The Boy You Always Wanted by Michelle Quach
After reading read Liz’s review of The Boy You Always Wanted, I practically ran to add it to my digital TBR list. A YA book about the Chinese-Vietnamese diaspora? Sign. Me. Up. I’m really glad that I rushed to pick a copy of this up and to read it, because I absolutely loved it.


Both part of the Chinese-Vietnamese community, Francine and Ollie have been friends (well, family friends) since childhood but they’ve predictably drifted now they’re in high school. Of course, it being a YA, Francine even once had a crush on Ollie. Having recently discovered her a gùng – grandfather – has cancer and, in her lifelong quest to be the perfect, filial daughter and granddaughter, Francine hatches up The Plan, to fulfil one of a gùng’s wishes – to have a male heir. She asks Ollie to join in on The Plan, that is, offering him up as an honorary male heir. Thus begins a story, though predictable, of enemies to friends to lovers, with filial piety, friendships, family secrets and culture interwoven.
This novel is so ridiculously sweet, heartwarming, nostalgic and real. Non-East Asian readers of this book may quiz the reality and importance to the elderly of having a male heir, but it is sadly true. I really enjoyed how Quach seamlessly weaves in the topic of preferential sexes in East Asian culture, especially as it’s something I myself have often wondered and stood firm on. We see Francine, a strong-willed quick-minded and determined teenager, simply ‘accept’ these outdated values, simply to make her grandad happy. Is she forgetting to consider herself in the midst of family illness and filial piety? (The answer in the East Asian diaspora is almost always yes.)
I think there’s a lot at work here, especially for a YA novel. And that’s great. We explore teenage crushes and a first love in the East Asian diasporic community (unique in itself, I’ve always felt), we meet hilarious and well-developed best friend characters that deepen LGBTQIA+ representation and the much-essential best friend pep talks. There’s also a lot of introversion for both of the main characters: it’s told in a dual-perspective narrative, so we get a lot of thought from each. I particularly enjoyed Ollie’s character development, although found Francine to jump oddly between ‘extremely young’ and ‘extremely grown-up’. Perhaps that was intentional: as a one-time East Asian oldest-daughter teenager, I have definitely been there.
For me, the beauty of this novel came not from the main storyline, but from everything else. Quach adds in lovely little Cantonese language chaos, Qingming Festival preparations (some of my favourite IRL, since I have lost three grandparents and have taken part in these ancestral rituals all my life) and some slice-of-life bites that are gloriously relatable. And, as with many East Asian lit novels, I really like how this book includes hànyǔ pīnyīn as the default, not the afterthought.
A book I wish I’d had read far sooner in my life (and that nieces, nephews and future children will be nudged to try!).