There is something to be said for a book when you finish a chapter and turn the page and realize only then that you just finished the final chapter in the book. Upon turning that final page of Crazy Rich Asians, I exclaimed out loud at that moment. I’m still debating whether I feel good or bad about that, but the up side is that it still has me contemplating the book.
Crazy Rich Asians (which is an interestingly different title than Crazy-Rich Asians, even if either of them fits) is a light, fun read that delivers a glimpse into a world most of us will never know. It’s easy to read and entertains, but its many different characters’ stories felt a bit strung together for no other reason than to share more stories of the magnitude of the wealth on display. As a novel, that light entertaining factor, though, at least kept me in; the book takes a bit too long for my preference to get to the climax, and the build up was too blatantly peppered throughout an otherwise rather flat story.
Still, it did entertain. And it did offer a look at a world I do not know. (That said, I delighted that I did know things like mangosteens, rambutans, and durian fruit. I must nurture my love of travel even more.) But really, that’s all I expected from this book. And it delivered those things nicely.