In this interview, we speak with KaLynh Ngo, an artist whose work navigates the intersections of Vietnamese American identity, history, and creative expression. Drawing from personal experience and cultural memory, Ngo challenges conventional narratives and explores themes of displacement, belonging, and resilience through her art. Our conversation uncovers how her unique perspective shapes her practice and offers insight into the evolving landscape of Vietnamese diasporic creativity today.

What do you enjoy most about being a journalist and translator? Would you say that you have a certain philosophy or style when it comes to your translation choices (e.g. cultural equivalents versus literal line translation)? 

I enjoy being a journalist and a translator because they allow me to bridge cultures and bring important stories to a broader audience. As a journalist, I find great fulfillment in uncovering and sharing compelling narratives, giving voice to people and perspectives that might otherwise go unheard. The thrill of research, interviews, and crafting a well-structured story keeps me engaged and constantly learning.

As a translator, I love the challenge of preserving the essence, tone, and nuances of a text while making it accessible to a different audience. Literary translation, in particular, is an enriching process that allows me to introduce Vietnamese literature and history to the world, helping to foster cross-cultural understanding.

Ultimately, what I enjoy most is the power of storytelling—whether through journalism or translation—to inform, connect, and inspire people across languages and borders.

My Vietnam, Your Vietnam was first published in English last year. Were you already involved in the process of translating this work with the author Christina Vo and her father before that? What collective goals/vision/hopes did you all have in publishing this Vietnamese edition this year?

No, I wasn’t involved in the process before that. As soon as I read the title, when I was introduced to write a book review, I realized this book deserved a Vietnamese version. This year marks 50 years of The Fall of Saigon. The more I read through its chapters, the more convinced I became of my initial thought—for many reasons. 

My Vietnam, Your Vietnam contributes to the theme of healing by offering a deeply personal and honest reflection on the generational impact of the Vietnam War. The father’s story preserves the truth of Vietnam’s painful past, the loss, displacement, and rebuilding, while the daughter’s perspective reflects the ongoing process of understanding and reconciliation. By giving voice to both experiences, the book creates a space for empathy and understanding, not only between those who lived through the war and their descendants but also between Vietnam and the Vietnamese diaspora.

What was it like to work on translating a dual memoir with the father Nghia Vo and the daughter Christina, to recognize and preserve their unique writing voices, while working within the boundaries (or expansiveness) of the Vietnamese and English languages? What are some ways that this project differed from your other translation projects?

When I first read My Vietnam, Your Vietnam, I felt a profound connection, as if the authors expressed my thoughts and experiences. The nature of a memoir always evokes a sense of closeness. All the events described in the book are actual and took place in my homeland. The father’s story reflects Vietnam’s past, while the daughter’s narrative resonates with my own experiences from my youth.

Among human connections, language is among the most potent tools that unite us, besides music and art. Every language has its unique way of expressing ideas, which is shaped by the culture of its speakers. One of the most significant challenges for a writer is finding the right words to convey their thoughts accurately. I enjoy taking on that challenge.

My previously translated book into Vietnamese was The Lucky Few, by Jan K. Herman. The Lucky Few is a type of memoir that draws heavily on historical context and includes specialized military terminology. When translating The Lucky Few, I had to consult a maritime dictionary to ensure that I used the appropriate naval terms.

Each time I finished translating a chapter or a part of it, I would send it to Mr. Nghĩa Võ to ensure the accuracy of the military rank terms used in the South Vietnamese army. Another important reason for this was that the Vietnamese language underwent two distinct phases—before and after 1975—often referred to as the language of North Vietnam. This distinction is a sensitive issue for the Vietnamese diaspora, many of whom fled the Communist regime.

I was born and raised after 1975, so I have inevitably been influenced, to some extent, by the North Vietnamese vernacular. If I wanted to honor one of the authors, a soldier in South Vietnam, I needed to ensure I used the correct terms relevant to his generation.

Translations between Vietnamese and English help expand what we consider ‘diasporic Vietnamese literature’. Do you have any favorite Vietnamese or Vietnamese American stories that you would love to translate one day? Are there any translations or personal projects you’re currently working on?

I have been a journalist for almost 8 years. During this time, I have had many opportunities to discover and interview Vietnamese-American stories. They are all beautiful and touching stories. They have been conducted in Vietnamese, of course. So, I would love a very soon day, I will translate all of them into an English book named The Pieces Of History.

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This interview was conducted by Cathy Duong as part of the Author Spotlight series. All featured authors participated in Viet Book Fest 2025, a literary event presented by the Vietnamese American Arts and Letters Association (VAALA). Held on Sunday, April 6, 2025, at the Bowers Museum in Santa Ana, the all-day festival celebrated Vietnamese diasporic voices in literature, culture, and storytelling.