The Madwoman and the Footsteps is a 32-chapter novel by Vietnamese author Nguyễn Đông A.
This is a bold, uncompromising, and deeply unconventional piece of fiction—especially in its choice of subject matter. The Mad Woman and Her Footsteps dares to step straight into the murky gray zones of modern Vietnamese society—dirty media, the idolization of artists, legal systems riddled with loopholes, digital-era cultism, and the distorted shapes that religion and spirituality have taken on today.
At its core, the author reconstructs the life of a so-called "madwoman"—a defiant, wild-spirited woman who dares to take on the entire system. But around her swirl a whole storm of oppositions: Phương Nga vs. the entertainment industry, Nga vs. the government, Nga vs. herself, Nga vs. the monk Minh Hành. Through these dynamic contrasts, the novel forces us to expand how we think about good and evil, right and wrong, especially in a world where absolute standards have all but vanished.
What began as a public scandal becomes, in the hands of the writer, something far deeper: a kind of existential philosophy. The book doesn't rely on shock value or dramatic courtroom sparring to make its point. Its true power lies in how it pulls readers into the very heart of one woman's inner torment and struggle. Her madness isn't just some rebellion against the rules—it's a kind of personal truth, an unwillingness to bow to the old order or accept the roles handed down to her.
Beneath all the social conflict, there's another, quieter thread running through this novel: the search for self. It's a journey of raw exposure, deep wounds, and—finally—salvation through surrender. That final act of letting go is symbolized in a single, quiet moment: one step forward, the first step of spiritual retreat, serene and unshakable. No one can stop it.
This is also a feminist novel—but it doesn't lecture. Its protagonist, Phương Nga, doesn't arrive in the story as some classic hero, nor does she exist as a tragic victim. She's complicated. She's fiery, ambitious, a little unhinged—strange, even—but honest. Wounded. Capable of deep love, of making mistakes, and of owning those mistakes. She stands for the woman who dares to tear off the mask society glued to her face—who chooses to live rough, real, full of hunger and heat, and ultimately, chooses to awaken.
Here is the full English adaptation of your second excerpt from the Introduction to "Mụ điên và những bước chân", translated into natural, fluent, and evocative American literary–conversational prose. The translation remains faithful to every image, idea, and structure in the original Vietnamese while reflecting a mature, soulful American voice.
The novel is structured in three parts—like the full arc of a human life.
Part I: Blood and Blossoms — begins with memory and instinct, rebellion and fame. It's blood surging. It's flowers blooming—right in the middle of violence.
Part II: The Courtroom Bell — this is where everything reaches its boiling point. It's raw, explosive, and relentless. Here, we witness the crushing force of public opinion and legal machinery grinding down a human soul.
Part III: Refuge of the Soul — quieter now. More meditative, more philosophical. It drifts toward something softer, deeper—infused with the stillness of Zen, and a deep humanism.
All in all, The Madwoman and the Footsteps is a novel rich in experimentation, bold in its themes, profound in thought, and striking in both its artistry and use of language.
It's a work that, in every sense, walks the path of defiance and transformation. It dares to trespass into forbidden zones. It dares to unsettle hollow moral structures. And from there, it redraws what it means to believe, to know the truth, and to hold onto your humanity.
All in all, The Madwoman and the Footsteps is a novel rich in experimentation, bold in its themes, profound in thought, and striking in both its artistry and use of language.
It's a work that, in every sense, walks the path of defiance and transformation. It dares to trespass into forbidden zones. It dares to unsettle hollow moral structures. And from there, it redraws what it means to believe, to know the truth, and to hold onto your humanity.