Not sure if it was my mindset while reading this one, but while I could appreciate that it was beautifully wrought, I felt somewhat removed at times. I believe Vuong is primarily a poet and that shines through in this novel. Poetry and I have an unsteady relationship, so when the prose meandered a lot, so did my mind. 

But extremely glad I finally read this one, as there is a tonne to get from it (toxic masculinity, queerness, war, mother-son and grandmother-grandson relationships, immigration) and the writing really is exquisite.