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the titular ‘wallflower’, in a series of letters that he writes to a stranger, beginning the
night before he starts his freshman year of high school in 1991. These letters catalogue
parties and Rocky Horror Picture Show productions with his new, older friends. Along
the way, Chbosky intelligently explores stock YA themes such as mental health,
substance abuse and sexuality, whilst simultaneously reminding the reader about how
Charlie’s coming-of-age story is one that I believe anyone can identify with.
There are extreme things happening in Charlie’s life, but these extremities don’t make
the story any less relatable. It’s because Charlie writes letters, hypothetically to the
Perks came out in 1999, so Charlie’s high school years are based in the early
90’s. I wasn’t in high school in the early 90’s, but that doesn’t matter. What makes a
high school authentic hasn’t changed much over the years, and Charlie’s high school
looks a lot like high schools now. The fact that this story is still incredibly relatable,
almost 20 years after it was published, proves that it is one of a kind and worth the
My one criticism is that whilst Chbosky does include a gay character, that gay
character is male. Humour me, dear reader, allow me one tangential rant. Can anyone
think of a single YA book that isn’t explicitly about LGBTQ+ issues, that contains a
lesbian character whose sexuality (like Patrick’s) is part of the narrative without being
integral to the plot? I can’t. Culturally, we seem quite comfortable with the idea of a
slightly effeminate, flamboyant, gay character and I guess I would have liked to see
However this gripe is not as much with Perks as with the YA genre as a whole.
I do not expect every book to have an obligatory lesbian extra, but a sprinkling across
the lot would be refreshing. On the whole, I think that Chbosky’s discussion of sexuality
is excellent and very interesting. For example, Charlie used to kiss boys in the
neighbourhood when he was little and is very aware that this concerned his father.
Similarly, Charlie’s grandfather doesn’t like to hug family members – especially the
boys. The contrast between the older generations’ fear of homosexuality and Charlie’s
was changing in the 1990s. It also has a kind of didactic purpose in showing the reader
However, I also ought to mention that sexual abuse and suicide feature quite
pointing out to parents who are inclined to censorship that this book does contain some
additional (really quite exciting) drugs/sex/swearing content that would make the text
With this in mind though, I cannot recommend The Perks of Being A Wallflower
highly enough. In general, literature allows us to live other people’s lives through their
different place or time with different values. In this way, reading is a remarkable feat
of empathy. But occasionally we find a fictional scenario which in some way matches
our own circumstances so profoundly that there is no need for empathy. When I first
read The Perks of Being A Wallflower, I was Charlie. Although our backgrounds were
in some ways different, I had never, and have never since, read a textual
strength of Chbosky’s writing. He crafts Charlie’s voice in a way that defies context.
Charlie is inside every lonely teenager and every adult remembers him fondly. The
Perks of Being a Wallflower is a gift, and to Stephan Chbosky I will always be grateful.
CRAZY RICH ASIANS
BY: KEVIN KWAN
BOOK REVIEW
expensive sundae that’s garnished with gold leaf. Like plunking a cherry atop such an
extravagant dessert, the delirious sugar high that is “Crazy Rich Asians” ends with
fireworks exploding along the roof of Singapore’s Marina Bay Sands hotel — one of
the world’s most expensive buildings. Surprisingly enough, it’s the first touch that
genuinely feels over-the-top in a movie that expertly manages to balance the opulence
heroine, Rachel Chu, a middle-class economics professor who discovers that her
Singapore-born boyfriend is not just handsome but worth more than the GDP of most
countries.
The Young family of Crazy Rich Asians is, for lack of a better word, quite
wealthy. They’re well-off. One might say they have oodles of money. There’s no
ignoring the obvious here—the Youngs are absurdly rich, to the point where merely
being close to them is exciting enough to serve as the premise of a major summer
novel. Though Crazy Rich Asians is rightly being lauded for its groundbreaking nature,
it’s also a charming throwback to the kind of story Americans doesn’t tell much
anymore: the high-society comedy, rife with family drama, acidic one-liners, and
professor at NYU who has a nice boyfriend named Nick Young. Casually at dinner,
Nick mentions that his friend is getting married back home in Singapore and that
Rachel should come with him and finally meet his family. The request seems innocent
enough—but then off in the distance, a lady in a stunning houndstooth shawl snaps a
picture of the couple and texts it to her friends. Suddenly, the photo spread as the
entirety of Singapore’s upper crust tries to figure out who this mystery woman in Nick
That’s because Nick is the scion of the richest and oldest family on the wealthy
island nation, and Rachel is about to walk into a hornet’s nest without realizing it. The
bulk of Crazy Rich Asians’ two-hour running time sees her navigating the myriad egos
and personalities at play in the Young family: the gossiping aunts, Nick’s power-hungry
cousins, the imperious matriarch Eleanor, and the equally imperious (but more
Wu. This isn’t a story about Rachel being tempted by Nick’s riches and getting drawn
into the power plays that might come with trying to secure them. Rachel is just in town
to meet the folks. She’s secure in her own identity and in the strength of her
relationship with Nick (who’s somewhat bland but very lovable all the same); it’s
The sometimes hyperactive dialogues lays out the book’s stakes with the help
of Goh Peik Lin, Rachel’s friend from college who belongs to a much gaudier “new
money” Singaporean family. The wealth of the Youngs, Peik Lin explains, is rooted in
Singapore’s postcolonial history. For the Youngs, the idea of the family heir marrying
an American simply won’t do, no matter how charming or accomplished Rachel is. As
Eleanor later explains, Americans are cursed with wanting to pursue their own
happiness; to the Youngs, that value ranks a distant second to family tradition.
Yeoh is perfectly cast as Rachel’s foil; she’s a commandingly cool movie star
who can show just the right hint of sublimated emotion when necessary. The book’s
first scenario is a prologue set in London where a stuffy hotel concierge tries to deny
the Young family service, after which Eleanor quickly, and cleanly, exacts her
revenge—just so the viewer knows what a hard case she is. She’s an adversary
deserving of the greatest respect, and her steeliness prompts Rachel to try harder to