Crazy Rich Asians burst into my consciousness this summer like a firework. I’d never heard of the novels, but the movie had left my friends and social media timelines positively gleeful. First, it was a rom com, a genre in need of a revival and refresher. Second, its primarily Asian cast made it a big step forward for Hollywood, where Asian and Asian American actors are usually relegated to stereotypical, un-sexy, un-romantic roles.
And lastly, most importantly: it was fun, at least as far as I heard. (I was drowning in wedding planning when it came out in theaters, so I missed it then, but I’m planning to rent it on streaming ASAP.)
The movie version of Crazy Rich Asians was opulent, sweet, sexy, fun, fashionable, and full of mouthwatering food. It was a hit at the box office and critically. It was a sensation.
So when I saw the novel that started it all–Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan–I snapped it up at my library as fast as I could. I clutched it in my grip on the way to the checkout counter like someone was going to snatch it from me, and as I walked home, I had a giddy, dizzy feeling like I’d just accomplished a covert operation.
(I’m kind of dramatic when it comes to books, you see.)
In truth, Crazy Rich Asians came out back in 2013, so I doubt anyone was going to mug me for it. But this series has been crazy popular since its release, and after reading the first book, it’s not hard to see why: they’re bitchy, gossipy, silly, escapist, ridiculous, and high on the hog, but they’re also whip-smart about politics, family, love, loss, and the ever-shifting role Asians play in a world where white people have traditionally reigned supreme–but don’t any longer.
So far I’ve read Crazy Rich Asians and the second novel in the trilogy, China Rich Girlfriend. I reviewed Crazy Rich Asians a few months ago, but the reason I’m throwing China Rich Girlfriend out to a discussion post instead of trying to articulate my feelings in a review is that…I had a lot of feelings.
The whole trilogy is clearly satire, but where the plot of Crazy Rich Asians was at least a little bit plausible in the real world, China Rich Girlfriend ups the ante to ridiculous heights. There are hushed-up murders, poisonings, last-minute trips to Paris ateliers, helicopters crashing weddings…you get the picture.
The truth is that I loved the first and second books in the trilogy, but if you think of my positive feelings as matter, I had a lot of squicky feelings that quelched those adoring feelings like anti-matter. The experience of reading them is fantastic, but I walked away from the last page with a whole tangle of ambivalence and nothingness.
For every great zinger the books get off, there are bizarre moral equivalencies and mean jokes that make me recoil. For every genuinely sweet scene, there are scenes that I think are supposed to be sweet, but instead come off intensely creepy.
For example, I still haven’t fallen in love with Rachel and Nick, the couple at the center of the series, because they are simultaneously too perfect…and also terrible? There are nods to the fact that their obscene wealth (and the obscene wealth of those around them) is morally appalling when you consider how many people are starving and struggling around the world. But then they’ll turn around and say that at least rich people spend their money on quality things, whereas the poor and middle class buy stuff from sweatshops which just…perpetuates poverty? I’m genuinely uncertain whether this is a position Kwan agrees with or is skewering.
I don’t even know. It’s a lot. I think it would be a lot even if you’re not a pinko like I am. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be rooting for, and what’s supposed to be making fun of these ridiculous characters, and what’s supposed to be sympathetic to them.
I haven’t read Rich People Problems yet, and I really want to, but I’m bracing myself for an even bigger tangle of feelings about it. I’m dying to know how the Kitty Pong and Astrid Leong subplots conclude, since I don’t really give a damn about Rachel and Nick. I’m looking forward to losing myself in this world of insane opulence, but also not looking forward to the conflicted feelings that this particular brand of escapism stirs up in me.
How many novels have I read in my life about “crazy rich” English, French, Italian, American (etc. etc.) people in my life? So many. And frankly, the fact that those books treat it as tacky to talk about wealth when the entire story and lives of the characters are defined by wealth is maybe even weirder than the way Crazy Rich Asians throws a party and rolls around in it.
So I’m sensitive to the fact that my knee-jerk reactions may not be fair ones.
Am I a snob? A prude? Do I need to just shut up and love the books, which are incredibly funny and well-written, instead of overthinking it? I don’t know, and that’s why we need to talk about Crazy Rich Asians, whether you’ve seen the movie, read the books, both, or neither.
What are your thoughts? How crazy is too crazy? Did you love them, hate them, or have mixed feelings like I did? Let’s try to avoid big spoilers, but if you simply must talk about the twists (so many twists!), go ahead and put SPOILERS in all caps or something first.
Have at it in the comments!
I checked out these novels at my local library and was in no way sponsored or compensated for this post.