By Bianca Obradovic
Move over 2000s love stories—we’re in the twenty-first century now. If you’re still expecting love to conquer all, the wealthy man to learn his lesson and everyone to live happily ever after, then I suggest you reconsider. Jess Ho’s People With Money isn’t interested in protecting your romantic fantasies. If you’re unwilling to question your understanding of money, culture and modern relationships, perhaps you’re not ready for this book.
Set within Melbourne’s queer and artistic circles, Ho’s satirical novel follows Amy Chan, a non-binary Asian Australian artist in their twenties, and Edward Smith, a wealthy white man cushioned by generational privilege. Their unlikely relationship exposes the political and economic realities of contemporary Australian love, particularly the uncomfortable divide between Generation X and Generation Z. Ho, whose work spans food, drink and cultural criticism, explores a world where art, money and identity cannot be separated—especially between two people attempting to build a life together.
Initially, I thought People With Money would be an easy read—something I could finish within three days. I expected something relatable and light: a contemporary romance reminiscent of my own time in the creative industries, becoming a published artist and living between paycheques. Instead, I found myself intellectually surprised and psychologically confronted. Just ten chapters in I found myself putting the book down, but this wasn’t because the language was difficult. Ho had somehow turned ordinary conversations into nuanced critiques of both my own and many others’ shortcomings within the arts. People With Money isn’t afraid to point out the creative industry’s many flaws, hypocrisies and pitfalls. Like that one small cake sitting in a display of that corner-cut Melbourne café, dipped in triple-dark chocolate, it packs far more of a punch than it lets on—but how terribly addictive that richness is.
What I found particularly jarring was how frequently I questioned why Amy and Edward continued fighting for their relationship. Their disagreements become almost ridiculous, mirroring arguments many of us have had with our own partners. It’s a fit of madness that they each choose to hide, fearing the judgement of others. Amy refuses to settle for anything less than equality, which some may dismiss as another political agenda. However, these are conversations that desperately need to be heard in modern relationships. Ho articulates these frustrations with an intellectual precision that is equally impressive as it is confronting.
Much of this tension stems from the disparate financial and cultural worlds that Amy and Edward inhabit. Edward’s wealth affords him the luxury of ignorance, particularly when confronted with Amy’s Asian heritage, sexuality and cultural expectations. Yet, I found myself agreeing with him on occasion. I found myself recognising elements of his upbringing through my own understanding of generational wealth. While my background isn’t entirely white, there are inherited privileges I understand, alongside the consequences and responsibilities such wealth brings.
The expectations placed upon younger generations resonated with my own understanding of my forebears, who are both immigrant Caucasian and Indigenous nationalities. Ho approaches these complexities without reducing cultural identity to some neat little box. The book also puts a spotlight on the anxieties of those attempting to become more socially conscious. Showing a particular intertest in this pursuit, Ho questions whether these efforts are sufficiently inclusive or still fall short. While recognising that a willingness to learn always matters, People With Money also acknowledges that these efforts don’t always excuse the harm already caused.
Yet, I occasionally felt Ho sacrificed these nuanced distinctions in favour of caricature and boosting the book’s broader arguments. For instance, there is a clear need to highlight the racist and transphobic behaviour of Edward and his family—particularly the way their privilege interferes with the relationship. Equally, Amy’s fierce independence is crucial to understanding their approach to conflict, but the novel often neglects to show how these ideologies meaningfully clash. While there is a distinct, highbrow understanding of artistic value, cultural authority and who can afford to participate in creative spaces, I wish there were more opportunities for friction between these opposing worldviews. Examining these issues in greater depth would encourage readers to reflect on both the contemporary arts scene and the issues facing it. However, Ho’s use of tropes does indicate a high level of clarity and intentionality, especially pertaining to the themes and ideas they want to define their work.
Jess Ho does a commendable job of portraying conflict mediation, emphasising a preference for “giving space” instead of forcing an immediate resolution. It’s a refreshing, and at times, tension-curdling take on the genre. However, the couple’s recovery from these disagreements occasionally lacks either the confrontation or forgiveness necessary to be convincing. Both characters are remarkably strong in their convictions, yet their ideological positions sometimes feel more developed than their external emotional responses. The ensuing cognitive dissonance may cause readers to become agitated, as neither character manages to resolve anything. When the actual substance of an argument is never addressed, conservations begin to feel like broader political debates instead of real plot points.
However, it goes without saying that these cultural and class differences are among the novel’s strongest qualities. This is evident in the exploration of Amy’s experiences, be it their Chinese history, protesting for civil rights, police brutality or life in Hong Kong post-handover. Edward, who is entirely informed by an ignorant, tourist-colonialist perspective, is the primary source of contrast to Amy’s lived experience. His worldview, while my myopic and self–centred, manages to show how factors like migration, language and family continue to shape modern identities.
Ultimately, People With Money is a psychologically demanding, occasionally frustrating and intellectually ambitious experience. There are points that could have benefited from tighter editing and more convincing emotional responses, particularly the sections where Ho wants the book’s darker themes to shine through. Yet, there is something compelling about a novel that makes you put it down, reconsider your own experiences and return with an entirely different perspective.
If you’re prepared to confront the political realities of modern romance and perhaps recognise something unpleasant about yourself along the way, read this damn book. Otherwise, perhaps you’re not ready for People With Money.
