V.T. Bidania was a baby in 1975 when her Hmong family escaped the Communist government taking control of Laos after the end of the Vietnam War. She describes her memories of her family’s life in Laos as “a fuzzy dream,” told to her by older relatives—until she decided to explore her history by writing a middle grade novel in verse. In A Year Without Home, Bidania tells her family’s story in the voice of her oldest sister, who was 11 when they fled Laos. The author spoke with PW from her home in Minneapolis about writing from an older sibling’s perspective, trying to research a “secret war,” and bringing public awareness to the under-represented Hmong culture.
Before writing this novel, you wrote the early-reader series Astrid & Apollo and the forthcoming spinoff series about Astrid and Apollo’s little sister, Extraordinary Eliana. Both series feature Hmong characters. Did you always know you wanted to write a novel based on your family history, or did the idea come to you while you were working on the earlier books?
I love writing for the middle grade audience and I had written a few middle grade fiction manuscripts—ones I tucked away in my drawer—before getting the idea for the Astrid & Apollo series. I certainly never thought I’d write a novel in verse, as I’m a prose writer. But I had read some and found them so compelling—books like Love, Love by Victoria Chang and Unsettled by Reem Faruqi—that I realized the verse format can make stories even more powerful. That realization inspired me to think about writing a verse novel. Then I thought, “Why shouldn’t I write a verse novel about my family’s experiences leaving Laos in the 1970s?” This was probably in mid- or late 2020.
The main character in a middle grade novel, though, is usually 11 or 12 years old. I was just a baby—the youngest sibling of five—when my family had to escape Laos. My oldest sister, Gao Sheng, was that age at the time, though. Because she’s the oldest, she remembered the most about the experience—though my brother, Yia, also remembered a lot. I decided to write a book from Sheng’s point of view. Everything in the book is based on her and Yia’s experiences, as well as things my other two sisters and my parents added.
Early on I showed Sheng drafts to ask if the voice felt authentic to her because, after all, it was from her perspective. She never suggested any changes; she would just elaborate on details regarding things like her school, the food at the town market, what the landscape looked like. She told me how our father wore his army uniform even after he was no longer in combat but still working for the Royal Lao Army. She described the city streets and how she felt when we left. If I needed information Sheng didn’t have—usually historical details about the war—I asked my parents and older aunties and uncles. Sadly, some of them no longer remembered much, or were developing dementia, so they weren’t able to be that helpful. Yia remembered a number of things that my sister didn’t, and I included some of the stories he told me in the book.
Before I began working on the book, my ideas of our family life in Laos had been like a fuzzy dream, like memories I thought I had but were really just stories that had been told to me. By writing, I came to truly understand what my family’s life in Laos had been like and how traumatic it was to have to leave our home.
What additional research did you do to ensure the book is historically accurate?
It was very difficult to research this war because it was a secret war being directed by the CIA. And because Laos is a developing country, and a Communist country, historical information is not easy to come by. I found a few documentaries and videos, and I was also lucky enough to visit Laos a few years ago.
My father, who had been a captain in the Royal Lao Army, would have been my best resource for the historical information. He knew the history of the war and the role the Hmong played, and he remembered details about life at the time that my other relatives didn’t.
He had kept a few notebooks—mostly dates and records of where various relatives were—from the time we were in the camps, written in the Laotian language—which I can’t read, but my older sister and brother can, to some extent. But very sadly, when I was about halfway through the book—and was actually taking a break from it—my father passed away. His passing was devastating, and I felt paralyzed by this unexpected loss. But then I threw myself back into the book, and worked obsessively on it. Writing it really helped me through the grieving process. I felt like my father was present with me as I was telling my family’s story, even though it was so hard to do at the time.
In terms of other resources, there are a few websites run by Hmong organizations that have some information, though much of that is very technical accounts from soldiers. I found some newspaper interviews with newly arrived refugees on those sites, which gave me additional context. There’s also a Hmong Museum in St. Paul that has a website, and the Minneapolis Historical Society has a section called the Hmong in Minnesota. These sources were primarily useful for creating the timeline and the map for the book. Everything in the story itself is based on my family’s personal experiences.
Gao Sheng’s internal struggles with the patriarchal Hmong culture are a powerful part of this book. Do these patriarchal traditions live on here in the U.S., 50 years after many Hmong people escaped from Laos?
I think that when we first arrived here, those traditions did live on, but people have grown more laid back about them over the years. The third and fourth generations are no longer enforcing those traditions. My nieces are certainly not being brought up that way. I do remember when both Sheng and Yia had drivers’ licenses, he was allowed to drive by himself, but she was not, even though she was older than him. And when we asked why, our question was responded to as though it were obvious—because he’s a boy. My sisters and I always talked about how unfair that was. Sheng didn’t express her feelings the way the character does in the book, though. I chose to make the character a little more assertive, because I wanted to give her more agency, and show her feeling more empowered.
The refugee story unfortunately remains timely, and many books reflecting this experience have been written for young readers in recent years. Why did you feel it was important to write another refugee story for this audience?
First, there are a few books about Hmong refugees, but there are no middle grade novels from the point of view of a child. Second, not many people know the history of the Hmong people in Laos who fought with the U.S. in the Vietnamese war. Our story is not part of the history of the Asian American experience. Most people in this country who don’t live in states with large Hmong communities, like Minnesota, Wisconsin, and California—and even people around the world—are not familiar with the Hmong. It wasn’t until Suni Lee, who is a first-generation Hmong born in the United States, won an Olympic gold medal [in 2020] that the general public heard about the Hmong people. As a child growing up in Minnesota, I was often asked, “Why are you here?” I wanted to educate people about this time in history and what brought the Hmong people to the United States.
On the rare occasions that the Hmong are included in Asian American histories, the narrative often depicts us as struggling war refugees facing hardships and suffering. I wanted to show a more fully dimensional story about us and our lives, such as our love for our home country and our culture and communities. When I was finally able to visit Laos in 2024, my first time back since I left as a baby, I saw how truly beautiful it is. Setting foot back in the place where I was born, breathing the same air, and walking through the city, mountains, and villages we lived in was a deeply powerful experience that strengthened my connection to the home I had left behind.
I hope that my audience will understand that the things I write about in my book are happening right now to kids like them in other parts of the world. I want my book to give young readers an awareness and understanding of war and what it’s like to lose your home, your country, and everything you love. I hope that I can help build empathy for kids they might know in their schools, who had to leave their homes and countries they love. I wanted to tell not just a refugee story, but a human story.
A Year Without Home by V.T. Bidania. Penguin/Paulsen, $18.99 Jan. 13 ISBN 978-0-593-69720-7
