Dear Ms. Anne Fadiman,

I was assigned to read your book, The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, for English class this past summer. To be honest, I expected it to be a grueling nightmare. I mean, it was in the medical literature section of Barnes & Noble. My mom, on the other hand, was very excited. Her book club read it a few years ago and she has also heard a local Hmong refugee speak about his terrifying escape from Laos.

When I began the book, I couldn’t believe how different the Hmong culture was from how I live. The idea that people would go down the street with bows and arrows to hunt pigeons made me bust out laughing. It frustrated me that Nao Kao and Foua refused to do as the doctors directed. How could they honestly believe a shaman could help Lia more than a hospital and the world of western medicine? That is, until I realized that if I traveled outside the US, I wouldn’t want to accept another culture’s medical practices either, I would feel safest with my own idea of doctors and medicine.

With that realization in mind, the entire story shifted for me. No longer was this a book of stubbornness, but one of misunderstanding and the failure to communicate across cultures. The Lees were not trying to kill their daughter; they truly believed the doctors were causing her harm.  In the end, it turned out that they might even have been right—the hospital did mess up. I was shocked.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down inspired my interest in Hmong culture, probably due to the parts of your book discussing their spiritual beliefs and folktales. It turns out my hometown is a common destination for Hmong refugees, and my high school has a particularly substantial amount. I even knew some people whom I hadn’t realized were Hmong refugees with fascinating and mind-blowingly difficult pasts. I’m glad I now understand this part of them.

Because of your book, I attended a presentation a local Hmong translator made. He talked about the important role he plays when he has to help Hmong refugees who have to go the hospital. When translating a word like cancer, he can’t just say one word, he instead has to describe the entire disease because there is no Hmong word for cancer. No wonder the Lees were so hesitant to trust the doctors—try explaining the cause of epilepsy in another language! Listening to his talk helped me really understand what the Lees had to deal with.

I decided to write this letter because the front page of today’s newspaper reminded me of Lia Lee. This article detailed the saga of a Hmong toddler with leukemia and his refugee mother. Like the Lees, she is torn between traditional shamanism and the western medicine. However, her son Ryan eventually went to a hospital in Seattle for chemotherapy and seems to be improving. The shaman is waiting for a sliver moon, so that with his blessing, the spirits may fully heal Ryan. If only such a cultural reconciliation had occurred for Lia Lee.

Sincerely,

 

Sophie Wiepking-Brown

Sophie Wiepking-Brown

11th Grade

West High School, Anchorage, Alaska