"Putsata Reang's quiet narration of her beautiful, poignant memoir holds both deep compassion and raw pain. Reang's ability to capture both her own and her mother's histories, desires, and dreams--in her voice and her prose--is remarkable." -AudioFile on Ma and MeThis program is read by the author."A nuanced mediation on love, identity, and belonging. This story of survival radiates with resilience and hope." -Publishers Weekly, starred review"This openhearted memoir . . . opens the door to include queer descendants of war survivors into the growing American library of love.” -Sarah Schulman, author of Let the Record ShowWhen Putsata Reang was eleven months old, her family fled war-torn Cambodia, spending twenty-three days on an overcrowded navy vessel before finding sanctuary at an American naval base in the Philippines. Holding what appeared to be a lifeless baby in her arms, Ma resisted the captain's orders to throw her bundle overboard. Instead, on landing, Ma rushed her baby into the arms of American military nurses and doctors, who saved the child's life. “I had hope, just a little, you were still alive,” Ma would tell Put in an oft-repeated story that became family legend.Over the years, Put lived to please Ma and make her proud, hustling to repay her life debt by becoming the consummate good Cambodian daughter, working steadfastly by Ma's side in the berry fields each summer and eventually building a successful career as an award-winning journalist. But Put's adoration and efforts are no match for Ma's expectations. When she comes out to Ma in her twenties, it's just a phase. When she fails to bring home a Khmer boyfriend, it's because she's not trying hard enough. When, at the age of forty, Put tells Ma she is finally getting married-to a woman-it breaks their bond in two.In her startling memoir, Reang explores the long legacy of inherited trauma and the crushing weight of cultural and filial duty. With rare clarity and lyric wisdom, Ma and Me is a stunning, deeply moving memoir about love, debt, and duty.