From an early age, Raami views the world through the lens of storytelling. When the first Khmer Rouge soldier bangs on the gate of her compound, Raami believes he is a tevoda, a saintly figure from Cambodian mythology rooted in Hinduism. Once she realizes he brings no peace or joy, she thinks back to the figures of the Cambodian epic poem The Reamker, in which angelic devarajas and demonic rakshasas do battle. Of the Khmer Rouge, Raami recalls, “I wondered what they were really. Soldiers or peasants? Children or adults? They looked neither like devarajas nor rakshasas, the mythical gods and demons I’d imagined them to be” (34). Already, the simple binaries of good and evil found in ancient literature fail to explain the complexities of real life.

That a seven-year-old girl relies of storytelling to make sense of the world—especially one that’s falling apart before her eyes—is unsurprising. Yet Raami takes this to a whole other level thanks to her father’s influence. A poet whose own work is rooted in ancient Cambodian literary traditions, Papa instills in Raami an appreciation for how storytelling can help a person survive unspeakably trying times. In the open-air prayer hall, the morning after the family’s arrival at Prey Veng, the majestic sight of the early-hours fog as it flows in ribbons through the Buddhist temple reminds her of the heavenly Kingdom of Ayuthiya from The Reamker.