Never Fall Down: A Novel
4.5/5
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About this ebook
This National Book Award nominee from two-time finalist Patricia McCormick is the unforgettable story of Arn Chorn-Pond, who defied the odds to survive the Cambodian genocide of 1975-1979 and the labor camps of the Khmer Rouge.
Based on the true story of Cambodian advocate Arn Chorn-Pond, and authentically told from his point of view as a young boy, this is an achingly raw and powerful historical novel about a child of war who becomes a man of peace. It includes an author's note and acknowledgments from Arn Chorn-Pond himself.
When soldiers arrive in his hometown, Arn is just a normal little boy. But after the soldiers march the entire population into the countryside, his life is changed forever.
Arn is separated from his family and assigned to a labor camp: working in the rice paddies under a blazing sun, he sees the other children dying before his eyes. One day, the soldiers ask if any of the kids can play an instrument. Arn's never played a note in his life, but he volunteers.
This decision will save his life, but it will pull him into the very center of what we know today as the Killing Fields. And just as the country is about to be liberated, Arn is handed a gun and forced to become a soldier.
Supports the Common Core State Standards.
Patricia McCormick
Patricia McCormick is a former journalist and a two-time National Book Award finalist whose books include Cut, Sold, Never Fall Down, The Plot to Kill Hitler, the young readers edition of I Am Malala, and the award-winning picture book Sergeant Reckless: The True Story of the Little Horse Who Became a Hero. Patricia lives in New York. Visit her online at pattymccormick.com.
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Reviews for Never Fall Down
153 ratings15 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Very powerful and sad especially since it is based on a true story.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5So good!! I learned so much and loved that it was based on a true story.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This is an incredibly powerful and emotional book, and difficult to read. Not because of the way it is written, but because of the horrific circumstances, brutality and torture that the Cambodian people had to face under the Khmer Rouge. Based on true events, eleven year old, Arn Chorn is taken from his home, separated from his family and has to witness, and some times be involved in, tragedies that no child should have to endure. Yet, despite everything Arn manages to keep his compassion, humanity and survival skills alive. Narrated in Arn's own distinctive voice, broken English, grammatical mistakes and all (a brilliant move by the author), this is an inspirational book and one that will remain with the reader long after the last page has been read.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This powerful book is based on the true story of a young Cambodian boy, Arn Chorn-Pond, whose life changed in a flash as the reign of the Khmer Rouge overtook his family and life. Arn survived the genocide, but in doing so, witnessed and committed some heinous acts against humanity. This is the story of how an innocent child can become a child soldier... and then make the journey back to bringing peace to one's homeland. (In that way, it reminded me of "A Long Way Gone" by Ishmael Beah.) The way this book is written captures the broken and accented English of Arn, which pulls the reader in to his harsh reality. After reading this book, I was inspired to learn more about the real Arn by watching a documentary featuring him and his efforts to revive musical heritage of Cambodia that was nearly destroyed by the Khmer Rouge.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5In Never Fall Down, Patricia McCormick tells the real life story of Arn Chorn-Pond, a child survivor of the Khmer Rouge genocide that took place in Cambodia during the 1970’s. Taking his words and turning them into a work of fiction is an amazing feat, and the reader is awarded with a informative and harrowing account of one young boy’s struggle to stay alive during years of horror and uncertainty. One of the first things Arn learned was to never fall down as when one did, the chances that that person would be able or would be allowed to get back up were very slim.Even though this book is classed as YA, it was very difficult to read. Every page is laced with the violence and cruelty that that was inflicted upon the population of this country, from the very young to the very old. Arn was separated from his family, housed in a prison camp, and forced to work in the rice fields for hours at a time. Food was scarce and many children starved. Arn was able to survive by learning to play a musical instrument and become part of a band that had to play loudly to cover up the sounds up people being murdered. Eventually even being forced to participate in the killing, Arn survived by closing his mind and simply not thinking about what he was having to do. When Viet Nam invaded he was conscripted as a soldier and finally was able to escape to a refugee camp in Thailand and was adopted into an American family. All this and he was barely fifteen when he was rescued. Arn Chorn-Pond has dedicated his life to humanitarian causes, especially to young people. He founded Children of War, an organization that aids children in war-torn countries. Unfortunately there is too much of this type of work to do in today’s world. Patricia McCormick thoroughly researched her story and often was able to trace people that Arn has no idea actually survived to get first hand collaboration on his experiences. This inspiring and powerful story is helped by the author’s use of the exact syntax of Arn’s speaking voice. Never Fall Down is a moving and haunting tale that paints a vivid picture of one young boy’s ability to survive and rise above the inhumanity he’s been forced to endure.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A pretty good book from the genre of developing world refugee books, but has many of the elements you see in all books from this genre (not a bad thing, just predictable). Story felt really authentic and the flashback to 70s and 80s Cambodia was a needed reflection.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book, written in broken English, was very hard to get through. It is based on the real-life experiences of Arn Chorn-Pond and is very depressing to read. It does give a good depiction of what war can and will do to the development of children. The choice in writing in broken English helps to set the reader apart from the actual events, but it still allows for developing compassion for Arn and the other children.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A vivid, harrowing, and profoundly moving story based on the real-life experience of Arn Charn, whose family is forced to relocate to the infamous "Killing Fields" when the Khmer Rouge comes to power in Cambodia. A superbly written, memorable novel.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Arn's story is a hard one to read, but enormously powerful and an important one to know. What's interesting is that I felt like McCormick's choice to have the voice use broken English worked to remove me from the story somewhat. I can't decide if that's a good thing or not - did I need the distance in order to be able to read the story at all? Or would I have been more involved and even more moved if the language was fluent? I did think it was an excellent choice to extend Arn's story into his time in the US in order to make it clear his ordeal was far from over.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5McCormick did an amazing job bringing Arn's voice to the page... I wonder how much this book is influenced by the talks he gives, as well as all the interviews they had together. I'd love to hear him speak. Arn survived the genocide in Cambodia and lived as a prisoner in the farming camps of the Khmer Rouge from when he was 11 till he was 15 (I think that's right) - in the last while he was forced to be a soldier and fight on the side of his captors against the Vietnamese. Most of this book is a nauseating, haunting account of his ordeals as he was forced to do anything he could to survive, and saw other kids and adults doing the same. His worries through the last half of becoming like the enemy are a powerful reflection of the damage war can do - especially to kids who are still trying to just grow up.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5When this novel opens, Arn is a young man in Cambodia in 1975. The Khmer Rouge are just beginning to take over the Asian country, and we see the impact the new regime has on the country through Arn's eyes and thoughts. Soldiers march everyone from Arn's village into the countryside, separating families, killing randomly, and forcing those who survive to work gruelling hours with almost nothing to eat or drink. Arn is a survivor, and quickly learns that to fall down at while working the rice fields in these camps means death. Patricia McCormick writes in a broken English, with no plurals and missing articles, much like Arn himself speaks. Arn is a very real person, as are most of the people in the novel. McCormick interviewed many of the people for the book, and travelled with Arn Chorn Pond to Cambodia where many of the events occurred. The book is classified as fiction, but most of it is very real. It is based on Arn's story, with some of the events open to McCormick's artistic license. Bottom line: this is a fantastic and heart-wrenching book about a topic most teens have likely heard little about. Arn Chorn Pond has been speaking about the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia through Amnesty International and other groups for nearly thirty years, and through McCormick will reach a wider audience of teens who can envision the horrible drama of what he went through at roughly the same age he went through it. Like Sold, Never Fall Down is another powerful book that uncovers the horrors of a world unknown to many in America.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Over and over I tell myself one thing: never fall down.Based on the true story of Arn Chorn-Pond, who was 11 years old when the Khmer Rouge violently overthrew the Cambodian government. Arn's entire town is marched off to a set of labor camps, where families are separated, and all are forced to work in the rice fields, many until they die of exhaustion, malnutrition or untreated disease. Arn sees children his own age dying, and quickly learns to become quiet and unnoticeable... it is the only way to avoid cruelty from the Khmer Rouge guards. When the soldiers ask if there are any musicians, Arn steps out and says he can -- though he has never played an instrument. This lie gets him out of the fields and into a hut where he knows if he doesn't learn to play the revolutionary songs perfectly, he will be taken into the mango grove and shot. While he is learning to play, he is also secretly stealing food for other children to help them survive. Before the Khmer Rouge is overthrown, he will be forced to also pick up a gun and become a child soldier. Told in Arn's voice and dialect, this is a powerful and unforgettable tale of what a culture of fear and constant threat of violence will do to the spirit of a people. Throughout this story, even at the darkest time, Arn manages to keep hope alive, and it is that which leads him to an adult life advocating for peace. Strong 7th grade readers and up.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Patricia McCormick tackles the tragic stories of young people everywhere and tells their stories honestly. Other books tell us of cutting, child prostitution, dealing with a drug addicted family member, and now, a survivor of the horrors of the Killing Fields. Told in a voice that sounds like an English learner, we follow the story of Arn, an orphan raised by his aunt, who is rounded up like everyone else, and forced to work in the rice fields from one in the morning until seven at night and then forced to listen to speeches before being allowed any rest. Only the least amount of rice diluted by a lot of water, racked by diarrhea, malaria, malnutrition, and the constant specter of black clad soldiers of the Khmer Rouge who killed people for the slightest of reasons, Arn learns early on to keep his mouth shut and "never fall down". The descriptions of the deaths of his fellow workers and the horrors he experienced are gut wrenching.Arnchorn-Pond survived and dedicated his life to other children caught in the middle of conflicts and also the conservation of the music of his native country. An amazing fictionalization of a true life story. The violence aimed at children may be disturbing to younger children and it might be advisable to share the reading with kids younger than fifteen.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Arn's story (based on Arn Chorn-Pond's life story) of enduring the Cambodia Killing Fields, the Khmer Rouge, and the invasion of the Vietnamese as a young teen. McCormick uses a syntax for her narrator which is clearly someone who has English as a second language. A heart-wrenching read where the violence and brutality overwhelmed me as the reader at times. I had to take the book slow and in small doses. A really powerful, well constructed story that made me think about war, survival, healing, and the nature of humanity. For the older segment of the population at the school I serve.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Based on a true story, a young boy tells how at the age of 11 his family and village were destroyed by the Khmer Rouge and of the terrible things he had to do in order to survive.
Book preview
Never Fall Down - Patricia McCormick
Never Fall
Down
A NOVEL
PATRICIA MCCORMICK
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
About the Authors
Advance Praise for NEVER FALL DOWN
Also by Patricia McCormick
Copyright
About the Publisher
When Arn Chorn-Pond was eleven, the Khmer Rouge, a radical Communist regime, came to power in Cambodia, herding the entire population to work camps in the countryside. Families were separated, and everyone, including children, was forced to work long, grueling hours digging ditches and growing rice.
Tens of thousands of people died from starvation, overwork, and sickness. Many more were tortured, forced to swear they were traitors, then killed and buried in mass graves that have come to be called the Killing Fields.
Nearly two million people died—one quarter of the population. It is the worst genocide ever inflicted by a country on its own people.
CHAPTER ONE
BATTAMBANG, CAMBODIA
APRIL 1975
AT NIGHT IN OUR TOWN, IT’S MUSIC EVERYWHERE. RICH HOUSE. Poor house. Doesn’t matter. Everyone has music. Radio. Record player. Eight-track cassette. Even the guys who pedal the rickshaw cycle, they tie a tiny radio to the handle-bar and sing for the passenger. In my town, music is like air, always there.
All the men, all the ladies stroll the park to catch the newest song. Cambodian love song. French love song. American rock ’n’ roll. Like the Beatle. Like Elvis. Like Chubby Checker. Ladies in sarong walk so soft like floating on the street. Men in trouser, hair slick back, smoking Lucky Strike. Old men playing card. Old lady selling mangoes, selling noodle, selling wristwatch. Kid flying kite, eating ice cream. The whole town is out at night.
My little brother and me, we stand in front of the movie palace and sing for them. We do the twist also. Let’s Twist Again, Like We Did Last Summer.
Two skinny kid, no shoe, torn pants, they like it if we sing for them; they even give us a few coin.
Tonight I study the crowd, find a lady—fat one, fat like milk fruit—and slowly, slowly, very sneaky, my brother and I, we hide behind her skirt, hold on so light she doesn’t know, and pretend she’s our mom. Kid with parent can see the movie for free. Kid like us, we pretend.
Inside the movie palace we watch America, black and white, with airplane, shiny car, and women in skirt so short they show the knee. War movie, lotta shooting, and a little bit kissing. For the shooting, my brother and me, we clap; for the kissing, we hide our face in our shirt.
After the show, it’s the best part—when we do the movie ourselves. Outside in the park, we fly the plane, shoot the gun, be the hero. Just like the real soldier fighting right now in the jungle outside of our town. We shoot probably a hundred bullet, die a hundred time. Then we hear a whistle, and the sky far away flash white. The palm tree shiver, and the ground shake. And all of a sudden the war is real.
I grab my little brother hand and run and run till we get to a little pond near our house. We jump in, water up to our nose, and hide there. Where nothing bad can find us.
Next day, the music is back and the war is gone. Sometime the war come close, but never into our city. Most of the fighting, the radio says, it’s far away, in the jungle. Government soldiers, they fight for the prince. The bad guys, I don’t know what they fighting for, but I do know the prince is a great man. A great man, with important friend like the widow of the young American president. And beautiful daughter I saw in the newspaper when she and the prince go to China. So pretty, I cut the picture for my wall.
I worry about those two in China. The Chinese eat bad-smelling food. Where they gonna eat? How they gonna get home with all this fighting?
But one soldier at the market, high-ranking guy, he brag about the government fighters. He’s a big, bull-neck man, this guy who says he know the prince. He says the war only gonna last one week.
He says the soldiers in the jungle, they not real soldiers. Only peasant in black pajama. Not even with real boot. Sandal made from old tire. We gonna win, he says. We gonna squish them like cockroach.
So I try not to worry about the prince and princess and worry instead about how I can make a little money.
Sometime I sell ice cream. To sell, you have to have a bell. A small bell, it sound when you walk so people hear you coming. But poor kid like me, I buy a cheap one. Old bell for buffalo. Big. Not good sound. Like old gong around my neck.
At first nobody buy. Nobody buy my ice cream because I look like poor kid. So I eat all the ice cream before it melt. Make myself almost sick. I learn a lesson then: sell fast before the ice cream melt. Sell fast. Also, go far. All over town. I walk so much I know this town like my pocket.
A lot of time kid throw stone at me. Rich kid. Kid who go to real school, with desk and a hoop for basketball. Not like temple school for poor kid like me, where you have to do chore, serve the monk, then maybe get a little teaching. Rich kid, they make a face at me, throw stones. Sometime I run. Sometime I make a face at them, too. Then run.
But soon I learn another lesson: you want to sell, you sneak out from the temple and sell when those kid in school.
My number one big sister, Chantou, she find out I’m not at the temple; she get mad. Very mad. Arn,
she say to me, you should be doing chore for the monk, learning the chant, doing schoolwork. Selling ice cream, that’s low class.
I don’t tell her the monk sometime are very mean. I don’t tell her they make us work all the time and that temple is not like real school. I don’t tell her they get angry, they hit and say, You stupid boy.
Also, I don’t tell her we are low class. She still think like the old days, when our family owned the opera. My dad the star, my mom also the star. In our house, big house on the main road, before the show it was all singer and musician staying with us, getting ready. Forty people, maybe. A show every Saturday. Packed. So crowded some people have to sit on the grass. Our family a little bit rich, a little bit famous.
Then my father has a motorcycle accident. Hit his head on the road. At the hospital he yell like it’s still the opera, like still onstage. Then he die and my mom, she can’t run the opera anymore. She try. But no leading man, no opera. So she has to go far away, to Phnom Penh, to sing and make a little money, and we live with our aunt. Me and my brother and four sister. My aunt, she have no kid, so she love us like her own, but not enough money. That why I go stay at the temple sometime, why I also try to make money on my own.
I don’t say any of this to my sister. I let her say that it’s low class what I’m doing.
I want money, but also I want to have fun. Maybe it’s low class. But it’s okay for me.
Sometime, I steal coconuts. Sometime, the lady next door, she let me pick the flower to sell. And sometime I play a game for money. You can say it’s gambling. But maybe you can say it’s sport, also. Doesn’t matter.
I give the head monk a little money so I can sneak out of the temple to play. You can say maybe I bribe him. Or you can say maybe I give him a little gift.
This game, it’s easy for me. You draw a circle on the ground and put money there. You throw your shoe. You hit the money, you take it. I lose sometime, but most the time I win. I play not only with kid, I get so good, many time I play with the men, the cyclo driver. I tease them. I say, You so fat, you can’t see over your belly, man,
and they get mad and they throw the shoe like crazy and I win.
No other little kid has money like me. This mean I can buy things for my family. Good food. Grill banana. Coconut cake. Mung bean pudding. Always I give the best thing to Munny, my little brother. Palm sugar, very sweet, wrap in palm tree leaf. But one time when I give a treat to my aunt and my sister, they cry. I don’t know what’s going on with them. I say, Why you cry?
They ask where I got this money. A little boy like you, how you get so much money?
They keep pinching me, pinching me, and say maybe I steal it. I tell them the truth, that I win it. But they don’t believe.
They go see the head monk. They take me, too, pinching my ear all down the street. Arn got a lot of money,
they say. Where he got it from?
The monk shake his head like this is very sad news for him. He tell them the truth, about the shoe game. And he says, Arn try to give me some money too, but I don’t take it.
I rub my ear and think: next time, no money for that guy.
In our town is a tree that make hard little seed ball. Buffalo toe tree. You shake it, the seed, they fall on the sidewalk. You cut down a reed, you stick the seed inside, you make a blow gun.
My little brother, he says tonight he’s gonna shoot our sister in the butt for telling our aunt we sneak in the movie. This sister, Sophea, she’s in the middle of us. Younger than me. Older than him. Our favorite for shooting at. Also she swear and says curse word when we hit her, and our aunt get mad at her instead of us.
I hug this tree, shake it hard and hear, far off, sound like thunder. I look at the cloud and wait for rain to fall like curtain, for the umbrella to pop up like mushroom. For the hot season to end and the rainy time to start. But no rain is coming. Only truck.
All kinda truck. Mostly jeep and tank, but also Coca-Cola truck and bus and garbage truck. All full of soldiers. Young guys. Dark skin and tough, all in black. Black pajama, black cap. Only with red-and-white scarf tied around the head.
Most are kid, teenagers. Some of them only a little bit older than me. Kid with sandal made from car tire. Kid with gun. And lotta bullet across the chest. And pistol. And grenade. Some soldier are even girl. Girl with short hair, angry face.
Now people coming out of all the house. Cheering, waving white flag. Handkerchief, bedsheet maybe, scarf, everything white. They run up to the truck and try to touch the soldier.
Next to me, a guy in blue jean, hair and sideburn like Elvis, he wave at the truck. I ask him what’s going on.
He says the war is over.
Up and down the street people cheer and yell and wave the flag. One guy, a cook, he wave a big spoon, also his apron. The guy who cut the hair, he shake a white towel. One old lady, no teeth, pink gum like a baby, she try to kiss one soldier.
Horn honking. Little kid, they run around in circles. Dog, even, they chase their tail. So I run around, losing myself, too. I don’t know who are these guy with gun and truck, but I don’t care. No more war. Maybe now the princess can come home.
All quiet now. The parade is finish, and all the people inside making food. On the radio it says, Give the soldiers whatever you can. Show that you support them.
Everyone inside now, except me. Near our house is a school, a rich-kid school, the one with the basketball game. Sometime I lean against the wall, look in the window, and try to learn like the other kid. The letter. The number. Sometime the teacher, he says scram, and I act like I don’t care, like maybe I’m just passing by. But today is no school, so I kick the soccer ball in the yard.
At the corner, five black-pajama soldier stand, smoking cigarette, on a lookout. They’re young, these guys, so I say, Wanna play?
They take the ball like they don’t know what to do. They kick like they never saw this game before, and I think maybe I can make a little money off them. But also they play with a frown face, no fun, always keeping the gun on the shoulder, so I think maybe not such a good idea to gamble with these guys after all.
One soldier, the biggest one, he see a kid come by on a motorcycle, and he yell at this kid to stop. He walk to the road to talk to the kid and I go too.
He tell the kid, Give me a turn on your moto.
You can’t do that. You can’t just ask someone to ride his moto. So the kid says, No, I have to go home.
No warning, the soldier, he hit the kid in the head with the rifle. And the kid, he sag to the ground, like his leg go dead, and then fall in the curb. He twitch, and bubble come from his mouth. Then he stop moving.
I run away, very scared, very fast. I tell my aunt about this, but she doesn’t believe me. She give me an orange and says to go celebrate like everyone else. But I keep that soldier in my mind.
Next day, early in the morning, no temple gong for waking up, no monk chanting. Strange sound. Voice like machine and very loud. Truck full of soldier ride down the street. Shouting