Set in contemporary Vietnam The Girl from Ha Giang is a journey into the complicated culture and history of this ancient country. Marshall McLean, a veteran American journalist, has landed a job at the English-language newspaper in Ha Noi. During an excursion to exotic Ha Long Bay, he meets the captivating Tao, an alluring young Vietnamese woman who seems to know her way around the expatriate community in Ha Noi. McLean soon meets a cast of other characters and becomes embroiled in a tightening web of intrigue and, ultimately, an assassination related to the core conflict in the Middle East - the struggle for justice by the Palestinians against the apparent Apartheid conditions in Israel and the occupied West Bank. The tale provides an authentic look at what Vietnam is like almost 40 years since the end of what the Viets called the "American War." And it lays bare matters that affect not just Vietnam, but much of the world now: the influence of propaganda and censorship on the media, the political control exercised by elites, and corruption in government. The story also reveals the dangers of Western imperialism, colonialism and militarism either directly or through its foreign proxies.

Not since Graham Greene's The Quiet American in the 1950s has there been a novel that more accurately captures the ambience of a distinctive nation in a relatively stable time without the burden of foreign interference and control. It also succinctly tells the truth about Israel/Palestine, which is not often heard but remains critically important to understand amid the obfuscations of Zionist power.

An excerpt:

I figured someone had tossed his Yamaha into the lake or it was just missing. I was a bit irritated by the summons. I hadn't even had a morning shower or coffee at the Maitre Café, but I managed to find a pair of fresh jeans and a clean shirt and got out the door as quickly as I could. The strange fog had cleared out and the rhythm along Hang Giay seemed normal. Ten minutes later I was walking down Dang Dung Street, noted for its rows of shops on both sides of the street marketing discarded mobile phones, and had my first sight that morning of the area around Truc Bach: a few municipal workers, women in blue uniforms, tending flower beds scattered along the west side of the lake, Fivimart farther up the shore open for business as usual, the encircling traffic, a couple of pedal boats in the shape of swans heading from their dockage near the grocery, but over near Nguyen Khac Hieu a crowd of maybe 100 by the lake's edge, a couple of crude barricades on the street and three or four police cars with their blue roof lights twirling about. What's this, I thought, and picked up the pace. Closer, several men were low on the stone embankment, their bamboo fishing poles poking at something. When I reached the scene, pushing my way past some gawking Viets, I saw what they were poking: a body dressed in a white shirt and dark trousers. At that moment, Cain appeared at my side.
"This is bad, Marshall. Really bad."