In the Book Notes series, authors create and discuss a music playlist that relates in some way to their recently published book.
Previous contributors include Jesmyn Ward, Lauren Groff, Bret Easton Ellis, Celeste Ng, T.C. Boyle, Dana Spiotta, Hanif Abdurraqib, Andrew Sean Greer, Roxane Gay, and many others.
Truong Tran’s memoir How to Exi(s)t is brilliantly inventive in form and powerfully told.
Publishers Weekly wrote of the book:
“Vietnamese American poet and visual artist Tran (Book of the Other) examines racism, queer history, and his own life in this striking nonlinear account.”
In his own words, here is Truong Tran’s Book Notes music playlist for his memoir How to Exi(s)t:
This playlist is unusual in that I do not consider myself a connoisseur of music. I listen to music in a way that feels very utilitarian. I look for music that helps me do the work of excavating memories. And as such, these are the songs I listened to, for the most part on repeat, while writing this book.
They aren’t songs that I am claiming as my favorite songs, nor do I think of them as the best songs in a lifetime of songs. But they are songs that guided me through the journey of this book. I listened to them while walking the length of Golden Gate Park. I listened to them while writing late at night, allowing these songs to guide me toward sleep. And I listened to them before the rest of the world woke the next morning, as a way of helping me find my bearings.
1. Pulp — “Common People”
I remember hearing “Common People” when I was in my twenties and being struck by the fact that this white guy from England had somehow found his way into my head. How was it that someone whose life seemed so different from mine could articulate something I understood so deeply about class and the working person? There was something in the song that spoke clearly to the way I saw the world.
I find myself thinking about class right now and how we tuck so much into the framework of class. We hide our racism in class. We hide our biases in class. And somehow we have arrived at an understanding that class, class structure, and being classist are entirely acceptable. I think this song speaks to that moment of consideration. It asks us to look at what we mean when we talk about class and what else might be hiding inside of it. It is worth unpacking.
2. Diana Ross — “Do You Know Where You’re Going To (Theme from Mahogany)”
I can say that this was the first song I listened to that guided me toward my identification as queer. I remember watching Diana Ross in the film and thinking that I identified with her quest for identity and her arrival as a fashion designer in Paris. I was probably eight years old. I knew nothing about fashion, but I saw myself in her.
In particular, I remember the moment when she put on one of her designs and twirled in what I can only describe as a moment of ecstatic joy. I wanted to be that person. I look back on it now and think to myself: this was my queer awakening.
3. Linda Ronstadt — “Long Long Time”
“Long Long Time” is a song that speaks to the breakup of a longtime love, a way of saying goodbye. For me, that breakup was not with a person, but with a practice: the writing of poetry. My road as a poet has been filled with complications: a desire to be accepted as a poet, the rejection by other poets, and ultimately the understanding that poetry was not enough.
In that way, Ronstadt’s song and its lyrics spoke to the many levels of my love for poetry. But it also spoke to my desire to move forward, toward something that poetry as a container could no longer hold. And to be honest, I wanted to put down the burden that had been placed on me all these years, that notion that “Truong is a nice guy, but he’s just a poet.” This is the weight of someone else’s shame. It is a weight that I am no longer willing to carry.
4. Family of the Year — “Hero”
This song was introduced to me by a student, and I remember how immediately I connected with the lyrics. I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to fight like everyone else. There is something about the honesty of that sentiment that stuck with me and reminded me of the numerous occasions when readers of my work have told me that they admire my courage and my bravery.
And I do appreciate that. But I also remember the conflict that came with receiving such a statement. Why should we have to be brave or courageous to say what is true? It is a God-given right. It is no different than breathing. Why is it so hard to own the truth? And as such, why are we so afraid?
5. Nina Simone — “Feeling Good”
Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good” is an anthem. It is the song that I have always wanted playing in the back of my head as I move forward and put the weight of someone else’s shame behind me. I know I keep going back to that sentiment, but the truth is, when racism happens to you, when discrimination happens, or when you have been wronged, somehow you not only absorb the impact of that punch, but you wear the bruises.
Nina Simone’s song speaks of a new beginning. It speaks of moving forward. I envision myself strutting as the song is playing. I envision myself saying out loud, “Fuck all that noise.” I envision myself coming out of silence and existing in the world.
6. Peter Gabriel — “The Book of Love”
Peter Gabriel’s “The Book of Love” is remarkable to me because I can hear the aging of his voice in the rendering of those lyrics. I hear a voice that has lived, and in doing so, I begin to hear my own voice in How to Exi(s)t. I can hear the aging of my voice in this book.
It is not the voice of the young writer who wanted to be accepted as a poet. This is the voice of the old man who is looking for the things he lost along the way. I think that all writing is the act of losing something and wanting to find it. At 57 years of age, this takes on an urgency that I want to honor now more than ever.
Truong Tran is a poet, visual artist, and teacher born in Saigon, Vietnam. His books include Book of the Other: Small in Comparison, winner of the American Book Award, The Book of Perceptions, Placing the Accents, Dust and Conscience, Within the Margins, Four Letter Words, 100 words, Looking and Seeing/Seeing and Looking, the children’s book Going Home Coming Home, and an artist monograph, I Meant To Say Please Past the Sugar. He is the recipient of the Poetry Center Prize, the Fund for Poetry Grant, the California Arts Council Grant, and numerous San Francisco Arts Commission Grants. Truong is also a visual artist who believes that art, be it poetry, cooking, sculpting, or even gardening, is his way of thinking through the conscience of the times we live in. Truong teaches at Northeastern University, Oakland and lives in San Francisco.