Why this book

For eighty years, every Vietnamese child has met this cricket in these pages. Therefore hear his story not as a mere bug's tale, but as a nation's first gentle lesson in conscience, told for the very young.

The Story

Cricket's tale begins the day his mother, as custom demanded, sent each of her sons out to live alone. Dế Mèn dug himself a fine deep burrow, ate well, and grew glossy and strong — and, sadly, very pleased with himself.

So strong did he become that he swaggered through the grass, kicking dew from the blades and picking quarrels with anyone weaker. He frightened the old spiders and the little water-bugs, mistaking their fear for respect. He thought himself the finest creature alive.

Next door lived Dế Choắt, a sickly, narrow cricket too weak to dig properly, his burrow shallow as a puddle. One day Choắt humbly begged Dế Mèn to help tunnel an escape-door between their homes, in case of danger.

But Dế Mèn only sneered. He mocked Choắt's frailty, refused the small kindness, and swaggered away. Therefore Choắt was left with nowhere to flee — a helplessness that would, very soon, cost him everything he had.

To show off, Dế Mèn spied a great fishing bird, the Cốc, dozing by the water. He crept out and sang a rude, taunting song to provoke her, then darted safely down his own deep burrow, giggling at his daring.

But the furious Cốc could not reach Dế Mèn. Casting about for the culprit, she spotted poor Choắt trembling at his shallow door — and drove her iron beak down, again and again, upon the wrong, defenceless cricket.

Chastened but restless, Dế Mèn left home to see the wide world and, perhaps, to become better. His travels carried him far, until one dusk he wandered too near a human village, careless, drawn by the warm glow of its lanterns across the fields.

There two village boys seized him in their cupped hands. Delighted, they caged him in a matchbox and set him to fight other captured crickets for sport, betting and cheering as the tired insects battered one another.

Dế Mèn won his fights, for he was strong — but each victory sickened him. He saw his own old cruelty mirrored in the boys' laughter. Therefore he refused to become their plaything, and waited, patient, for any chance to be free.

That chance came when the careless boys left the cage-lid loose. Dế Mèn burst out and leapt into the grass, never once looking back to seek revenge — for he had learned that cruelty repaid with cruelty only breeds more. He simply left that hard world behind.

Wandering on, he met Dế Trũi, a lean water-cricket, and the two clashed at once in a fierce, evenly-matched duel. But neither could win, and their anger softened to laughter and then to love. Therefore they knelt and swore to be brothers for life.

Together the brothers journeyed through marsh and meadow. Everywhere they went they found the small creatures divided — frightened, suspicious, each tribe walled off from the next, quick to fight over a leaf or a puddle, none trusting a stranger.

So the two set out as wandering messengers of peace. In some places they succeeded: a colony of gentle grasshopper-folk and a clan of water-striders heard them gladly and pledged friendship. But other creatures only laughed, or drove them off, unwilling to lower their guard.

One journey took them across a wide, still pond aboard a floating leaf. But their raft brushed the reeds where a huge frog sat hunting, and the startled frog lunged, its great mouth snapping. Therefore the brothers dove into the water and swam, hearts pounding, for the far shore.

The current tore the two apart and swept Dế Mèn against a muddy bank, alone and cold. But he did not despair; he searched the shoreline for days, calling his brother's name, until a kindly water-beetle guided him toward the land of the mantises, where travellers were said to gather.

Now, the mantis country was ruled by a young mantis-lord, Bọ Ngựa — proud and quick to anger, much as Dế Mèn himself had once been. When Dế Mèn arrived preaching brotherhood, the mantis-lord mocked the dream and challenged the stranger to fight.

The two duelled before the whole mantis court, blade-arms against spiked legs. It was fierce, but Dế Mèn was seasoned now by a hundred hardships, and therefore he threw the young lord and pinned him fast, holding the sharp forelimbs harmless against the earth.

But instead of shaming his beaten foe, Dế Mèn let him rise unhurt and offered a foreleg in friendship. This mercy astonished the proud mantis-lord. Therefore he bowed, embraced the very idea he had mocked, and pledged his whole people to the brotherhood of peace.

To his great joy, Dế Mèn found Dế Trũi already sheltering among the mantises, washed there by the same flood. The brothers embraced, whole again. Therefore, strengthened and no longer alone, they travelled onward together to carry their message still further east.

But a hard, hungry season fell upon the land. Food grew scarce, the roads turned dangerous, and one grey dawn Dế Trũi did not return from foraging. Frightened tribes whispered he had been seized by the great Elephant-grasshoppers who guarded the eastern reeds.

Now Dế Mèn was not friendless. Remember the gentle grasshopper-folk, the water-striders, and the mantis-lord's warriors who had pledged him friendship. Therefore he called upon all these old allies, and together they formed a marching band to search for the lost brother.

But when the searchers reached the eastern reeds, they found no dungeon at all. The great Elephant-grasshoppers were a shy, misjudged people who had only sheltered the starving Trũi as a guest. Therefore enemies became friends, and the reunited brothers led them, too, into the growing brotherhood.

At last their long road reached its harvest. On a broad green field the many small nations they had touched — crickets, grasshoppers, mantises, striders, and more — gathered together in one great assembly, the largest ever seen, to hear the brothers speak.

There the tribes made a solemn pledge: to meet strangers with an open hand, to settle quarrels without blood, to live henceforth as kin. Not every creature was won — some stayed proud and afraid — but the great tide had turned, and the dream was truly begun.

When the work was done, the two brothers faced their parting. Dế Trũi longed for his own home-waters, and Dế Mèn for the burrow of his youth. Therefore they embraced and vowed that, though their roads now forked, their brotherhood would last as long as they lived.

So Dế Mèn came home at last, older and gentle. First he went to a small mound of earth he had never forgotten and stood again at Dế Choắt's grave — no longer in shame, but in quiet promise. Then he sat down to write his whole story true.

What it means

When the bird flew off, Dế Mèn crept out to find Choắt broken and dying. Yet Choắt bore no hatred. 'At your age,' he whispered, 'do not be so reckless and proud, or one day it will bring ruin upon your own head.' Then he was gone.

Therefore Dế Mèn buried his neighbor with his own legs, heaping a small mound of earth, and stood long beside it in shame. This was his first true lesson: a strong body without a kind heart is only a danger. His childhood ended at that grave.

Therefore, one moonlit night, Dế Mèn and Dế Trũi shaped a great dream. If all the world's small creatures could be persuaded to see one another as kin, the endless little wars would cease. They vowed to travel far and preach one idea: that every species might live as brothers.

And so a diary begun in pride ends in wisdom. This tale asks the young a plain question: will you use your strength to frighten the weak, or to shelter them? It answers that true greatness is not in conquering others, but in befriending them.

🎧 Read-along audio is being prepared — text-only for now.