After Reading the Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong

There are books you read and books that read you. Ocean Vuong's The Emperor of Gladness falls firmly into the latter category. This isn't a collection of poems you breeze through on a Sunday afternoon—it's a work that demands you pause, breathe, and sometimes put the book down just to process what you've encountered. It's raw and tender, violent and gentle, all at once. I came to this book without knowing what to expect. I'd heard Vuong's name mentioned in literary circles, seen his work praised for its lyricism and emotional depth, but I wasn't prepared for how deeply personal and universal his words would feel. Reading The Emperor of Gladness felt like being invited into someone's most private thoughts, the kind you usually keep locked away even from yourself. What struck me first was the way Vuong uses language—not just as a tool for communication, but as a way to survive. As a Vietnamese immigrant, as a queer man, as someone navigating the wreckage of war and the complexities of identity, Vuong turns to poetry the way some people turn to prayer. And in doing so, he offers us something profound: a roadmap for how to hold pain without letting it destroy us, how to find beauty in places we'd never think to look, and how to speak when the world has tried to silence us. Grab a copy of yours now!