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Photos are an important motif in the novel, representing memory, status, and validation. In the first scene, Stein and Toklas are with Binh, about to embark on their journey to America. Binh states, “Of that day I have two photographs and, of course, my memories” (1). The photographers were recording the women’s trip, much to the Mesdames’ shared delight. It meant this was now an “event,” and their fame had reached a level requiring such commemoration. Captured in one of these photos while fixing a button on Stein’s shoe, Binh becomes a footnote. His lack of importance reveals the racism inherent in the era and echoes colonialism’s prejudices. Only his memories can attest to a different reading of the servile moment the cameras have seemed to capture.
To sweet-talk Binh into stealing one of Stein’s manuscripts, Lattimore offers to get a photograph taken with Binh. Binh wants it so badly that he forgets his misgivings about betraying his employers’ trust. Binh believes the photograph validates his relationship with Lattimore and will ensure that it becomes official. But later, when Binh goes to pick up the photograph, Lattimore has already left Paris—he had only been using Binh to get access to Stein.
While at the photographer’s shop, Binh sees a picture of Ho Chi Minh, the man on the bridge. Binh chooses to take that photo home rather than the one of him with Lattimore. This choice symbolizes Binh’s growth as a person; he accepts where he comes from and is growing more independent. Indeed, he is retouching his perception of himself.
The color red in several ways highlights Binh’s hatred of the Old Man. When the Old Man kicks Binh out of the house for having a relationship with Chef Bleriot, Binh’s mother gives her son a red pouch filled with gold leaf. This pouch is all that is left of Binh’s biological father, his mother’s idealized scholar-prince. It is a potent symbol of Binh’s disconnection from the Old Man. Red is also the color of Binh’s self-mutilated fingers—Binh self-harms to inflict on himself the kind of abuse he grew up enduring from the Old Man.
Another potent color in the book is gray—the color of the pigeon Binh sees dying just before he has a vision of the death of his mother. In the vision, she is also in gray, wearing a dress that she believes will only fit her at the end of her life. Gray is the color of ambiguity, neither white nor black—it is the color of indecision, which plagues Binh throughout the novel as he attempts to choose whether to return to Vietnam as his brother wishes or remain in Paris.
Another motif in the novel is the subject of names. Binh, we discover, is not Binh’s real name. But according to Binh, it wouldn’t matter if he used his real name anyway: “All my employers provide me with a new moniker, whether they know it or not. None of them—and this I do not exaggerate—has called me by my given name. Their mispronunciations are endless, an epic poem all their own” (32). Binh seems to feel that others could get his name right should they care enough to try. Instead, and because he’s of Asian descent, the French aren’t concerned about his identity. Stein and Toklas call Binh “Thin Bin.” Lattimore calls him Bee.
Also anonymous for most of the novel is the man on the bridge. Like Binh, this man will also pick out a new name for himself—later, he will call himself Ho Chi Minh, a name that means “Bright Spirit” in Vietnamese. This name symbolizes what Minh will represent to Vietnam: the bridge to freedom and rediscovery of independent identity.
Stein and Toklas have an assortment of nicknames for one another, including “Pussy,” “Lovey,” and “Hubby,” which show their doting affection for one another. Instead of anonymizing the pair, these nicknames emphasize the dominant and submissive roles in their relationship.
Salt comes up in the novel in a variety of ways. It is a naturally occurring substance that marks Binh’s time at sea on the ship with Bao, the painful tears that accompany much of Binh’s life, and the sweat generated by hard and intensive labor aboard the ship and in the kitchen.
Salt is also part of the creative process. For Binh, it is part of the culinary expertise he develops, first in the kitchen with his mother, then as a cook with Anh Minh at the Governor-General’s house, and finally, as a cook at the house of Stein and Toklas. Stein’s literary output also uses salt, which is the name of the manuscript Binh steals that turns out to be about Binh and his life.
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