Top 13 Best Essays Analyzing the Scene of the Hometown Market at Dusk in "Hai Dua Tre" by Thach Lam

In the realm of national literature, few individuals stand out like Thạch Lam. Through his seemingly simple short stories, which lack a traditional plot, his writing—his gentle voice—leaves a deep and lasting impression, evoking thought and offering a delicate yet profound resonance for readers. “Two Children” (published in the collection “Sunlight in the Garden,” 1938) is a prime example of such a story. Through the innocent eyes of “Two Children,” readers seem to enter the world, following along as the images of nature and life in the poor district unfold before them.

In the fading afternoon sunlight, amidst the blurred boundary between day and night and the vast encroaching darkness punctuated by a few dim lights, life appears as tiny, insignificant moments, much like the slow turn of an oil lamp nearing its end, eventually sinking into the abyss of the night. The scene offers little in terms of allure, human activity is sparse and monotonous, yet the unfolding twilight scene, with flickering lights, captivates the reader. Through the observations, sensitivity, and naivety of the young girl Liên, the picture of life in the poor district, with its simple, humble people, evokes a deep sense of melancholy for the reader.

From the very beginning, Thạch Lam, with his masterful observation and skillful pen, paints a simple yet enchanting picture, making the reader feel as though they are stepping into a fairy-tale world: “The sound of the autumn drum from the small district’s pavilion echoed, one beat at a time, summoning the evening. In the West, the sky blazes red like fire, and the clouds take on a pink hue, like embers nearing extinction; the village’s bamboo grove in the distance darkens, its silhouette sharp against the sky.” The repetition of the word “evening” intensifies the swift arrival of night, sinking deep into Liên’s innocent soul. The sound “soft as a lullaby, with the croaking of frogs in the fields, drifting into the air,” creates a sense of “melancholy at the hour of day’s end” within her. The market has “long since closed,” “the people have all gone home, and the noise has faded,” leaving behind only poverty and emptiness, with “rubbish, pomelo peels, persimmon skins, longan leaves, and sugarcane leaves.” There is only the damp smell rising, mixed with the heat of the day and the familiar scent of dust. And then, there are the children from poor families, bent over, rummaging through discarded items. This “fairy-tale” world created by the author is no different from the tales of the old Cinderella and Tam Cam! Following that, other images of the impoverished emerge: the mother and daughter of Ms. Tí carrying their charcoal burners and bamboo benches, setting up their little tea stall despite earning so little; the poor family of the blind man sitting on their worn-out mat, a white bowl placed before them; the noodle stall of Mr. Siu arriving with the “creaking sound of the carrying pole”; and old Mrs. Thi, “slightly mad, still buying alcohol from Liên’s stall,” laughing eerily as she wanders into the vast, dark night, swaying like the flickering light of Ms. Tí’s tea stall. “The vast, endless universe,” “a tiny flickering flame can be seen far away, glowing faintly in the dark, disappearing and reappearing,” and “the drumbeat marking the district’s curfew strikes sharply, dry and distant, quickly sinking back into the darkness.” Day after day, evening and night repeat this monotonous, dreary cycle, mirroring the difficult lives of the people in this poor district. The only light in this life is the flickering glow of “a small patch of land,” like Ms. Tí’s lantern. The grand, luminous ship passing through the district in the dark merely skims by, vanishing into the night, a distant, abstract concept that may never arrive in the lives of Liên and the people of this district.

Without a single word of criticism or condemnation, Thạch Lam’s masterful pen simply portrays the true life, the bleak, hopeless existence of the people in a poor rural town. And yet, his depiction stirs within us a sharp discomfort, leaving us with a lingering sense of doubt about the society in which the author lived. Through this contribution to the world, through his deep sympathy for human suffering, through such vivid depictions in his work, how beautiful the soul of the author must be! The literary value that Thạch Lam created is both remarkable and worthy of admiration. We place Thạch Lam among the great figures of national literature from 1930 to 1945, and readers are grateful to the author for writing these pages of life’s story, recognizing him as one of the great masters of short stories. This aligns perfectly with the author’s declaration to the readers: “For literature, it is not a means of escape or forgetfulness. On the contrary, literature is a noble and effective weapon we have, both to expose and change a false and cruel world and to make the reader purer and richer in spirit.”

Thạch Lam is a mature writer from the Self-reliance Literary Group, with a unique writing style that is unmistakable among any other author. His writings are gentle, reflective, melancholic, and soothing, like a quiet whisper that resonates deeply with the reader. His stories often lack a plot, as everything is written in the lightest, most profound substance. “Two Children” is such a story. This short story paints a picture of a poor district, illustrating the hardships and struggles of life in society.

Thạch Lam always makes the reader notice the subtlety in his soul, reflected in every line. The delicacy in his writing defines its uniqueness. “Two Children” revolves around the lives of An and Liên in a poor district, engaging in mundane, repetitive tasks. Through these two characters, the author conveys various life lessons and the hardships that people endure.

The backdrop for this story is the always flickering, ever-changing scene of the poor district, subtly woven into each page. Perhaps it is this scene that inspires Thạch Lam to express his emotions. Could this be the poor district of Cẩm Giàng, where he was born and raised?

The poor district comes alive in the opening lines: “The sound of the autumn drum echoed from the small district market, each beat resonating to signal the approaching evening…” The drum sounds in the fading afternoon, and the scene and its people seem to fall into a state of distraction. Why did the author choose an autumn afternoon as the inspiration to paint the district? Autumn often evokes sadness, nostalgia, and a surge of emotions. The image of the two children appears with their everyday tasks: “lighting the lamp,” then “locking up” and watching the train coming from Hanoi, its brief flash of light disappearing into emptiness.

The evening scene in the district is portrayed through the details: “The market in the middle of the street had been closed for a while. People had gone home, and the noise was gone. All that remained were scraps—pomelo peels, persimmon skins, longan leaves, and sugarcane stalks. A damp smell rose, blending with the heat of the day and the familiar dust, which Liên thought was the very scent of the land, of her homeland. A few late vendors were packing up, their baskets already loaded, standing to chat briefly.” This paints a picture of the neighborhood at the close of day: faded, withered, and desolate, evoking the reality of life in northern Vietnam during that time. Everything seems unstable, lacking highlights, lacking appeal, and almost devoid of life. Everything is simple and familiar, but with a subtle hint of poverty.

The soft, smooth sentences express a quiet, desolate space in the poor district. Against this grim backdrop, the silhouettes of poor children appear: “A few children from poor families near the market bent low to the ground, scavenging. They picked up bamboo sticks, sticks of rattan, or anything they could use. Liên felt pity but had no money to give them.” The scene grows even more somber as the figures of the poor appear, seemingly doubling the poverty and hardship of this land. Yet, the beauty of Liên’s soul shines through, pure and noble.

In this picture of the poor village, there are many other lives, each contributing to the chaotic image of the district at dusk. This includes the image of Ms. Tí and her daughter, setting up their stall but “earning so little.” Or the image of Liên and her sister, who, since moving to this poor district, have been helping their mother sell goods at a small stall rented from someone else, with a bamboo screen and a piece of newspaper for a wall.

The quiet, diligent people watch the poverty unfold before them but are powerless to change it.

Among the poor, there is also the image of the elderly, insane Mrs. Thi, who often buys alcohol from Liên’s store. The image of Mrs. Thi “tilting her head back to drink in one go, placing three coins in Liên’s hand, then swaying away,” evokes a sense of sadness for a life, adrift, without direction.

In this district, it seems that everyone is awaiting a train from Hanoi, hoping it brings with it noise, bustle, and life. Perhaps the train symbolizes something much greater for the people here, as “the train seemed to bring a glimpse of a different world passing by.” It could represent the world of prosperity and comfort that Liên and her sister once knew, the kind of life that is more peaceful and prosperous.

The train may indeed symbolize a dream, a longing to break free and reach the light for the people in this poor district.

“Two Children” is a gentle story, without any dramatic twists, but it leaves the reader haunted by the lives and lands that were poor during a time when our country was still engulfed in war.

Thach Lam (1910-1942) was a remarkably talented short story writer, one of the outstanding figures in early 20th century Vietnamese literature. His works seamlessly blend realism and romanticism, giving his writing a light, graceful, yet profound quality. The short story 'Hai Dua Tre' from the collection 'Nang Trong Vuon' (1938) is a prime example of his distinctive style. Through the eyes of two children, the story paints a vivid picture of nature and the life of rural Vietnam before the August Revolution, conveying deep social meanings.

Thach Lam sets the scene in 'the hour of the dying day,' as the drum of autumn signals the end of the afternoon, using it to describe the small, seemingly inconsequential lives of people who grow even more melancholy as day turns into night.

The sun peeks through the bamboo grove, casting pink hues on the clouds, while the darkening village bamboo sways, the night sky above filled with twinkling stars, and the glow of fireflies dances in the deep, dense darkness. As the market closes, the noise fades, leaving behind only rubbish, including durian peels, pomelo skins, and lychee leaves, a silent reminder of the lively hustle that has now been replaced with a desolate emptiness. When one seeks to understand the economic and cultural status of a rural area, they often look to its market, and Thach Lam describes this with that very perspective, first portraying a deserted marketplace, symbolizing a deeply impoverished and worn-out village.

The sounds that fill the air include the autumn drumbeat, the croak of frogs from the fields, the buzz of mosquitoes, and the quiet fall of flowers from the “Bang” trees—all contributing to a melancholic mood, signaling a life lacking in joy. The familiar scents of moist earth, smoke, grass, and cow dung fill the air, evoking the distinct, suffocating smell of a poverty-stricken and oppressed homeland.

In conclusion, the village’s natural beauty is serene, yet it is saturated with sorrow and affectionate tenderness. The writer employs a technique of using scenery to express emotions, drawing life and characters through the environment. This technique allows him to indirectly paint a collective image of life in rural Vietnam before the August Revolution.

In this work, the author's focus is on depicting the impoverished, harsh, and flickering lives of those who are struggling.

The lives of people are first shown through the eyes of two young sisters, who observe poor children hunched over in the empty market. After the market closes, these children scavenge the remaining scraps to sustain themselves. However, the poverty of the market leaves little behind, only a few bamboo sticks scattered on the ground. This reflects the bleak future of these children. The author closely examines and portrays the lives of workers, particularly focusing on the life of mother and daughter, Chi Ty. Chi Ty is a farmer who spends her days fishing for small creatures and in the evenings sets up a small food stall, hoping for a bit of income. Every evening, her stall appears again, as does the poverty-stricken couple, Mr. Xam, sitting on a worn-out mat with a white bowl, waiting for customers. The elderly woman Thi, suffering from poverty, walks in the dark. Better off than them are the two sisters, Liên, who have a small shop but barely make a living, their lives also sinking into ruin on a broken hammock.

All of these scenes share a common theme—extreme poverty, a soul-crushing existence devoid of hope. But we know that people are the soul of a region. By depicting lives in poverty and hardship, the author evokes sympathy for the rural classes, whose lives were deeply tragic, deserving of attention and compassion.

In painting the image of a life trapped in darkness and poverty, the author sets the scene against the backdrop of the natural world. Though nature remains eternally beautiful—'a summer night as soft as velvet, with a gentle breeze'—the night still envelops the weary, struggling lives. The author uses evocative details, such as darkened village paths, riverside roads swallowed by shadow, and the sky cloaked in darkness, all to create a powerful image of the village immersed in the vast expanse of night. Through these details, the author emphasizes the tiny, flickering light of the people’s lives, like the faint glimmer of hope shining from Liên’s shop, or the ‘golden glow’ of Mr. Xiêu’s lantern, or the ‘small light’ from Chi Ty’s lamp. These tiny sparks, like a small, fragile light in the dark, represent the tenuous, fleeting hope in the otherwise all-encompassing darkness, symbolizing the bleak reality of their lives.

The lives depicted in 'Hai Dua Tre' are not only impoverished and dark, but also monotonous and dreary. Every day, the poor children return to the market to search for leftover scraps. Each evening, Chi Ty, Mr. Phở Siêu, and Mr. Xam continue their routines, while Liên and her sister wait for customers. Their only clientele are people from the local community who occasionally stop by for a drink. This cycle repeats day after day, with no change, and everyone, from the vendors to the customers, lives in a perpetual state of poverty. The life they lead mirrors the words of poet Huy Cận:

"We circle around, only to see the same few faces, coming and going, always the same people."

Within this bleak existence, Thach Lam describes Liên and her sister waiting for the passing train, symbolizing their awakening to the yearning for a brighter future. However, like the fleeting glimpse of the train, the light in their lives quickly fades back into darkness. At the end of the story, the flickering light from Chi Ty’s lamp continues to wane as Liên falls asleep, reinforcing the notion that the lives in this village are stuck in a perpetual cycle of struggle, forever enveloped in deep darkness.

Through the story of these poor children watching the village fade into twilight and night, the author subtly reveals the living conditions of a rural, impoverished area before the August Revolution. The space created in the story evokes images of a life trapped in poverty, surrounded by helplessness and stagnation, much like the rural people 'in the dark world of the past rice fields.' Through this portrayal, Thach Lam indirectly condemns the ruling class of the time for their negligence toward the suffering rural populace, while also expressing deep humanitarian concern for them.

Within the Tự Lực Literary Group, the writer Thạch Lam stands as a unique figure. While Nhất Linh and Khái Hưng could co-write novels together, Thạch Lam could not. His writing style is gentle, calm, deep, and full of resonance, with a special emotional power. Thạch Lam focuses on characters from the lower strata of society, while other writers from the Tự Lực group tend to write about upper-class characters. 'Two Children' is a short story that exemplifies Thạch Lam's writing style and his ideological leanings towards life, goodness, and beauty.

Thạch Lam's stories do not follow conventional plots. 'Two Children' is no exception. It tells the story of two children who move from Hanoi to a poor district and manage a tiny grocery store. In the evening, the two siblings sit on a bamboo mat, watching the streets during sunset, and even though they are drowsy, they stay awake to watch the late-night train from Hanoi pass by before closing the store for the night. Thạch Lam avoids the typical storytelling approach of using thrilling plots, dramatic twists, or passionate love affairs. Instead, 'Two Children' captivates readers through the authentic portrayal of life. This method is close to the realist writers like Nam Cao, Nguyên Hồng, and Tô Hoài, who infused their works with humanitarian values, while also inspiring readers with dreams and beautiful hopes. This romantic spirit is also present in writers like Nhất Linh, Khái Hưng, and Hoàng Đạo. Thạch Lam's writing style is light, like a butterfly resting on a flower. His language can be compared to silk paintings rather than oil paintings. Thạch Lam remains a romantic writer with a positive and beautiful outlook.

In 'Two Children,' the fusion of romance and realism appears in the depiction of nature in a rural area at dusk. As night falls, 'A summer night as smooth as velvet, with a breeze passing by...' the natural landscape is vast, poetic. 'The western sky is red like a burning fire, and the clouds are tinged with pink, like coals ready to extinguish.' But the village is full of darkness and misery. 'The shop is dim, and mosquitoes begin to buzz.' 'Liên's eyes are gradually filled with darkness.' 'There is a vague sadness as the day draws to a close.' This vivid portrayal of life, tinged with emotion, evokes feelings of sorrow in the reader. The story's ideological meaning largely arises from the depiction of the poor rural town.

Through the eyes of the two children, the rural town is presented in a very tangible, vivid, and sensory way. The empty market square, quiet after the market has ended, is portrayed: 'The people are gone, and the noise has disappeared.' The desolate market scene exposes the poverty and bleakness of rural life. The writer's diligent 'lens' shows the town's streets, where only 'garbage, leftover fruits, fruit peels, and sugarcane leaves' remain. The smell of the place is described by the author's keen sense of smell: 'A damp smell rises, the heat from the day mixes with the familiar dust, making the sisters associate it with the scent of earth, of their hometown.' The village scene in 'Two Children' is haunting because of these colors and scents. In this desolate and sorrowful atmosphere, the figures of poor, laborious, and shabby villagers emerge. Children picking up scraps in the market square. Ms. Tí's family carrying their basket and setting up their stand. 'By day, she catches crabs and shrimp, and at night she sets up this water stall...'. The Xẩm family's members sit on a mat, with a white metal bowl in front of them. The child plays on the ground, picking up trash. And the two siblings, Liên, with their small grocery store, which their family set up after leaving Hanoi when Liên's father lost his job. An old woman, Thi, who is slightly mad, buys alcohol and laughs 'gently,' stumbling into the darkness. All these scenes portray a life full of hardships and despair. Through Liên's eyes, the whole life seems to be immersed in an overwhelming darkness, with only small flickers of light from Ms. Tí's lantern, the fire of Xẩm, and Liên's own dim American lantern. These small, feeble lights only add to the heavy, suffocating darkness. 'All the streets of the town now shrink to the water stall of Ms. Tí.' The image of the small lantern at Ms. Tí's stall, illuminating a tiny area of land, repeats seven times, and is an image full of poignant meaning, symbolizing the small, fragile lives in the vast, endless darkness of life.

The evening town scene is like a melancholic song, with the refrain repeating. Every evening, Ms. Tí and her daughter set up their stall, Liên and her sister check their stock and count the money, then sit on the bamboo mat watching the scene. Xẩm carries his goods and blows on the fire, while others like Siêu set up their stalls, continuing the monotonous, sorrowful routine. However, there is a glimmer of hope in their lives. Hope serves as a sedative for these struggling people. Nhất Linh once said that the rural people may be poor in money but are rich in empty hopes: 'These people, in the darkness, hope for something brighter in their daily lives.' The two children cannot fully grasp the stagnant, depressing, and hopeless life they are leading, nor their vague spiritual aspirations. Yet, with their innocent and sensitive souls, Liên feels this reality and longing, even if it is subconscious. It is precisely this yearning to escape from the suffocating darkness that makes the siblings stay awake every night, waiting for the passing train. The train symbolizes a world beyond, one that is vastly different from the small light of Ms. Tí's lantern and Xẩm's fire.

'Two Children' by Thạch Lam does not delve into social or class conflicts. The author does not focus on portraying the grotesque faces of exploiters or the tragic faces of the oppressed. As a romantic writer, Thạch Lam depicts a true-to-life picture of the poor rural town with meticulous detail and emotional depth. The rural village, gray and bleak, and the pitiable figures of the poor people are imbued with the author's deep sympathy for the laboring poor, trapped in a life of hopelessness and darkness. Through the desolate depiction of the rural town and the images of small, hopeful people, the writer's desire is clear: to change the stifling life of these poor laborers.

"Hai đứa trẻ" by Thạch Lam is a poignant short story filled with lyrical sadness. The work weaves together the pain of reality and a beauty hidden like the fragrance of hoàng lan flowers distilled from life's tragedies. The depiction of the impoverished village street stands as a testament to the author's unique style, mastery, and the humanistic message he aims to deliver.

Thạch Lam's writing is rich in diversity, combining romanticism with delicate realism, and his prose is imbued with deep emotion. His writing expresses a stark, sorrowful reality but in a way that is tender, compassionate, and humane. As such, his short stories, including "Hai đứa trẻ," are almost plotless. The story paints a picture of a poor village street where both nature and humanity, though impoverished and worn, possess beauty, charm, and tenderness.

The image of the village’s nature begins with "the sound of the autumn drum from the small village watchtower, each beat calling the evening." The drumbeat evokes a vast, beautiful yet melancholic space. This is accompanied by the scattered, resonating sounds of "frogs and crickets from the rice fields, carried by the gentle breeze." Nature is painted with soulful strokes that evoke a sense of hazy decay, stirring the heart. Could there ever be an evening as "peaceful as a lullaby" in the eyes of Nam Cao or Vũ Trọng Phụng? Thạch Lam illustrates a village street where nature, though tinged with sadness, still exudes a poetic, dreamlike beauty.

However, this romantic facade cannot conceal the despair of the people living in the poor village. These lives, hidden in the market scene or the dark of night, are tragically pitiful. When "everyone leaves and the noise fades," only a few people remain, tidying up, while children scavenge for leftovers. The familiar smells of dampness and dust from the humble land of the village emerge through Thạch Lam’s skilled narration. The weary, exhausted, and withered lives of these people, yearning for something distant and abstract, come to life. These include the scavenging children, Sister Tí and her child, the noodle vendor Siêu, and the mad old woman Thi... The poor village is like a soulless corpse, and "the people" are but faint shadows wandering in the night. The two sisters, Liên and her sibling, sit beside a dilapidated bamboo bed, a few bundles of tobacco leaves, and a soap cake; Sister Tí and her child possess nothing but a bamboo bed to carry on their heads; the unprofitable noodle stall of Siêu, the home of Xẩm by a torn mat, or the mad old woman Thi are all representations of the most tragic human lives in the village.

In his portrayal of the village, Thạch Lam skillfully contrasts light and dark to convey a deeper message about life. The darkness "gradually fills" a summer night, "soft as velvet, with a cool breeze." The darkness is like a vast black pan covering the poor village. "The entire road to the river, the road through the market, and the alleys leading to the village grow even darker." Light is scarce, sparse, and overshadowed by darkness. There is light from the distant universe, "thousands of stars sparkling," the "crimson west," and human light from narrow cracks in bamboo walls, flickering lamps, or the more radiant artificial light of a passing night train. Thạch Lam allows the people of the village to eagerly anticipate the light from the night train, celebrating the basic human desire for happiness. The train brings back the lost childhood of Liên, giving her a brief sense of serenity. The fleeting greenish-blue flame, the light from the train carriage, the whistle, the sound of the wheels... all vanish in an instant but still demonstrate that people strive for joy, no matter how harsh their reality.

Through the short story "Hai đứa trẻ," Thạch Lam presents a sorrowful yet beautiful image of the poor village, where even the impoverished people possess an enduring optimism and a longing for happiness. The work revives the most delicate emotions in the hearts of readers who cherish Thạch Lam's literature.

A writer once asserted: “What matters in literary talent is one’s own voice, a distinct tone that cannot be found in anyone else’s throat.” Indeed, every artist standing on the literary stage must possess a unique style, a personal “voice” or “vision,” so that their work can leave a deep impression on the reader. “Once a writer’s style becomes an integral part of them, it creates a unique aesthetic tone, unmistakable and unparalleled.” Thạch Lam certainly fulfilled this calling. In his story “Hai đứa trẻ” (Two Children), he gives the reader a completely different feeling, one that stands apart from other works of his time. He captures the scene of a poor district when dusk falls in a way that is uniquely his.

Reading “Hai đứa trẻ,” one cannot help but wonder how a writer could so thoroughly immerse himself in the lives of such a poor district. The answer becomes clear when we look at his background: Thạch Lam spent his childhood in the rural town of Cẩm Giàng, Hải Dương province... Perhaps it was during these formative years that he truly understood and empathized with the people and their way of life. Here, it wasn’t just the bleak and desolate natural scenery, but also a portrayal of the difficult, weary life of a poor district. In the collection “Nắng trong vườn,” “Hai đứa trẻ” stands out as one of Thạch Lam’s finest short stories. The work blends elements of realism and romanticism.

Firstly, Thạch Lam paints a picture of the district’s life as twilight approaches. The market, once bustling, is now deserted: “The market, once lively, had quieted long ago.” Everyone has left, and the noise is gone. Only remnants remain: “trash, pomelo peels, longan skins, and sugarcane leaves.” The distinct smell of the place, one that cannot be confused with any other region, fills the air: “A damp scent rises, the heat of the day mingling with the familiar dust, making Liên think of the smell of the earth, of their homeland.” The human figures in the scene are also depicted as poor, sparse, and monotonous. These are the children of poor families scrounging the ground for whatever they can find: “picking up bits of bamboo or anything useful”; there’s Liên and her sister; and the mother and child of Tí... Notably, the character of the old woman Thi, an alcoholic, laughing madly, is painted as a tragic figure. As Thi “walks slowly into the darkness, her laughing fading away toward the village,” it evokes a sense of being trapped with no way out. Thi symbolizes the most pitiful and broken lives. Thus, through just a few strokes, Thạch Lam offers readers a glimpse into the lives of the poor, desolate district, where every person faces similar hardship and weariness. Furthermore, the author expresses his emotions through Liên’s feelings: “Liên saw the suffering of others but, like them, had no money to offer.” This is the essence of human compassion, the empathy of one person for another. Liên’s concern for Tí’s family further illustrates the bond of care and solidarity among those who share misfortune. In every situation, especially one as tragic as theirs, we must share and support each other. Through this, Thạch Lam reminds us of our innate compassion, and the need for a sensitive and perceptive heart...

As time moves forward, the author transitions to a depiction of the district at night. Using symbolism in the description of the setting, Thạch Lam highlights the hidden lives of people and the stagnant, dark lives they lead, but even in this bleakness, there is a flicker of hope: “The people in the darkness await something bright to break the monotony of their poor, daily lives.” The rhythms of life in this district are repetitive and dull: Tí’s family sets up their stall every day; the old man Siêu carries pho to the village entrance and then brings it back; the family of Xẩm survives mostly on the charity of others; Liên and her sister are always counting money and sitting on bamboo benches... Life is unchanging, stifling, and monotonous! Yet despite their poverty, they continue to work with what they have in the most honest ways possible.

Finally, the picture of the district comes to life with the passing of the night train. The train is described in intricate detail, following the sequence of its approach, arrival, and departure. It’s the last powerful, lively event of the night, breaking the silence of the district. This image of the train is a stark contrast to the world of the district—it pierces through the night like a shuttle, its light wiping away the faint, isolated glimmers of the district. The sound of the train drowns out the monotonous hum of the evening. Liên, though sleepy, remains awake to witness this last, hopeful movement. The passing of the train also awakens memories of a brighter past: “Liên, lost in thought, remembers Hanoi—bright, cheerful, and bustling.” “She remembers the treats she had when she was in Hanoi, when her mother had money, and how they would go to the lake for drinks.” The train stirs up dreams and hopes for a better world, a better future. The sight of the train not only satisfies the eye, but also fills the void in Liên’s soul, connecting her to memories and dreams. It is through this night train that Liên gains a clearer understanding of the stasis and suffocating darkness of her life and those around her. In this way, “Hai đứa trẻ” becomes a depiction of the reality of a time gone by, a momentary flash of light in the life of a district. Through his unique lens, Thạch Lam creates a full picture of the district’s life from dusk onward.

Through his use of romantic techniques and contrasting images, the author highlights the life of the district. Thạch Lam’s writing is undeniably beautiful. The beauty emanates from evocative, sensory-rich imagery and a deep sense of compassion. Thạch Lam’s writing style is distinctive, gentle, objective, with a hidden tenderness for the people of the district, while still revealing their unspoken desires.

“Hai đứa trẻ” is the result of Thạch Lam’s creative process, which distilled the essence of life and his aesthetic emotions. Unlike other writers of the Tự lực văn đoàn, Thạch Lam believed: “For me, literature is not about offering the reader escapism or forgetfulness; rather, it is a noble and powerful weapon with which we can both expose and change a false, cruel world, while purifying and enriching the hearts of readers.” To him, true literature is literature that serves humanity, that raises its voice for the sake of humanity, not for the sake of art itself. “Art is the realm of the unique.” It demands a style, a distinct, fresh element that shines through in the work. Thạch Lam has succeeded in this perfectly. The writer has brought his own unique voice, leaving a profound impression on his readers.

Thạch Lam, widely recognized as one of Vietnam's most gifted writers, was a member of the romantic literary group "Tự Lực Văn Đoàn". His writing, however, often centered on the lives of the impoverished, the struggles of rural farmers, small traders, and the urban poor. Thạch Lam's works are imbued with both realism and lyricism, blending these two elements to create a unique artistic style. His short story, "Hai đứa trẻ" (Two Children), vividly illustrates this quality. The story showcases a portrait of nature, life, and human emotions that speak deeply to the reader.

The first thing readers encounter in "Hai đứa trẻ" is a depiction of the setting sun, a familiar scene of a rural village at twilight, where the day fades away. This scene is rich in color and sound, distinctly evocative of Vietnamese rural life. The scene is framed in three distinct moments: dusk, evening, and midnight, each subtly fading into the next, as time and space shift.

The reader's attention is first drawn to the twilight, a scene painted in hues of a fiery red sunset, with clouds like smoldering embers in the sky. Darkness quickly descends as the treeline becomes sharply defined against the fading light. These colors signal the end of the day, ushering in a time where people are left alone with themselves. Along with this visual scene comes a quiet but poignant sound—the distant beat of a drum echoing from a small village watchtower, calling the day to a close. This sound, slow and heavy, resonates deeply with the reader, reminding them of the somber, unhurried passage of time. It evokes a deep sense of melancholy, akin to the drumming in Hồ Xuân Hương's poem "Tự tình": "Đêm khuya văng vẳng trống canh dồn".

The night falls, bringing with it a familiar rural symphony—the croak of frogs, the hum of mosquitoes, and the creak of bamboo furniture. These sounds are commonplace in every village, but in the stillness of night, they take on a haunting quality. For Liên, the protagonist, the smells of the village also evoke a profound sense of nostalgia—"the musty scent rising, mixed with the heat of the day and the familiar dust of the road, the smell of the land itself, of home." These sensory details envelop the reader, creating an atmosphere of quietude and tranquility that symbolizes rural life. As the dusk shifts into night, the village seems to fall into a deeper silence, broken only by the long-awaited sound of a train passing through.

Amidst this tranquil natural backdrop, the human element of the story unfolds. The scene of a fading marketplace, littered with scraps—peels of pomelos, mangoes, lychees, and withered rice—serves as a grim reminder of the poverty and hardship that characterizes life in this village. Thạch Lam chooses this moment, when the day transitions into night, to highlight the weariness and stagnation of the people’s lives. The image of the market's decline paints a bleak picture, one that reflects the desolate existence of the people here, offering no hope for the future. The characters Liên observes—those lingering in the market—are embodiments of life's harsh realities. Their struggles to make ends meet, the poverty that defines their lives, are captured poignantly. Even the children, barely more than toddlers, scrounge for scraps and salvage what they can from the market's remnants.

The lives of others, such as those of chị Tí and her child, reflect a similar story of hardship. chị Tí survives by scavenging for shellfish during the day and selling drinks at night. Her customers, few and far between, represent the dwindling fortunes of her business. When she tells Liên, "Sớm với muộn mà có ăn thua gì," her words echo a sense of resignation to the cycle of poverty, a fate she seems unable to escape. Even Siêu, a somewhat wealthier family in the village, is no longer able to attract customers, their fortunes fading as the passengers on the night train only purchase cigarettes, ignoring the offerings of the food stall. The same sense of decay is seen in the life of bác Sẩm, whose music no longer resonates with anyone, as the children play carelessly around him. Even the brief appearance of bà cụ Thi, who suffers from alcoholism, leaves a lasting impression on the reader, highlighting the loss of dignity that accompanies poverty and despair. Her behavior, a reflection of her inner turmoil, is both mysterious and unsettling, leaving readers to wonder whether others in this village will also succumb to such a fate.

The writer's empathy is clearly reflected in the character of Liên, whose observations reveal her deep sympathy for the less fortunate. Despite her own struggles, Liên feels a genuine sense of concern for others. When she sees the poor children in the market, "bent over on the ground, scavenging for twigs, bamboo, or whatever they could find," her heart aches, even though she herself has nothing to offer. She silently pours a drink for bà cụ Thi, unable to look directly at the woman, but driven by an overwhelming sense of compassion. Liên's tenderness is also evident in her interactions with chị Tí and others, as she carefully asks about their wellbeing. Her kindness, however, cannot alter their fates, which remain trapped in the harsh realities of their environment. Through Liên’s eyes, Thạch Lam underscores the theme of empathy and compassion for the downtrodden, as well as the tragic lack of opportunity for those in the village.

The story’s overarching message is clear: these characters are bound to the cycle of poverty and despair, with little hope of escape. The presence of the train, a fleeting glimpse of the outside world, symbolizes the fleeting dreams and desires that fill the hearts of the people in this small village. As the train passes, Liên and her sister eagerly rise to catch a glimpse of it, their faces illuminated by the light from the carriages, their imaginations carried away to a world they can never reach. The train, with its gleaming lights and elegant carriages, represents the world beyond—the world of possibility, of wealth, of the future that will forever elude them. For Liên, the train is a symbol of everything she longs for—a better life, a world beyond the limitations of her village, and a brighter future that she can only dream of.

In the hands of Thạch Lam, this poignant portrayal of rural life transcends mere realism. The story is a work of lyrical beauty, filled with moments of quiet reflection and lyrical observation. Through Liên's sensitive perspective, we see not only the harshness of life in the village but also its fleeting moments of beauty. The beauty of a sunset, the gentle sounds of a summer evening, the brief glimpse of a train passing through—all these elements are rendered with exquisite tenderness. In this way, "Hai đứa trẻ" is not just a story of hardship; it is a story of dreams, of the beauty that can be found in even the most difficult of circumstances, and of the hope that endures despite the darkness of the night.

Thạch Lam’s use of nature and time in this story contributes to its lyricism. The passing of time is captured not in quick, fleeting moments, but in the slow, deliberate observations of Liên. As she watches the sunset, the slow rhythm of the day’s end becomes a meditation on life itself, a process that moves gently, but inexorably, toward its conclusion. Her descriptions of the evening—"the evening, so calm like a lullaby"—convey a sense of peace, even as they hint at the inevitable passing of time. Similarly, the quiet sounds of the evening, from the distant drum to the croaking of frogs, add to the atmosphere of the village, their rhythm mirroring the slow passage of life.

Ultimately, the beauty of Thạch Lam's story lies not only in its portrayal of hardship but in the hope it inspires. The train, a symbol of the outside world, represents a future that the characters can only dream of, a brighter existence that stands in stark contrast to the darkness of their reality. Through the character of Liên, the author conveys a message of empathy, understanding, and hope that transcends the hardships of life. In this way, "Hai đứa trẻ" stands as both a reflection of the harshness of life in rural Vietnam and a testament to the enduring human spirit.

The writer Thach Lam grew up as part of the self-reliant literary group, with a style that is both personal and distinct, never blending with anyone else’s. His prose is incredibly profound and gentle, yet often tinged with a melancholy that resonates deeply with readers. “Two Children” is one such story, depicting a poor rural street where people face hardship in Vietnam during that time.

The story begins with a simple yet enchanting scene, immersing readers in a dreamy world. The distant sound of the autumn drum from a small village pagoda calls in the twilight… The setting, both desolate and beautiful, reflects the melancholy of the late autumn afternoon. The two children are introduced, doing their usual task of lighting lamps, waiting for a train that will bring them hope, only to be left feeling empty, unable to comprehend their own longing.

The imagery of the rural street as evening sets in is painted through details: "The market had long closed; people had left, and the noise had faded. All that remained was trash—peels of grapefruit, jackfruit, longan leaves, and sugarcane husks. A musty smell rises, mixing with the familiar dust of the day, creating the scent of the land, the scent of this homeland. Some late traders packed their goods, their shoulder poles already hung over their shoulders, chatting for a moment before they left…” The street appears bleak, desolate, and abandoned, mirroring the grim reality of the northern Vietnamese countryside at that time. Everything is dull and lacks vibrancy—only the simplicity of life and the poverty-stricken people remain.

Thach Lam employs soft, tender language to capture the loneliness of this rural street. Amidst the sadness, "a few poor children crouch on the ground, searching for anything useful—bamboo sticks, pieces of wood, anything that can be of use. Liên, despite her compassion, cannot offer them anything, for she, too, is poor.” The feeling of despair intensifies when these impoverished souls encounter one another, but it also evokes sympathy for Liên’s kindness and humanity.

And in this humble depiction of the rural street, it is not only the children and Liên, but other figures too, who add to the chaotic scene of the street as evening falls. Among them is the woman who sells goods with her children, barely making a living. There are also Liên and her siblings, working at a small stall rented from another shop. They are hardworking, diligently persevering day by day, witnessing the persistence of poverty but unable to change their fate.

The scene also includes the mad old woman, Thi, who often buys alcohol from Liên’s shop. She would "tilt her head back and gulp down the liquor, handing Liên three pennies, and then stagger away.” This image elicits both pity and sorrow for an elderly life spent aimlessly, with no direction or purpose.

Everyone on the street waits for a train to come from Hanoi, hoping to break the silence and emptiness, bringing with it the noise and bustle of a different world. The train, perhaps, symbolizes their dreams of a better life, a hope for change. The train represents the aspiration of these suffering people, a symbol of the possibility for a brighter future.

In conclusion, “Two Children” is a work that is soft and reflective, without intense action, yet it leaves readers with a profound impression of the poverty-stricken lives of these characters, who yearn for a better tomorrow.

Unlike his contemporaries, who sought after the novel, the extraordinary, and the unusual, Thạch Lam quietly turned to explore the fundamental values that had been overshadowed by a decaying world. He did not try to construct perfect narratives because, for Thạch Lam, life itself was never perfect. His stories often lack a specific plot. Instead, each one serves as a melancholy lyrical poem. This style is evident in his work "Two Children." The portrait of the impoverished street and the depiction of human fates fading into the twilight are deeply moving.

Thạch Lam often delves deeply into the inner lives of his characters, exploring their vague, fragile, yet profoundly sensitive emotions. He carefully and slowly enters the characters' souls, as if afraid that the slightest noise might shatter their world. He savors each moment, gazing at a scene, a transition until it has fully passed. Therefore, when reading Thạch Lam's stories, one cannot simply summarize the plot in a linear fashion but must feel it with the heart and all the senses.

"Two Children" has a simple structure. It is simple in its details and structure, yet complex in the depth of thought it evokes. The story describes two children sitting on a broken bench, watching the street fade into night. Despite being "so sleepy that their eyes were almost closed," they waited for the night train full of light to pass before finally locking up the shop to sleep. Those who possess a shallow heart may not appreciate this roundabout and seemingly dull narrative. Yet, the story captures attention and resonates deeply with many readers. The key point is that Thạch Lam cleverly captures the soul of the reader as they step into the world of the story.

Under Thạch Lam's pen, "Two Children" is far from dull. It is, in fact, haunting, poignant, full of melancholy, with a soft and tender whisper that stays with the reader.

The work begins with a vivid picture of a countryside street at dusk, almost like a poem about a familiar yet poetic homeland. The evening does not fade but lingers in each word, each sentence, holding tightly to the earth, guiding the reader into the peaceful world of the scene. Thạch Lam’s delicate style and imagery evoke a lively scene with its lines, colors, sounds, and fragrances, transporting the reader back to a serene, bittersweet, and intimate picture of rural Vietnam, a land steeped in tradition. It stirs in the soul a deep love for the humble village, a place not only full of tranquil, poetic beauty but also of destitution and despair.

The power of this short story lies in its weighty artistic details. Thạch Lam performs an intriguing reversal. He quietly seeks out the scattered elements that most people overlook. He smiles quietly when he uncovers the golden dust hidden in the rubble. "Two Children" does not have thrilling, dramatic events, but few can honestly claim to remain unaffected, emotionally distant, or without feeling when walking through the desolate, silent street of the impoverished town depicted in the story.

"Two Children" takes place from the late afternoon until late at night, and the story is conveyed in three main shades: dusk, the end of the market, and the darkness of night. Yet, despite this simplicity, it leaves a strange, lasting impression on readers across generations. Thus, the story’s appeal is not rooted in exciting or captivating plot twists. The true allure of "Two Children" comes from the warmth of human connection that subtly permeates the story.

Who could remain unaffected by these words: “It’s evening, it’s evening now. A peaceful evening like a lullaby, with the distant croak of frogs carried by the breeze from the fields. In the dim shop, the mosquitoes are beginning to buzz. Liên sits quietly beside some black lacquered medicine bottles, her eyes heavy with the encroaching darkness. The sadness of the rural evening seeps into her innocent heart. Liên is fine, but she feels a deep, wistful sadness as the day begins to end.”

It turns out that Liên's feelings at the twilight hour in the town are our own when the daytime life begins to fade, the light gives way to darkness, separation replaces union, and exile gives way to a return… literature helps us hold on to human emotions, waking the deepest part of the soul that has long been dormant. Despite its lack of a compelling plot, "Two Children" captures the reader's attention because it helps revive and hold on to these forgotten parts of the soul.

Like a weary traveler searching, gathering, and weaving poems from life's simple moments, Thạch Lam gently conveys to us a message: The beauty of life can be found in the most ordinary, often overlooked scenes and people. The imagery of the fading evening lingers in us, carrying with it the bittersweetness of a constant yearning. More importantly, it fills our hearts with a deep longing for a homeland filled with "the sound of the autumn drum on the small town's pavilion; each beat echoing to call the evening. The western sky was burning red, and the clouds turned pink like a dying ember. The village's bamboo grove ahead darkened, and clear shapes appeared against the sky.”

The countryside of Vietnam remains gently calm and peaceful, just like Liên’s sensitive soul—a young girl who deeply respects and cherishes the essence of her rural homeland. The croaking frogs, the buzzing mosquitoes, the sound of nature harmonizing into a celestial choir all remind us of the importance of treasuring and preserving our love for our homeland.

The village in "Two Children" is poor, deserted, and silent, yet it evokes in us sincere emotions: “The night began to fall, a summer night soft as velvet, with a cool breeze passing by. The sky, filled with thousands of stars, competed to shine, blending with the glow of fireflies flitting above the ground or into the branches. An and Liên silently looked up at the stars to find the Milky Way and the duck following the God of Agriculture. The vast universe, so distant and mysterious to the children’s minds, made them wonder, but after a short time, they turned their gaze back to the earth, to the familiar glow of the lamp flickering in the shop.”

Thạch Lam awakens in us memories of a distant childhood. Who has not experienced moments of childhood innocence like gazing at the night sky, searching for the Milky Way, or following the duck behind the God of Agriculture? "Two Children" reminds us of the beauty that emerges from everyday, mundane images. It conveys a message urging us to cherish and hold on to the essence of our rural roots, as it is the essence of life, of the people, of those who remain forever faithful to their homeland.

Reading "Two Children," those with a tender heart, deeply connected to the land, the people, and their homeland, will inevitably feel moved, stirred. A rural village with its desolate human existence, the lives worn out like the creaking of insects in the fading afternoon, but still imprinted in the reader's heart by a warm, loving spirit.

Thach Lam, one of the key writers of the Self-Reliance Literary Group, is known for his works that express clear, gentle emotions while offering deep reflections. Behind his poetic writing lies a compassion for the impoverished, reflecting a humanitarian spirit. The short story 'The Two Children' is one of his most notable works. Capturing the moment of twilight, Thach Lam paints a picture of a life full of melancholy yet rich in human dreams.

He chose the twilight hour, when everything begins to settle into rest. With his sensitive and delicate pen, he not only captures the essence of human life but also paints a picture of nature. Through these two landscapes, the author’s feelings about the realities of life are revealed.

The natural scenery is a dreamy yet sorrowful portrayal, with the sounds lingering, like 'the sound of autumn drums from a small village hut; each beat echoes to call the evening,' and in the distance, the croaking of frogs carried by the wind. The noise seems lively but is actually mournful and haunting, creating a sense of quietness that allows the sounds to be fully grasped. As the sun sets, it gradually rests: 'The Western sky burns red like a fire,' 'The clouds are rosy like embers about to fade.' The bright, warm colors evoke a sense of decay. The bamboo groves in front stand darkly outlined against the sky, making the atmosphere even more somber as darkness begins to take over. With a slow rhythm and melodious sentences, reminiscent of poetry, the scene of the peaceful, soothing natural landscape is drawn. The sunset is beautiful, dreamy, and calm, yet filled with sadness and melancholy.

In addition to the natural scene, Thach Lam also focuses on depicting the human side of life. He captures the scene of a market after it has closed. It is often said that the market reflects the essence of life, and Thach Lam does just that. The once lively market now appears desolate and barren. The bustling sounds have disappeared, leaving only the silence that envelops the scene. A few vendors remain, packing up their goods and exchanging hurried words. The market is now littered with trash, peelings from fruits and vegetables... Poor children from nearby villages are scavenging the ground, collecting whatever they can find, such as bamboo strips or anything else left behind... Their plight is truly pitiful. The mother and child of the Tí family search for crabs and snails by day, and sell drinks by night, yet still struggle to make ends meet. The elderly Thi, an alcoholic, is always in a state of drunkenness, accompanied by her loud, wild laughter. Meanwhile, Liên and An, still children, are involved in the survival struggle, running a small grocery store that sells simple items to regular customers. Despite their youth, Liên and An have already been forced into the harsh reality of making a living. Life here is monotonous and dreary, with the people representing the exhausted, worn-out lives of the poor. Yet, deep down, they still long for a better life, even though their hopes are vague and uncertain.

The most striking element in this scene is Liên's delicate and sensitive soul. She feels the changes in nature during the twilight hour, noticing even the smallest details of her familiar surroundings: 'a damp smell mixed with the familiar scent of dust...,' a scent that has been part of her life for years. 'Liên sat quietly beside some black resin balls,' contemplating the scene, as if the quiet sadness of nature seeped into her sensitive soul. Liên is also a compassionate girl, filled with love for others. She shows concern for the Tí family, asking kind questions that express her sympathy and sorrow for their situation. When she hears the laughter of Thi, she silently fills a small cup with alcohol and hands it to her, watching as Thi stumbles away. Seeing the poor children collecting trash, Liên feels deep pity but, sadly, lacks the means to help them.

The scene of the market at twilight is a passage rich in lyrical quality. The poetry of the moment emanates from nature, from the simple, familiar sights of the hometown—like the sound of autumn drums and the croaking of frogs carried by the wind. The poetic quality also shines through in Liên's sensitive and thoughtful soul as she perceives the life around her. Moreover, the lyrical beauty is found in the smooth rhythm and musicality of the writing: 'The evening, the calm evening. The distant croaking of frogs on the fields carried by the gentle wind,' adding further to the work's lyrical depth.

The scene of the market at twilight not only illustrates the beautiful yet sorrowful natural world but also portrays the bleak, impoverished lives of the people here. Beyond the depiction of the market, one can also sense the author's deep love for nature and a profound humanitarian concern for the lives and dreams of these people. His distinctive artistic description and the lyrical quality of the writing contribute greatly to the success of the piece.