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A couple of months ago, I read Yellowface by R.H. Kuang. While I enjoyed it for all the juicy drama (and gave it four stars), part of my critique was that the characters felt two-dimensional, making the book seem less about people and more about the issues on which the author wanted to opine. So I picked up Warona Jay’s debut, The Grand Scheme of Things, which has a similar theme – a white creative using the work of a person of color to achieve success – expecting similar fare.

Instead, I got an engrossing story with complex characters that explores how racism, sexism, and creative gatekeeping impact the humans who live within these systems. The premise of the book is that a young, black, queer, immigrant woman living in London named Relebogile Naledi Mpho Moruakgomo a/k/a “Eddie” has written a brilliant play and can’t find representation. She meets a wealthy white man named Hugo Lawrence Smith at a coffee shop, and they strike up a friendship based on a shared love of theater. Eddie decides to ask Smith if he’ll submit her work to the theater company that has just rejected her, to test her theory that they are discriminating against her.

The play is acquired, and in the beginning, Eddie is thrilled. She’ll finally get to see her play realized and have the confirmation of how good she is. Hugo is a fairly decent, if not nauseatingly privileged man. He tries to do right by Eddie, but his limitations in this regard are plenty. Things start to unravel once Hugo foolishly starts an affair with the play’s director – another woman of color – and Eddie’s lies begin to catch up to her.

Unlike the cartoonishly horrible people in Yellowface, the characters in The Grand Scheme of Things are far more nuanced. Each has virtues and flaws, and each has to battle with themselves over doing the right thing vs. pursuing their agenda. Nothing about this is tidy. It’s written in parts, alternating between Eddie’s and Hugo’s points of view. Jay did a great job of “becoming” each narrator, immersing the reader in each character’s thoughts, feelings, and conflicts. The other style choice I love is that Jay has written the dual narrative as Eddie and Hugo speaking to one another. This adds an incredible layer of intimacy I wasn’t expecting and enjoyed very much.

I loved this book. Eddie was a compelling main character, and I related to her desire to have her work recognized and receive affirmation of its value. I liked Hugo, too, even though he was an idiot. Mainly because it was fun to watch a white man who – ostensibly wanted to do the right thing – get tripped up on all the ways his privilege keeps him from having to deal with the realities Eddie lives with and by.

Overall, this is one of my favorite books I’ve read so far in 2025. Get on it!

Sister Snake is a fresh, fast-paced novel that is, ironically, rooted in one of China’s Four Great Folktales called The Legend of the White Snake. This reimagining of a centuries-old myth by author Amanda Lee Koe shows that, regardless of when it was conceived, a good story is a good story. By bringing this beloved, antiquated legend to a modern setting and applying a queer + feminist lens, we get the benefit of a timeless tale, rich and meaningful, along with a modern allegory about confronting conformity, breaking with tradition, and taking risks to break with the status quo. Underneath it all is an emotionally challenging statement on the value of relationships and the importance of sisterhood.

The story opens with two snake spirits – one white, and one green – embodied as human beings living in Singapore and New York, respectively. We discover that these two women met as snake spirits in ancient China and pledged sisterhood after the white snake was attacked and the green snake came to her rescue. They eventually decide to live out their immortality as humans, Su and Emerald.

In their human form, they are drastically different people. Su is a perfect, polished wife of a Singaporean politician. She is unfathomably wealthy and has taken on a traditional wifely role to a man who is actively suppressing trans rights in the education system. He cares for Su, but is limited by his own sense of what’s acceptable, including traditional gender roles. Emerald, on the other hand, is a free-spirit working in New York as a sugar baby, constantly broke, outspoken, and unapologetically queer.

When Su reads a news article about a green snake attacking a man in New York, she hops on the first flight to find Emerald and take her back to Singapore. Lee Koe captures the dynamic of their relationship beautifully – the tension of their profound differences at war with their centuries-old loyalty to one another.

Much of the action takes place in Singapore, a place known for its social conservatism and strict laws. Emerald chafes against the stifling culture, preferring to hang out with her brother-in-law’s security detail rather than move about in Su’s high society world. Eventually, the conflict between the sisters’ different interests and goals becomes too much. Their tenuous humanness begins to unravel, and both women devolve into violence, reclaiming their animal selves when they are threatened.

I loved this Sister Snake. It moved quickly and kept my attention. The yin/yang motif of the sisters’ opposing personalities and motivations creates a great low-level tension throughout the novel. The glamour of Singapore and New York’s grittiness are both captured beautifully. Perhaps not unsurprisingly, the green snake – the one who challenges tradition, practices self-love, and enjoys being alive in either form – feels like the hero of this ancient story’s retelling.