Helen Hoang stuns in The Heart Principle, a complex romance that explores self-discovery and mental health with unflinching honesty in one woman’s journey to find herself amid the pressure of unexpected fame and familial expectation.
When Anna Sun stumbles into the spotlight as a classical violinist, she is determined to maintain an upward trajectory following the success of a viral video. Raised on the idea of tough love, Anna, the youngest daughter of two Chinese immigrants, is submissive, her lifestyle a product of expectation placed upon her – to succeed, to be independent, to fit in. Taught to chase perfection, Anna tries – and fails – to perform following an impromptu tour and record deal. Torn between the desire to please everyone around her and the incessant need to achieve perfection, Anna struggles, her intense anxiety apparent from the start as she practices a piece composed for her by the infamous Max Richter.
Written from an intimate, first-person perspective, Hoang undeniably writes from experience in Anna, detailing her anxiety in the struggling violinist’s fumbling repetition of a song known by heart, not to mention her single-minded focus. Intent on succeeding no matter the cost, Anna finds herself at a standstill, playing until a series of alarms signal necessities: meals, appointments, transitions.
This is the last time I’m starting over.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I mean it every time. But then, every time, something happens – I make a mistake, I know I can do better, I hear, in my head, what people will say.
– excerpt from Helen Hoang’s The Heart Principle
Pair her incessant need to be perfect with underlying anxiety about what is right or appropriate in social settings and Anna is easily the most relatable of Hoang’s narrators. While I have felt seen in each and every one of Hoang’s novels to the point of questioning neurodivergence, Anna is unflinchingly raw, her diagnosis something that clicks into place, creating personal boundaries without defining her character. From her anxiety about proper protocol when it comes to knocking on her therapist’s door for a scheduled appointment, to repetition to achieve perfection, Hoang nails the pressure of anxiety while simultaneously defining the phenomenon of social masking.
Raised with the idea of perfection, Anna anticipates every action and reaction, schooling her response appropriately to please others, unable to say no or give in. Interactions are charged with tension, her personality fading in the wake of amicability. She puts on a mask of passive formality to please everyone: her therapist, her parents, her older sister Priscilla, and her long-time boyfriend, Julian, unable to say no, even when he suggests – or, rather, demands – an open relationship.
Family is not safe. Not for me. Tough love is brutally honest and hurts you to help you. Tough love cuts you when you’re already bruised and berates you when you don’t heal faster.
– excerpt from Helen Hoang’s The Heart Principle
Julian is familiar, a thing treated with cool comfort rather than affection, and while hurt – and confused – by his request, she has no choice. She accepts, and uses the opportunity to be herself, to stop masking in the only safe environment afforded to her: a stranger, someone with no preconceived notions or expectations.
Hoang explores the idea of expectation in duality, showing off a different side of Quan Diep as well. Underneath his joyful, fun-loving, flirtatious exterior, Quan is a mystery, his life changed by a diagnosis that has altered his cool confidence and self-esteem. He’s still a determined go-getter with an active, thrill-seeking lifestyle, but he feels less, his body altered after a successful battle with cancer.
Unsure how to approach a relationship – or if he even wants to – Quan is encouraged by Michael (The Kiss Quotient) to pursue a hook up to regain confidence, Hoang deftly navigating the dating app scene through Quan’s eyes, his observations, and resulting messages with Anna coming across naturally, full of charm and humor. Nothing about their relationship is conventional, however. Not only do Anna and Quan fail to accomplish a true one-night stand, but they awaken something in each other, coaxing out personality and confidence in nerd talk, nights shared apart eating take-out and watching nature documentaries.
From documentaries on octopi to strolls through the park and home cooked meals, Anna and Quan trend toward romance softly, their relationship building, sweet and sensual, navigating one another’s insecurities with grace. Compassion unites them, both drawn toward one another’s quirks while respecting boundaries. While there’s undeniable sexual chemistry between the duo, each have deep-rooted insecurities surrounding intimacy – physical and mental – that become steppingstones toward trust rather than roadblocks. Consent and care go hand in hand, pushing Anna and Quan to move forward comfortably, plans for a one-night stand cracking under their growing feelings for one another, born of their ability to be themselves in the presence of each other.
People are – they’re so confusing. Sometimes, if I think about things long enough and hard enough, I can understand them. But other times, no matter how hard I try, it’s impossible.
– excerpt from Helen Hoang’s The Heart Principle
“Just because something isn’t perfect doesn’t mean we need to throw it away,” becomes a bittersweet motto of Anna and Quan’s relationship, a reminder that not every romance is perfect. Life isn’t perfect and Hoang does an excellent job outlining the reality that is complex, complicated emotions and their impact on a relationship, causing turmoil when life gets in the way. Anxiety, depression, and insecurity can wreak havoc on the mind, seeping into the cracks and causing disruption, especially when paired with unexpected tragedy.
As Anna starts to branch out, understanding of herself falters in the wake of rejection from those closest to her, Priscilla condemning the diagnosis that has made so much make sense, even as the struggling violinist rejects comfort in the wake of her father’s debilitating stroke. With no voice to stand on, Anna perseveres, pushing past panic attacks and suicidal ideation to be what is expected of her. The process breaks her, wherein Hoang describes caregiver fatigue with heart-wrenching accuracy. Pair the difficulty of familial expectation with Anna’s inability to say no and a dark storm brews, unrelenting in its eventual downpour as the world comes crashing down around Anna and Quan, scattering their thoughts and pushing them past personal limits.
Although a good portion of the novel is dedicated to Anna’s personal struggles – the fetishization of perfection paired with the inability to say no affect Quan as well, toppling his self-esteem when Anna refuses to stand up for him, unable to break free of what is expected of her. In the wake of inadvertent rejection, Quan turns toward adrenaline and risk, pushing his body past the limit to prove that he can. He runs – from Anna, from himself, from the opportunities in front of him – in an effort to find his own worth, broken not just by Anna, but by his own lack of confidence in the wake of looming demotion. While Quan is capable of saying no, he, like Anna, struggles to put himself first, sending the duo on individual courses of destruction, emotionally devastating in nature, that, while heart-breaking, provide catharsis and hope. “No one should need a diagnosis in order to be compassionate to themselves,” after all.
Raw, unflinching and brutally honest, Helen Hoang devastates in The Heart Principle. Unabashedly exploring mental illness, fatigue and inadequacy, Hoang sheds light on internal struggles while laying bare personal truths in Anna, who is inspired by her own life. Emotionally captivating, The Heart Principle is a wonder, a sensual exploration of self that is unafraid to confront the complexities of life. Perfectly imperfect, Hoang’s latest is a romance through and through, a testament to the unexpected nature of life. With intimate attention to detail, The Heart Principle is unabashedly complex, yet soothing – a hopeful balm to the weary soul. In the end, a happy ending doesn’t always mean marriage, or children; sometimes, all that matters is finding yourself.
Leave a Reply