It’s honestly wild that this is a debut novel. Yulin Kuang crafted something so confident, so emotionally layered, that I would give it six stars if I could. I adore Helen and Grant. Helen especially felt like someone I knew on a soul level—her internal monologue, her quiet melancholy, the way her humor blooms once she feels safe. She’s complex in a way that feels deeply human.

I’ll never fully understand the older-sister experience, being the youngest myself, but the nuances of Asian family dynamics—especially the muted emotional expression and the complicated ways intimacy is shown—felt painfully familiar. This book captures how growing up in that environment shapes you, stunts you, and makes adulthood a maze you weren’t exactly equipped for. Helen’s reactions never frustrated me because her history made everything make sense. Yulin wrote her with such clarity and empathy that nothing felt exaggerated or out of place.

And Grant—my heart. His story is just as heavy. Wrong place, wrong time, and yet the care with which he tried to navigate the aftermath was devastatingly tender. The way both Helen and Grant carry their trauma, justify their behaviors, and slowly unravel their own damage was heartbreaking but beautifully done. Their conversations, the tension, the yearning, the intimacy—none of it felt gratuitous. It felt like two broken people finally being understood.

I also loved the choice to make them a writer and a showrunner; the metaphors landed perfectly because of it. Helen’s parents were frustrating, but in a way that felt real. The generational trauma woven into their characterization was thoughtful and honest, and I admire how Yulin approached it.

I hope you pick up this book. There’s so much more to say, but I’ll stop here before I spoil anything.

Song choice: Sweet Nothing by Taylor Swift