The recipient of international accolades—including Canada's coveted Governor General's Award (2010) for its original Canadian debut in French—this extraordinary first novel unfolds like ethereal poetry. The enigmatic title means "a small stream and, figuratively, a flow, a discharge—of tears, blood, of money" in French; in Vietnamese, it's a "lullaby, to lull." Made up of spare vignettes that flow through decades, this autobiographical narrative reveals a girl's journey from wealthy privilege in Vietnam; her reinvention as a war refugee in Canada; her return to her birth country, where she is considered "too fat to be Vietnamese"—not because of her stature, but because "the American dream had made me more substantial, heavier, weightier"; and her own overwhelming motherhood. VERDICT Interwoven with glimpses of cousin Sao Mai, who was Uncle Two's princess, of a father "who always inspired the greatest, most wonderful happiness," of Aunt Seven's mystery son, raised by Aunt Four, and of young cousins and what they innocently did on the streets to survive, this is much more than another immigration story. For readers in search of intricate, mesmerizing narrative, Ru will not disappoint.—Terry Hong, Smithsonian BookDragon, Washington, DC

Ten years old in 1978 when her family fled lotus-scented Saigon for Quebec, Thúy picked vegetables and sewed clothes to put herself through school and has worked variously as a lawyer, translator, and restaurateur. When she got the urge to write, the result was not memoir but a fictionalized account of her immigrant experiences that won Canada's Governor General Award. Good for discussion; early buzz campaign.

Rendered in spare vignettes, Kim's lyrical debut novel is an autobiographical impression of motherhood and exile. Forced to flee their privileged, intellectual life in Communist Saigon, Nguyen An Tinh (an "extension" of her almost identically named mother and a stand-in for Thúy), born during the Tet offensive, navigates the Gulf of Siam bound for a Malaysian refugee camp, where she and her family live for several months before making their way to Canada. There, Nguyen is blinded by the whiteness of the snow and the blankness of her slate. But her new home quickly makes its marks—she learns French and English, what to wear in the harsh Quebecois winters, and the ways in which the American dream extends its reach around the globe. The narrative wanders through time as Nguyen mourns her autistic son's inability to say maman, recalls her childhood in Vietnam, and muses on the fork in her family tree that her life in the West represents. But like the married men Nguyen prefers, whose "ring fingers with their histories keep me remote, aloof, in the shadows," the disjointed narrative keeps readers at a distance, allowing tender glimpses of Nguyen's pain, but never fully exposing her. Agent: Ron Eckel, Cooke Agency. (Nov.)