BOOKSThis fall, Hollywood
goes literary.In Find Me (October 29),
author André Aciman
projects the characters
from 2007’s Call Me By Your
Name into the future, first
with Elio’s father, followed
by the lovestruck pianist
himself, and then Oliver, the
visiting scholar. The sequel
is just as maddeningly
seductive as the original,
whose film adaptation
won a 2018 Oscar for Best
Adapted Screenplay.When Hulu debuted Shrill
last spring, author Lindy
West—who penned the
book that inspired the
series and cocreated its
adaptation—gained legions
of new fans clamoring for
more. They’ll get their wish
this month with West’s
The Witches Are Coming
(November 5), a collection
of cutting yet accessible
essays on Hollywood,
culture, and cult fandom.Eleven years after writing
her best-selling memoir,
Julie Andrews returns to
the format in Home Work:
A Memoir of My Hollywood
Years (out now), in which
she shares memories from
the sets of The Sound of
Music and Mary Poppins
while also chronicling her life
off-camera, where a search
for familial stability was
tested by distance and loved
ones’ drug dependencies.In Little Weirds
(November 5), comedian
Jenny Slate grants
readers a ride into the
inner workings of her
deeply imaginative mind.
In 48 chapters—some
expansive, others
mere fragments—Slate
leapfrogs from subject
to subject, confronting
both the fantastical (New
England ghosts) and the
immediate (airport
food). —BRIANNA KOVANfriendship with a woman I hate simply because she has a lemon tree. I picked up a used
infant bathtub from somebody’s lawn (I still don’t know who this person is, and if he or
she made meth in that tub or what). But I paid off the mortgage on our home!
Another instrumental Asian value is bluntness. It used to embarrass me when my
parents voiced things that most people kept to themselves, but now I’m so grateful for it.
When my mom and I took a trip to Vietnam shortly after my father passed, we met some
friends whom I hadn’t seen in forever for lunch. I was so happy to be reunited in this
beautiful country where we had all first met that I almost cried. When my mom greeted
my friend Vinh, she said, “Wow, Vinh, you look so prosperous.” We all knew that she
meant, “You got real fat.” But she said it with such a matter-of-fact, unapologetic attitude
that it didn’t even offend him. All our friends laughed because there was something so
familiar and affectionate in her honesty. People always tell me that they think stand-up
comedy—and dealing with criticism—must be so hard. Well, it’s nothing compared to
being roasted by those who love you most and know you best your whole life.
hen the movie Crazy Rich Asians premiered, a very talented Asian American
actress in her late forties admitted to me that she refused to watch the film and
would probably never see it, simply because she was jealous that she wasn’t in
it. As she looked down at her shoes, she confessed, “I just feel so left out.” The lack of
opportunities for Asian Americans in Hollywood had conditioned her to feel insecure
and envious. For her, and many Asian American actresses of her generation, the ugly but
truthful answer to my least favorite question was: Don’t miss the one spot every 10 years.
I’ll never forget that conversation because it made me realize how timing and my up-
bringing shaped how I see myself and the world around me. My house growing up was
filled with Chinese stone carvings, screens, and rugs. Every year, my family attended the
San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival. I developed my first crushes
on Asian American boys in the same Chinatown alleyway youth center where my dad
hung out as a kid. I traded mixtapes with kids who were also raised to take their shoes off
when entering a home, kids who didn’t smell like Kraft Singles. My actress friend who
didn’t get cast in Crazy Rich Asians grew up on the East Coast, isolated from people who
looked like her, which made her instinctively competitive when, all of a sudden, she was
surrounded by Asian American women because they were also auditioning for the role
of the wet-haired ghost from The Ring or Angry Waitress With Fake-Ass Accent No. 2.
Here’s my advice to young Asian American women who want to make it in Hollywood
(or anywhere, really): Let go of seeing yourself as nothing more than an Asian American
woman. Don’t just drink boba, go outlet shopping, and talk exclusively to other Asian
Americans. Expose yourself to how other people in America live, and you’ll discover
the universal struggles that connect us (like how we all sleep in hotel rooms and pretend
they’re not covered in the cum of a thousand lonely men). If you hang out with the same
people, you will only be able to make those people laugh.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s also important to make friends with other Asian Americans
in entertainment. When I moved to Los Angeles, the comedian Bobby Lee picked me up
from my apartment at Crenshaw and Pico and drove me to a Korean restaurant called
Soot Bull Jeep that smelled like charcoal and beef. When we sat down, he told me, “I’m
older than you, so of course I’m going to pay for every-
thing. Get whatever you want.” This familial connection
with other Asian Americans in entertainment—how they
take care of me and demand other people respect me—has
given me my community. What I’m saying is you need
both—your community and what lies outside it.
My last piece of advice would be to focus not on the
result but on the process and the journey. Again, Asian
people often seek out predictable outcomes. But to suc-
ceed in a creative profession, you really need to love it.
And when I say that, I mean really love it. In fact, you’ve
gotta love it long time.
Adapted from the book Dear Girls: Intimate Tales, Untold Secrets &
Advice for Living Your Best Life, by Ali Wong, to be published on October
15, 2019, by Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random
House LLC. Copyright © 2019 by Ali Wong.W
IN DEAR GIRLS, ALI WONG
OFFERS HILARIOUS, HEARTFELT
LIFE ADVICE TO HER
DAUGHTERS (AND ALL OF US).
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