Spoilers for an 80-year-old story that every student in the nation is required to read: the dog dies, the old man dies, his son's misfortunes show no sign of abetting. Simply, misery abounds at the end of “Lão Hạc.”
Written by Nam Cao in 1943, the story is considered a classic of literary realism; a pivotal artistic movement in the mid-twentieth century. It’s unquestionably a great piece of literature, but why would anyone name a cafe after such a depressing tale?
Photo by Kevin Lee.
Lão Hạc Cafe’s breezy upper-floor balcony provides a spectacular view of the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal along a particularly pleasant stretch of the canal along District 1. Convenience, happenstance and an array of memories made there have elevated it to my singularly favorite coffee shop in the city, after my introduction to it nearly a decade ago. I’ve long known it was named after a story’s titular character but only recently found a translation to read.
No air-con, a crudely cut tube taking the place of a faucet in the bathroom, austere wood furniture and shabby decor consisting of empty beer bottles, tube televisions, and record players: the threadbare aesthetic calls to mind Lão Hạc’s poverty, but in a whimsical, anachronistic way that can feel performative, as evidenced by people that select the setting for wedding photos.
Lão Hạc as portrayed in the 1982 film, Làng Vũ Đại ngày ấy. Photo via VNExpress.
When I reached out to Lão Hạc via social media, the cafe said they chose the name simply because they like the story and it’s a name everyone can recognize and remember. I appreciate the Nam Cao-esque straightforwardness of the answer, but it left me hollow. I vowed never to return when considering the incongruity of carefree youths in a venue flippantly named after a despair-drenched tale. But upon further reflection, I’ve decided that on each subsequent visit, I will make sure to pause to think about the story’s old man and reflect on how good my life is. After all, I haven’t just sold my best friend for slaughter and plan to swallow poison to have at least a paltry inheritance for my depraved son. Lão Hạc will have thus gifted me a sense of gratitude.
