Book Review: I Did Something Bad by Pyae Moe Thet War

You’re reading a winner when before you’ve even finished the first chapter you’re thinking, When’s the movie coming out? This is like Crazy Rich Asians with a murderous spin. Clarissa Song, freelance journalist’s Khin Haymar’s demanding boss, dangles the assignment of a lifetime to Khin, an opportunity to profile Tyler Tun, Hollywood’s hottest male lead. Tyler’s making a movie in Myanmar. He’s being touted as the next James Bond. Clarissa wants scoops galore, like what is Tyler’s true relationship with May Diamond, his best friend for years? They’ve never made a movie together before: why now? Clarissa wants it all.

“Learn”—she leans forward to emphasize—“everything. By the time this profile comes out, I want you to know Tyler Tun better than his own parents. I want you to know if America’s favorite golden boy flosses every night, and if he does, I want you to know his favorite brand of floss.”

If Khin can deliver the goods, “there may well be a permanent position waiting for her at Vogue Singapore.” Clarissa couldn’t dangle anything that would appeal more. It would be Khin’s first celebrity profile. She’s recently divorced and would love a fresh start in Asia’s most exciting city.

Tyler is super private; when he and Khin eat dinner in a hideaway restaurant and she tries to break down his barriers, he doesn’t give anything away. Something they have in common is that they’re both Myanma people, i.e., citizens of the country formerly known as Burma. Tyler turns the tables on Khin, asking her, “Why did you write a piece about the city’s only underground abortion clinic in a country where abortion is illegal?” Khin mulls over why Tyler’s interested in her daring exposé, but quickly circles back to him.

“Why did you agree to this?” I ask.

 

There’s that stray puppeteer half smile again. “What do you mean?”

 

“This.” I move my head around in a circle. “Me trailing you for two months. You’re notoriously private—”

 

“Oh, am I?”

Khin asks if Bolu, Tyler’s publicist, “bullied” him into agreeing to an in-depth profile and Tyler demurs, just saying that Bolu can be quite persuasive. The ping-pong banter continues until Tyler says, “This one is important to me.” 

“It’s . . . different. Special.”

 

“Special how?”

 

“Come on, Khin, we’re both Myanmar. Don’t make me go through the representation spiel. You’re too astute of a writer to need me to explicitly lay out what’s riding on this movie.”

Tyler demands Khin tell him a secret. “Tell me something that you would rather sell your soul to the devil than have someone find out.” Is Tyler looking for reciprocity, to protect himself from a no-holds-barred profile? 

Filming is underway so there’s not a lot of time to puzzle over Tyler’s motives. They’re on location at Kandawgyi Park in Yangon. Khin’s “not thrilled at the idea of hanging out with the mosquitoes and bugs in the park until midnight,” but she doesn’t want to miss a minute of watching a big movie unfold. Ever the journalist, Khin wants to know why not recreate the scene in Central Park? Tyler says everything’s different “across continents”—the flora, fauna, trees, animals. Khin wonders if anyone will notice if they’re not “a professional botanist and/or ornithologist.” But Tyler says it does matter to him and to everyone making the movie. More than authenticity, he has a deep respect for the nuances of the Myanmar culture.

“We’re actually going to do all of the scenes that require Myanmar extras here, mainly because, unsurprisingly, it’s much easier to find the correct attire and props here than in LA. Turns out American costume departments, as lavish as they can be, don’t exactly stock an array of hta meins and htaik pones.”

It’s a long evening. When Khin has a thirty-minute break, she heads towards the lake. Writing is a solitary occupation and all the hubbub of movie making is getting to her. She reflects, “I already miss being able to hear myself think.” Engulfed in catching up with group chats, Khin is surprised to find that she’s all alone and has no signal. A man walks towards her: he’s “taller and stronger” than her. Khin hopes it’s nothing, but scarily he says he loves rom coms because “they always cast such . . . pretty gals.” He attacks her and she bites and scratches, sick with fear, until she discovers her pen in her pocket. She twists the top and plunges “the newly protruded tip into his ear.”

“You crazy Asian bitch! I’m going to—”

 

When he lunges for me, I kneel. And when I see him wobble forward, hands trying to grasp at air before clutching his chest, I summon the strength of every single barre class I’ve ever gotten up to attend, wrap my arms around his calves, and lift him up and over the rail and toward the lake below like one of those mothers lifting a tractor off of their child.

But he’s stuck, he doesn’t drop over the rail. If he goes overboard, he’s taking her with him. Suddenly Tyler appears. He hits the guy’s fingers with a rock: “There is a thud before there is a splash.” Khin’s attacker is dead in the lake.

Tyler wants to go to the police because it’s self-defense, but Khin is adamant that they can’t. 

“Tyler, we killed a man. A white man. We both know what happens to Brown people who kill white people. Anywhere in the world. Even in this country.”

 

“It was self-defense,” he repeats, although his tone is more strained. I can’t believe what he’s suggesting, just like he can’t believe what I’m suggesting.

How will they protect the others on set from being charged? Was Khin deliberately targeted? Will the cover-up hold, or will the cover-up be worse than the crime? How can Khin keep writing “the exposé she needs for her dream job,” and how will the situation impact the trust that’s developing between her and Tyler. 

What a title—because Khin really did do “something bad,” even if it wasn’t her fault. Set aside some time to finish writer Pyae Moe Thet War’s first novel—you won’t be able to put it down. If I Did Something Bad appears on the silver screen, who should play Tyler and Khin? Terrific debut!