Yellowface, by Rebecca F. Kuang
Athena Liu is publishing's biggest deal. She's written three bestselling novels, won multiple literary awards and landed a deal with Netflix - and she's only in her twenties. Plus, she's staggeringly beautiful and fortuitously ethnically diverse - she's a publishing house's dream cover girl. June Hayward is nobody. She's plain, poor, and her first novel fizzled into obscurity. Literary stardom seems an unattainable pipe dream - until Athena Liu dies in a freak accident. June steals Athena's unpublished manuscript, releases it in her own name, and reaps the rewards. But stolen glory cannot last forever - how far will June go to hang onto it?
'Yellowface' is a razor-sharp critique of the publishing industry. It's witty, satirical, darkly funny, and so contemporary that it feels real. Every author, editor, book title and Twitter handle featured in these pages is so believable that at times I almost forgot I was reading a work of fiction. This industry, Kuang reminds us, is real, and its issues deserve to be spoken about. The toxic tale of Athena and June exposes many shortcomings of the publishing world, but the three on which the whole novel hangs are racism, plagiarism and competition.
Firstly, race. 'Yellowface' is named in allusion to the practice of yellowface - similar to blackface, the term refers to white actors making up their faces to appear East Asian. Far from lending a performance authenticity, this practice is disingenuous to the point of serious offence: it's not only cultural appropriation but theft of an opportunity for East Asian actors. It's white privilege on the big screen. Kuang's novel plays with that term in a literary sense. Athena's manuscript, The Last Front, is about the untold stories of the Chinese labour corps in the Second World War. When June publishes it, she uses a pen name comprised of her full first name and middle name: Juniper Song. An innocuous origin, for sure - but it sounds Chinese.
The question Kuang is implicitly asking is whether creating an authorial persona that readers will assume to be Chinese is an enactment of yellowface. Is June pretending to be someone she's not? Is she appropriating Chinese culture? The name makes the book sell better, that can't be denied. But when June is revealed to be a white woman, it opens the work up to intense scrutiny. It must be full of racist assumptions! Inaccuracies! Stereotypes! Readers pick it apart, jumping on every inconsistency and bandying about accusations of racism. The irony, of course, is that The Last Front was actually written by Athena, a Chinese woman - and June's false name is the very least of her facades. Here Kuang sets up a fascinating exploration of reverse racism and perceived authenticity. Through this, she's also asking the wider question of who can tell certain stories. Is a white woman allowed to write a book about Chinese labourers? Should she be?
June argues passionately that yes, she should be able to write whatever story she likes; the scrutiny of her work on racial grounds is abhorrent. That's the line she sells to the public - but as we know, June's fear of scrutiny doesn't spring from moral outrage; it comes from the paranoia of being found out. Because sooner or later, someone will pick up on the plagiarism. Plagiarism is Kuang's second big theme, and she explores this idea of literary theft quite capaciously. She broadens out beyond June's direct robbery of The Last Front, and considers also the ownership of stories. Is it fair to turn someone else's suffering into a story to sell? Would it be stealing to listen to someone's honest outpouring and then put it in your book? At what point does inspiration become imitation become masquerading become theft?
Kuang also tears the idea of 'authenticity' down from its pedestal by showing us the power of writers to control their own narratives. There's always another angle to the story the media is telling about you; there's always another spin you can put on it. Bad publicity still counts as visibility, and an attack is merely an invitation to counter-attack. Even if June's secret gets out, she can refute it in writing and it's guaranteed to sell. Who cares about the truth when you've got readers lapping it up?
The third big theme is competition, and it's arguably the root of every problem in the whole book. The industry is ruthless, and June is jealous. Together they're a recipe for disaster. Kuang's story is a sharp commentary on the difficulty of getting successful as a writer, especially in the age of social media, which brings faceless critics, mob mentality and cancel culture into play. It's a fight of bitter one-up-man-ship to claw your way to the top, and evidently some would do whatever it takes!
'Yellowface' is a thriller of deception and guilt, with a deliciously toxic protagonist in a melting-pot setting. It's suspenseful, uncomfortable, hilarious, and exceedingly well-written. There's naturally an underlying irony when you remember that this book is itself a product of the publishing industry - and that Kuang has evidently achieved the dream of literary success that June so struggles for. But this metatextual parallel is all part of the fun, and ultimately proves Kuang exactly right: even when we know the narrator is lying to us, we keep on reading. We love the scandal, we relish every terrible decision, we cackle when it all comes tumbling down. A good story sells! I loved it.
You can buy 'Yellowface' from Waterstones by following this link (I'll receive a small commission if you do):
Yellowface, Rebecca F. Kuang - Waterstones
