'The South' by Tash Aw
- Reed
- Aug 6
- 3 min read
Author: Tash Aw
Rating: A-
Vibe: Humid Malaysian gay summer romance with economic collapse, sexual awakening, and the devastating beauty of what's left unsaid
Quick Take: A terrifically written stunning book that captures something authentic about young gay love amid crisis—sparse, complete, and deeply felt.
There's something about reading a beautifully written gay coming-of-age story that doesn't feel like it's performing its gayness for you. Tash Aw's The South does exactly that—it simply is what it is, without announcement or apology, and that authenticity hit me harder than I expected. Set during the 1997 Asian financial crisis, it follows sixteen-year-old Jay as he travels from Kuala Lumpur to his family's inherited farm, where he meets Chuan, the farm manager's nineteen-year-old son. What unfolds is a summer romance that feels lived-in and real in ways that made me forget I was reading fiction.
Aw opens with a flash-forward—the boys together intimately—which could have been a cheap narrative trick but instead signals something more interesting: this isn't a will-they-won't-they story. It's a story about the texture of desire, the weight of family expectations, and what happens when private longing collides with public crisis. Jay's family is grappling with a failing farm, drought, and the economic forces reshaping Malaysia, but for Jay, the real revolution is internal. The way he and Chuan move around each other—the dialogue, the small decisions, the moments of connection—all of it felt completely authentic to me. These aren't characters performing young gayness—they're just young and gay and figuring it out.
The prose itself mirrors this authenticity. Aw writes with a restraint that reminded me of Philippe Besson's Lie with Me—spare, almost spartan at times, but with an emotional weight that builds in the silences. There's real power in what he doesn't say, in the spaces between words where longing lives. Some readers might find it emotionally distant, but I found it gorgeous. Sometimes the most profound feelings resist articulation, and Aw understands that.
What surprised me most was how skillfully Aw weaves the broader economic crisis into Jay's personal awakening. The 1997 Asian financial crisis isn't just backdrop here—it's catalyst. Reading about characters navigating intimacy and identity while everything around them crumbles brought back vivid memories of my own coming out during the 2008 recession. There's something about crisis that strips away pretense, that forces clarity. When the world feels like it's ending, sometimes the only thing that makes sense is reaching for connection. When you're at rock bottom, there's a strange hope that the only way is up. Aw captures that paradox beautifully.
The book ends rather abruptly, and I know it's the first in a planned quartet, but it felt complete to me. The questions left unanswered, the conversations that trail off, the sense that these characters will keep living beyond the final page—that's very much like life. Not everything gets resolved. Not every feeling gets fully expressed. Sometimes the most important things happen in the margins.
The South is a reminder that the best gay fiction doesn't need to announce itself with flourishes or hit every expected beat. It just needs to tell the truth about what it feels like to be gay and trying to figure out who you are when the world won't stay still long enough to let you. Aw has written something quiet and powerful here, and I'll absolutely be following Jay and his family through the remaining three books.
