The major works of writer Doãn Quốc Sỹ (1923–2025) effectively capture the inner world of Vietnamese intellectuals of his generation. These individuals came of age during the resistance war and witnessed a society turned upside down; while they could react to their circumstances, they remained powerless to stop the surrounding upheavals.
The novel Dòng Sông Định Mệnh (1959), or The River of Fate, exemplifies this theme. While the surface presents a romantic story involving two young people and a river, the narrative actually portrays the tragedy of individuals torn between ideals and harsh truths.
Dòng Sông Định Mệnh introduces details and archetypal characters that would later appear in the Khu Rừng Lau (The Reed Forest) trilogy, particularly in the third volume, Ba Sinh Hương Lửa (1962).
The Story of the River
The novel opens with the chapter Khúc Quành của Dòng Sông, which recounts the childhood of the two main characters, Thiệu and Yến, along the Đuống River. Entrusted by Yến’s mother to watch over the younger girl, Thiệu takes this duty seriously; when he is ten and Yến is eight, he risks his life to save her from being swept away at the ferry crossing, accepting a beating from his father afterward.
To Thiệu, the Đuống is the river of his childhood. He often visits the embankment to gaze at the riverbend, imagining the village banyan tree as the legendary tree of Thạch Sanh.
As they grow, their paths begin to diverge. Thiệu passes the Sơ học bổ túc (Supplementary primary studies) exam and moves to Bắc Ninh, while Yến follows her uncle to Hà Nội to attend Hàng Cót School.
At sixteen, Thiệu “discovers something he had never noticed before: Yến is beautiful, very beautiful.” He writes his first love letter, only for Yến to reply, “Please don’t, anh Thiệu.” This chapter is titled Con Sông Dài Đi Tìm Ánh Trăng Mười Sáu (The Long River in Search of the Sixteenth Night’s Moonlight).
At seventeen, having passed the Thành Chung (middle school) exam, Thiệu moves to Hà Nội. The following year, Yến marries a man who had returned from studying in France. Heartbroken and hoping to forget his unrequited love, Thiệu enrolls in the College of Fine Arts to major in Painting.
This marks chapter III, Hai Ngả Sông Đi Về Đâu?, which concludes with a lingering question: “Now, the lives of Thiệu and Yến are like a river split into two branches, completely separated. Two branches completely separated and drifting out to sea… Where will these two river paths lead?”
Thiệu subsequently moved to Huế to teach. However, driven by revolutionary ideals against the French, he joined the August Revolution in 1945 in Huế, participating in propaganda and intelligence activities.
Ideals and Betrayal
Thiệu’s arrival at the La Chữ resistance base marks the collision of his dreams of national liberation with a starker reality. In this revolutionary environment, he finds that freedom and humanism are suffocated by rigid ideological dogma. Thiệu is stunned to overhear the following exchange, quoted at length in the novel:
“– Pasteur is a reactionary.”
Thiệu is startled. He recognizes the voice of the subcommittee chief. “– Please remember: Pasteur is a reactionary!”
A relaxed voice—a former medical student—responds: “– Comrade, can you explain why Pasteur is a reactionary? And does that mean Koch is a reactionary too?”
“– Yes, both Pasteur and Koch are reactionaries!”
“– Why is that?”
“– Because their talents were nurtured and trained by imperialist capitalism, and because they used those talents to serve imperialist capitalism. Pasteur and Koch are guilty before the people.”
“– Comrade, all I see is that Pasteur is guilty toward microbes in general, and Koch is guilty toward tuberculosis bacteria in particular, because they discovered how to kill them—something we all benefit from today.”
“– You must remember that Pasteur and Koch were people of imperialist capitalism!”
“– But at that time, there was no Party to guide Pasteur and Koch. How can their origins be their fault?”
“– You must never forget: Pasteur and Koch were people of imperialist capitalism.”
This circular logic—labeling scientists as “people of imperialist capitalism” and therefore reactionaries—was not merely fiction; it was very real, often used, and was the foundation of the “red over expert” criterion. Historically, this genetic fallacy was weaponized to diminish genuine talent, even going so far as to penalize students for growing up on “capitalist butter and milk.”
The result was a culture of political pedigree—”first lineage, second connections”—that persists in Việt Nam today. Such an environment is intolerable to a thinking intellectual.
Consequently, just as Doãn Quốc Sỹ left the resistance after five years to return to the city, his character Thiệu eventually abandons the base and returns to Huế. Later characters in the Ba Sinh Hương Lửa trilogy, such as Kha, Hiển, and Miên, mirror this arc; they joined the revolution but left in disappointment.
Communists derisively described them as participating in the revolution with “petit-bourgeois romanticism”—suggesting they lacked the toughness to see it through.
Petit-bourgeois Romanticism
The term “petit-bourgeois romanticism” was frequently weaponized by communists to condemn intellectuals who had supported the cause—figures such as Chế Lan Viên, Xuân Diệu, Văn Cao, Quang Dũng, and Nguyễn Tuân.
In reality, there was no objective definition or rubric to determine if a work or author was “petit-bourgeois romantic.” Instead, it functioned as a convenient charm to invalidate the blood, sweat, and youth these intellectuals contributed. Because the term was undefined, it could be applied arbitrarily.
Logically, this is a textbook example of the “No true Scotsman” fallacy:
“No true Scotsman puts sugar in porridge.”
“But my father is Scottish, and he puts sugar in porridge.”
“Then your father is not a true Scotsman.”
When applied to the resistance, the logic shifted:
“A true revolutionary would never write a poem like Tây Tiến.”
“But Quang Dũng was a revolutionary.”
“Then Quang Dũng was not a true revolutionary.”
It is worth noting that this label was reserved exclusively for intellectuals—writers, painters, teachers, and musicians—and never applied to those who ignored the revolution. The label served as a mechanism to exclude an entire class based on their background, serving as another manifestation of political pedigree.
Petit-bourgeois Romanticism, Doãn Quốc Sỹ Style
If Doãn Quốc Sỹ’s path through the revolution is labeled “petit-bourgeois romanticism,” then he redefines the term to mean humanity, compassion, and empathy. This realization strikes Thiệu in the novel:
“Who does not love their homeland and humanity unconditionally? True art must be impartial, and true politics must strive toward impartiality… If one does not cling too tightly to the narrow angles of humanity’s voice, Thiệu could affirm: Truth, Goodness, and Beauty are one!”
Critics might point to this and cry, “There—that is petit-bourgeois romanticism!” But that is exactly the point; it is the conclusion not of a dogmatist, but of a decent human being.
For this reason, more than half a century later—and after nearly every upheaval of modern history—Dòng Sông Định Mệnh remains a powerful testament to a Vietnamese intellectual who refused to surrender his dignity. Doãn Quốc Sỹ has left a work that does more than depict the tragedy of an era; it proves that even amidst the collapse of ideals, one can still find impartiality and dignity through the eternal values of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty.
Vũ Quí Hạo Nhiên wrote this article in Vietnamese and published it in Luật Khoa Magazine on Oct. 21, 2025, as part of the “Reading with Đoan Trang” column, published every Tuesday. Đàm Vĩnh Hằng translated it into English for The Vietnamese Magazine.
