auf das Leben generell. Manches ist für Kinder so viel klarer als für Erwachsene: “Mother says, People share when they know they have escaped hunger. Shouldn’t people share because there is hunger?” Zum Glück ist das Buch aber nicht immer nur düster, Hàs Wortwitz und Sarkasmus lassen einen beim Lesen auch oft schmunzeln und das tut gut in dieser Umgebung. Die Geschichte wird in freien Versen erzählt, in einer Art Tagebuchform. Die Autorin selbst sagt darüber: “I thought in Vietnamese in terms of images, then translated those images into English in a way that left the rhythm of the original language intact. The Vietnamese I know, influenced by my mother, is naturally poetic, rhythmic, melodic….I was able to cut many unneeded words, leaving just the core, like boiling down sap to make syrup.” Normalerweise habe ich so meine Schwierigkeiten mit dieser Art von Literatur, aber hier hat es wunderbar gepasst. Die Schönheit der Sprache bildet einen grausamen Kontrast zum Kriegsgeschehen, unter dem so viele Millionen Menschen leiden mussten. Dieses kleine große Buch spricht so viele Themen an, Krieg, Verlust, Exil, Schuldgefühle, die Beziehung zwischen Geschwistern, die Trauer über den Verlust des Ehepartners, Vorurteile, Opferbereitschaft. Man muss nicht selbst durch die Kriegswirren gegangen sein, um wenigstens ein wenig zu verstehen, was das alles für ein zehnjähriges Kind bedeutet. “Inside Out & Back Again” ist eine wunderbare Schullektüre für Kinder der Mittelstufe. Es ist ein einfaches Englisch, leicht verständlich, aber entfaltet dennoch eine besondere Wirkung. Gerade für Klassen mit Kindern, die vielleicht ein ähnliches Schicksal hinter sich haben, könnte es hilfreich sein, um beiderseitiges Verständnis aufzubauen. Das Buch hat autobiographische Züge, die Autorin selbst floh als Kind vor dem Krieg aus Vietnam in die Vereinigten Staaten. Zu wissen, dass vieles, was beschrieben wird, tatsächlich so geschehen ist, macht die Lektüre um einiges schwieriger. Doch gleichzeitig ist das Buch ein Zeugnis dafür, dass diese Menschen ihrem Schicksal getrotzt, gekämpft und es geschafft haben. Zurecht hat Lais Buch so viele Auszeichnungen und Preise erhalten, auch von mir gibt es fünf Sterne und eine klare Leseempfehlung. Schade, dass es noch nicht auf Deutsch erschienen ist. “This year I hope I truly learn to fly-kick not to kick anyone so much as to fly.”