I wish I could remember where I stumbled upon this—it has very strong NYT Book List vibes or maybe even a bit of that “Mythili trying to be pretentious” energy. Regardless, I found it to be an averagely enjoyable read. As a (South) Asian woman who has navigated dating and relationship spaces filled with various races, including white men, I was naturally drawn to the premise. There’s something especially intriguing about exploring these dynamics, particularly when I recall my own experience at a college with a house system where one of the houses was humorously dubbed “Yellow Fever House.” (womp this has gotten confessional very quickly)
I genuinely appreciate when authors take wild swings and create wacky scenarios to explore emotional issues that resonate universally. Min dives headfirst into the complexities of fetishization, identity, and the intricacies of relationships, which is commendable. The ambition is evident, and you can feel the effort to tackle difficult subjects with a unique lens.
However, at times, I felt the wackiness leaned a bit too far, tipping the balance from thought-provoking to chaotic. I learned after finishing that this was an unfinished novel at the time of the author’s death and was completed by her daughter, which perhaps explains why it felt choppy in parts. Some sections read like they were missing context or transition, making it a bit jarring to follow at times.
Ultimately, this book its merits and moments of brilliance, it left me with a mixed bag of feelings. I appreciated the boldness of its themes and the rawness of its exploration, but the execution felt somewhat uneven.