Lucky Child: A Daughter of Cambodia Reunites with the Sister She Left Behind 
When Loung Ung came to America in 1980 as a ten-year-old Cambodian refugee, she had already survived years of hunger, violence, and loss at the hands of the Khmer Rouge, a story she told in her critically acclaimed bestseller, First They Killed My Father. Now, in Lucky Child, Ung writes of assimilation and, in alternating chapters, gives voice to a genocide survivor she left behind in rural Cambodia, her older sister Chou.
Loung was the lucky child, the sibling Eldest Brother chose to take with him to America. The youngest and the scrappiest, she was the one he believed had the best chance of making it. Just two years apart, Chou and Loung had bonded deeply over the deaths of their parents and sisters. As they stood holding hands in their dusty village while the extended family gathered to say good-bye, they never imagined that fifteen years would pass before they would be reunited again.
With candor and enormous flair, Ung describes what it is like to survive in a new culture while surmounting dogged memories of genocide and the deep scars of war. Not only must she learn about Disney characters and Christmas trees to fit in with her classmates, she must also come to understand life in a nation of peace: that the Fourth of July fireworks are not bombs and that she doesn't have to hide food in her bed every night to make sure she has enough to eat. Her spunk, intelligence, and charisma win out, but Cambodia and Chou are always in her thoughts.
An accomplished activist and writer, Ung has now returned to Cambodia many times, and in this re-creation of Chou's life, she writes the story that so easily could have been hers. Both redemptive and searing, Lucky Child highlights the harsh realities of chance and circumstance and celebrates the indomitability of the human spirit.
Reviews
This book has been written by a more mature and settled Loung, and it shows. There's more reflection and a lot more humanity, bringing depth to the portraits of family members who were shown more one-dimensionally in the first book: an inevitable byproduct of the book being told straight from a child's point of view, and that of a child focused intensely on survival. I especially liked in this book how the "scary" brother Khouy was given added nuances of character; the moment when he said, hearing of his small sister's death, that "she was so small" brought a lump to my throat. The characters of the brothers and sisters are fleshed out here in a way that's really delightful and much more interesting to read than in the previous book.
What's best about this, I think, is how we're given a look at the love between the siblings and the incredibly resilience of the family members who stay in Cambodia. It's also a good portrait of how some people in Cambodia are moving on with their lives: in our minds, so much of Cambodia remains the war and the killing fields. We need to know that people are surviving and living their lives despite the shadows of this past: it makes the nation real to us instead of a symbol.
A gripping story that kept me up too late to read through it in one sitting. Some reviewers have said the sections on Chou were not as good as those on Loung, but I didn't find that at all -- I could actually have read a lot more from her point of view.
One quibble: the book needed slightly better proof-reading. There were a few spelling mistakes that spell-check missed, and an astounding miss on a picture caption, where one of the Angkor Wat temples was labelled "Wat BYRON" instead of "Wat Bayon." Otherwise, an excellent read.
I found two parts of this remarkable book particularly poignant, the heart-rending death of three-year-old Kung and the reunion between Chou and her brother Meng after a separation of eleven years. These passages were hard to read. Whilst the eventual meeting of Loung and Chou is an awkward affair, the tale of their brother Kim's escape from Cambodia to France is enthralling. The book tells a tale that underscores the importance of the bond between family members, the sheer strength of the human spirit and will to endure and most of all, it's a story of two sisters who have survived and flourished against all odds. Loung Ung has a special talent at storytelling. I recommend this book without hesitation.
This is an important book which carries the message that, like war veterans, refugees fo war torn countries do not leave the violence behind them, that it continues to color their life.
This book should be a must read for everyone, not only so the events in Cambodia are not forgotten, but so that we can learn to appreciate what we have.
Both books by this author are wonderful. Another deeply moving memoir is Night. The author was in a World War II. concentration camp.
Lucky Child goes in depth into the difficulties of a minority trying to adapt to white American society. All the while, Loung has everything she experienced in Cambodia continually gnawing at her spirit - the loss of her family being the most difficult for her. As the author, she is our focus, but in Lucky Child, we also get a very good look at her older sister Chou and what life was like in Cambodia in the years following the fall of the Khmer Rouge.
This book is powerful and tough to put down. It tugs at the heartstrings and provokes deeper thought into our own lives and values. Lucky Child is one of the finer books that I have read in some time and I highly reccomend it to anyone who is interested in Cambodia, the peoples, customs and landscapes of that beautiful country, and human nature, suffering, and the will to succeed. This is a book not to be missed!
Loung Ung's writing is an elegant and eloquent, yet down-to-earth style that you won't be able to pull away from. In "Lucky Child," she again demonstrates her masterful storytelling ability and delivers a unique, and often heartbreaking, look inside another culture. And our own.
This book will make you think, make you feel, and, hopefully, encourage you to act the next time you hear the words "abuse" or "genocide." Definitely a must-read.
