A chillingly timely dystopian novel that blurs the line between fiction and reality, My Documents is a gut-punch family story about identity, survival, and the cost of doing the right thing.
Let’s be honest—calling My Documents “dystopian” feels a little too safe. This story doesn’t read like far-off fiction; it reads like a version of reality that could unfold by next month. It’s uncomfortable, sharp, and deeply moving in ways I didn’t expect. I went in curious and came out gutted. This was my first Kevin Nguyen book, and it absolutely won’t be my last.
A Family Divided by Fear and Policy
The novel follows four Vietnamese American cousins—Ursula, Alvin, Jen, and Duncan—each on the brink of something new when their world turns upside down. After a wave of violent, racially motivated attacks rocks the US, panic leads to policy, and Vietnamese Americans are rounded up and sent to internment camps. Jen and Duncan are sent away with their mother to Camp Tacoma. Ursula and Alvin are granted exemptions, but that distance doesn’t mean safety—it just means guilt, confusion, and impossible choices.
One of the things I appreciated most was how Nguyen tackles every angle. The story doesn’t just focus on life inside the camps (though those parts are devastating and vividly drawn); it also follows those left outside, navigating survivor’s guilt, ambition, helplessness, and the messiness of “doing the right thing.” Ursula, the journalist, sees a way to use her cousin’s secret messages from camp to expose the truth—and maybe advance her own career. Alvin, quietly working at Google, is haunted by his inaction. No one gets to stay comfortable.
Fiction That Feels a Little Too Real
The writing is clean and intentional—emotionally charged without tipping into melodrama. Nguyen lets the story simmer, and the emotional punches land because they come from such deeply human places. The characters feel real, flawed, and familiar. Jen, with her wide-eyed tenacity. Duncan, whose quiet strength almost broke me. Ursula and Alvin balance ambition and loyalty, often clumsily. It’s not just a political story—it’s a family story with all the complication that comes with it.
What makes My Documents so powerful is that it doesn’t offer neat answers. It lives in the grey areas, where morality gets tangled, and even good intentions can backfire. And yet, even with all that weight, there are flashes of dark humor and moments of hope that keep it from becoming unbearable.
I finished the last page and just sat there. It’s that kind of book—the kind that sticks. If you’re looking for something bold, timely, and heartbreakingly honest, this is it.
Thank you to NetGalley, Random House, and One World for an advanced reader’s copy; all opinions expressed in this review are my own.
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