Phuc Luu
Phuc Luu (福 刘) immigrated with his family to the United States from Vietnam when he was four. Luu is now a theologian, philosopher, and artist creating work in Houston, Texas, to narrow the divide between ideas and beauty. If theology is speaking about God, Luu seeks to give new language and grammar to what theology has not yet said. He served for seven years on the Nobel Peace Prize Committee for the American Friends Service Committee (Quakers). He holds degrees in theology (MDiv, PhD) and philosophy (MA), but has learned the most from the places where people ask difficult questions, where they live in the land between pain and hope, and where these stories are told. He currently teaches in the religion department at Episcopal High School in Houston, TX.
An excerpt from Mango Dreams:
Sea water lapping the Miami beaches, kissing sand and toes, as my brother and I play, thousands of miles from a similar coast. That was My Khe, named “China Beach” by American troops in Đà Nẵng, Vietnam. Those white sandy dunes, the rhythms of waves, over and over again, they are the reminders of war, of dashed hopes, of dissolving sand, of another world, the washing up of things by the tide. Calling, echoing. My mother was taking classes to be a beautician, a hair stylist, in the States. In our homeland, she was working an administrative job at Trans World Airlines and was cultivating a career before the American War. Here in America, my parents had to start all over, without language, without a culture, with only what we could carry in suitcases and cardboard boxes, filled and taped and flown across the ocean. What is the distance and measure across a person’s soul? How is that traversed, if not by fear and courage?
Sea water lapping the Miami beaches, kissing sand and toes, as my brother and I play, thousands of miles from a similar coast. That was My Khe, named “China Beach” by American troops in Đà Nẵng, Vietnam. Those white sandy dunes, the rhythms of waves, over and over again, they are the reminders of war, of dashed hopes, of dissolving sand, of another world, the washing up of things by the tide. Calling, echoing. My mother was taking classes to be a beautician, a hair stylist, in the States. In our homeland, she was working an administrative job at Trans World Airlines and was cultivating a career before the American War. Here in America, my parents had to start all over, without language, without a culture, with only what we could carry in suitcases and cardboard boxes, filled and taped and flown across the ocean. What is the distance and measure across a person’s soul? How is that traversed, if not by fear and courage?
Recommended Books for Aspiring Writers
- Your Writing Tools Aren’t Mine by Viet Thanh Nguyen
- The Refugees: Short Stories by Viet Thanh Nguyen
- On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
- The Art of the Memoir by Mary Karr
- Story Genius: How to Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere) by Lisa Cron
Teaching Philosophy
It should not go without saying that writers write, but many times this is not the case. There are too many false starts, too many distractions, too many excuses. I help students to do the work ahead of them so that they can accomplish whatever writer goals they wish to achieve.
It should not go without saying that writers write, but many times this is not the case. There are too many false starts, too many distractions, too many excuses. I help students to do the work ahead of them so that they can accomplish whatever writer goals they wish to achieve.