Readers of Kevin Kwan's books might be forgiven for expecting him to make a grand entrance to a lunch in Beverly Hills, perhaps in a Lamborghini, or perhaps in some fancy shades.
Instead, on an unseasonably brisk Tuesday in April, Kwan strode hesitantly into the Crustacean's private dining room, head tilted hesitantly as if climbing over a low roof. He wore tortoiseshell glasses and a blue cardigan, his hair tucked pensively behind his ear. He looked like a photo of David Foster Wallace, minus the bandana.
Kwan quickly moved a vase of white roses from one table to another — “So, can I meet you?” — and hugged “the great Helen Ang,” the Crustacean chef whose garlic noodles make a cameo in his new book, “Lies and Weddings,” out May 21.
To understand Kwan's reputation for excellence, just look at his work. His debut novel, Crazy Rich Asians, published in 2013, has sold more than 5 million copies worldwide and has been translated into more than 40 languages. A Broadway musical is also in the works. The movie version will be the first Hollywood movie to have a majority Asian cast since “The Joy Luck Club.''
Kwan's next three novels deal with similar territory. Wealthy people act decadent and questionable, but they are usually reassuring and always act with dignity. Those were also best sellers. At one point, the Crazy Rich Asians trilogy occupied the top three spots on paperback lists, and Kwan joined an elite group of writers that included Colleen Hoover.
Kwan didn't say a word about these honors over lunch, and he didn't seem to have much in common with his pretentious, funny, superficial characters. By changing the position of the flower, he showed his intention to look into the other person's eyes. His hug was real, not an air kiss. Krustissian has become Kwan's second home since moving from New York to Los Angeles in 2019. As for his car, Kwan didn't want to reveal the make or model, but it's not the kind of car a valet would want to take out for a wild drive.
“I interact with the world a little bit in the book, but I'm not part of it,” Kwan says. “I always feel like an outsider.”
Kwan has a habit of summarising his characters' educational backgrounds, and to some extent their family backgrounds, in brackets after their names. In “Lies and Weddings”, for example, Rufus Leong Gresham (Mount House/Radley/Exeter/Central Saint Martins) is the heartthrob, but his best friend Eden Tong (Greshamsbury Nursery School/Mount House/Down House/Cambridge) secretly has feelings for him, much to the chagrin of his mother, Lady Arabella (Wilcox/Cheltenham/UWC Atlantic/Bard). You get the idea.
Kwan's personal bracketing is similarly thought-provoking. “Far Eastern Kindergarten/Anglo-Chinese Junior School,” he said, taking a sip of his orange-turmeric spritzer. “Clear Lake Junior High School/Clear Lake High School/San Jacinto Junior College/University of Houston”
Kwan's first school was in Singapore and “I grew up in a big house with grounds, staff and everything,” Kwan said.
On weekends, he boycotted Sunday school, preferring to sit with his parents in church (the “ground zero of Singaporean society”) and study social intrigue. Who dissed who? ”He then ended up going to lunch with his aunt Mary Kwan. Mary Kwan wrote in the Singapore Tatler that she was like Auntie Mame, who “didn't tolerate fools”. Their dining partners were traveling salons where artists, architects, businessmen, and royalty gathered.
“I was able to take care of myself,” Kwan said. “I didn't behave like a child. From a really young age, I participated in the gossip, I listened to it, and I fed off of it.”
If those meals were an introductory class in the art of observation, Kwan moved to Clear Lake, Texas, with three weeks' notice to finish his doctorate. His father spent his childhood in Australia and “missed it when he returned to Singapore,” Kwan says. “He was a devoted son and gave his parents three grandchildren. But he always wanted a different life.”
Clear Lake was a NASA base and “the last gasp of idyllic America” around 1985, Kwan says. “We'd hang out with friends until dinnertime. I think that's what my dad really wanted. He also wanted us to be strong and tough.” myself “He'd say, 'Kevin, mow the lawn. Kevin, take out the garbage.' I became a really good lawn mower.”
Kwan's new home was a suburban ranch, a far cry from the sheltered luxury he had left behind: His family lived just a stone's throw from neighbors, his mother taught piano, and his father was one of the original franchisees of the Marble Slab Creamery.
In Texas, Kwan skipped two grades and was the youngest and tiniest kid in his class, earning him the nickname “Doogie” (Hauser's nickname). “I was a weird kid. I was smart and talkative. I could talk about high society,” Kwan says. “I had just finished reading a biography of Margaret Thatcher.”
Some of the kids of engineers and astronauts were creative types who loved to write and draw, but Kwan didn't pursue either with enthusiasm until she enrolled in Victoria Duckworth's freshman writing class at San Jacinto Junior College.
“My mother encouraged my love of writing and reading,” Kwan says. “She gave me Joan Didion's 'The Prayer Book,' and it just opened up my world.”
Although the two lost contact years ago, Duckworth knew of Kwan's success and was elated to hear his name when he called his home in Buffalo. . “Kevin's writing has been so natural and witty since he was a teenager,” Duckworth says.
When Kwan taught her his poetry, she “prepared for the worst,” she recalled, but he turned out to be a gifted stylist with “an inner intellectual life.” “Of the few students I remember, Kevin is one of them,” said Duckworth, who has taught for more than 30 years.
At the University of Houston, Kwan began to take himself seriously as a writer and filmmaker, and also earned a new nickname: “designer poet” because of his use of words like “armanisque” in his poetry.
“I've always enjoyed the comedy of pretense,” he said, “and I was very sensitive to that as a kid because I was in a world where all these high-status people came and went.”
Kwan said he has never returned to Singapore. In 2018, the country's Ministry of Defence announced he had two years of national service and could face a fine or jail time if he returned. As a young man, he dreamed of his homeland. Now, Kwan said, “there are people from my childhood who have become fully formed characters.”
Writing the novel is a way to “remember and revisit” that part of his life, he said.
“Crazy Rich Asians” began as something Kwan planned to self-publish to entertain friends. Along the way, he mentioned he was working on a book about The Oprah Winfrey Show with “Strapless” author Deborah Davis and was writing his own novel, which Davis offered to read.
“I was always asked to read manuscripts, and they were always terrible,” Davis says. But she liked Kwan. “He was polite, classy and impeccable.” So, “I said, 'Of course I'll read it,' but I half-thought I probably wouldn't.”
Davis was cooking Thanksgiving dinner for 25 people when the draft of “Crazy Rich Asians” arrived. “I saw it and I thought, okay, I'll just read five pages,” she said. “I read five pages. I peeled five carrots. I read five more pages. Ten more pages. It was the worst dinner I've ever made, but it was the best book. I couldn't stop reading.”
She encouraged Kwan to send a copy of Crazy Rich Asians to Michael Korda, the veteran biographer, novelist and longtime friend.
Kwan was reluctant: “It's like going to Michelangelo with a lump of coal and saying, 'Here's a little carving, what do you think?'” But Davis “won't give up.” Eventually he complied.
Four days later, he got a call from Korda: He put Kwan in touch with Alexandra Machinist, then an agent at Janklow & Nesbitt, who sold the book to Jenny Jackson at Doubleday.
Kwan said “Crazy Rich Asians'' was an instant hit in Asia. Excerpt from “VOGUE” June 2013 issue. When the book was released, it made it onto the bestseller list. And “Crazy Rich Asians” was a guest who sat by Caviar's side for 41 weeks and never left. Kwan's ascent has begun.
Twelve years and four books later, he admits, “I wish I could have written under a pen name.” In a way, he was joking.
“I'm an introvert,” Kwan explains, “I grew up in a household with a lot of celebrities and saw the pressure they had to endure. I just wasn't interested in that.”
Kwan continued: “It's hard to write in this voice, to write in the voice of these characters. Actors always say, 'It's hard to make comedy.' I feel the same way about writing interesting novels. I can write the saddest story you want. You can even do it while you're sleeping. ”
While working on “Lies and Weddings,” Kwan experienced writer's block for the first time. The pandemic was at a low boiling point. The world was full of uncertainty. “Those years changed me,” he said. “They changed everybody. How could I not? I was facing a new reality of what did I want to write anymore. There was a lot of soul searching.”
Unlike his Crazy Rich Asians trilogy, his new book isn't set in Singapore. The story hops from England to Hawaii to Morocco, and the designer labels, priceless artwork and luxury accommodations make Beverly Hills seem down-to-earth. But beneath the froth there's an undercurrent.
“Kevin writes about his mixed-race heritage. He's writing more about gender than he's written before,” editor Jackson said. “The second layer is social critique and sharp cultural observation.”
Kwan says the change is intentional. “I'm branching out into new territory and I'm inspired by a new generation of Asians who are embracing who they are.”
He continued, “I love seeing the theatricality of it all — art, fashion, food — just like I did when I was a kid. I love to sit back and watch the drama unfold. What happens when families get together? What happens when friends get together? What happens when a new person gets married?”
Now 50, the same age her father was when the family moved to Texas, Kwan still sticks to upper-class characters. He still keeps a folder with each character's costumes, locations, and food. “I'm trying to show people who have problems with money the real side of them. Heartache stays heartache. Sadness stays sad. The effect money has on families. How money can change people. How money becomes a prison is a constant theme in all my books,” says Kwan.
The garlic noodles come from a secret kitchen where Anne protects her family's recipes from prying eyes.
“I hope to create a multifaceted portrait of people and their issues,” Kwan said. “For better or worse, this is what I know.”
