R.F. Kuang’s “Yellowface” Pushes Boundaries in Publishing

R.F. Kuang’s latest work is provocative. The New York Times called it “both addictive and slightly sickening,” which the author proudly shared on TikTok the week of its release. And Reese Witherspoon just announced it as part of her July book club, saying she “could not put this book down.” At first glance, the cover and title are eye-catching: a bright yellow cover, with an Asian woman’s eyes looking left, as if giving someone a bombastic side eye (some have likened this to “The Great Gatsby” on TikTok, where I obviously spend most of my time). In bright white letters, the title “Yellowface” creates associations with a racist practice that, unfortunately, still exists.

Even the premise is shocking. In chapter one, Kuang introduces the relationship between a young, white author, June, our narrator and anti-hero (cue the Taylor Swift song), and her “frenemy,” the successful Chinese American author Athena. But by the end of that chapter, Athena is dead, robbed of her voice by choking on a pandan pancake. The rest of the book unravels, with June taking Athena’s unpublished manuscript about Chinese laborers in World War I and passing it off as her own under a racially ambiguous name. Even Kuang agrees, it’s a car crash where you can’t look away.

If you’ve read Elaine Hsieh Chou’s “Disorientation”, the premise might seem familiar. The former was loosely based on a 2015 controversy, when white poet Michael Derrick Hudson submitted and published his work under a Chinese pseudonym. Both are works of satire. But where Chou’s work takes place in a more academic setting to provide broader commentary (particularly, coming out of the 2016 U.S. election), Kuang uses satire to target a more specific subject: the publishing industry.

Welcome to the “Goblin Era”

“Yellowface” is a different turn from Kuang’s previous fantasy and dark academia works — only because she doesn’t like doing the same thing twice. Here, she takes on shorter, contemporary, literary fiction and writes from a new perspective. For her, “Yellowface” is simply the introduction to her “goblin era,” a result of quarantine. “There’s always something demonic about [someone’s pandemic novel],” she jokes. “[It’s] completely unhinged.”

Where her other books took months of careful research and planning, “Yellowface” popped into Kuang’s head fully formed in early 2021 (“like Athena springs from Zeus’s skull”), inspired by two things. First was the warped perceptions of social media, coming from a period of isolation. That piece is clear, as much of the book takes place online on Book Twitter — and even in our conversation, the way Kuang drops references to Jorts the cat and Colleen Hoover suggests she spends some time online. 

At the time, too, publishing was having its own reckoning following the murder of George Floyd. Promises came from the top as people discussed racism, representation, and diversity, but it didn’t take long to see that it was all performative. “At the end of the day, publishing just snaps back to caring about the bottom line,” Kuang remembers. In the book’s press kit, she comments on the industry’s ability to “absorb the shockwaves of critique” and turn it into another way to profit.

The Age-old Question of Authenticity

Though “Yellowface” is largely plot driven, it touches on many interconnected topics. Given that the major plot point of the book is June taking Athena’s manuscript and publishing it under the name “Juniper Song,” there’s the age-old question around authenticity. The question lends itself to other points around the fluidity of truth when constructing a narrative (especially as June’s spirals out of control) — and the development of a persona as an author becomes more successful. 

But more specifically, there’s a question of “Who has the right to write about certain topics?,” which Kuang approaches through multiple perspectives. For example, though Athena is a writer of color who has her work stolen, she’s not necessarily in the right either, as much of her work touches on different traumas that she never experienced firsthand. 

While “Yellowface” shares a pessimistic outlook on the industry, Kuang wasn’t worried about anyone’s reactions while writing. But her agent was, especially around Kuang’s existing relationships. Despite many scenes being pointedly about her time at the publishing house, HarperCollins picked up the book. “It almost seemed masochistic,” she remembers. “It was a bit like, ‘Yes, burn us harder. Say more.’ [But] there never came a point where it felt like I was being censored or being asked to pull my punches.”

While Kuang cites many examples of white authors writing about communities they’re not a part of and getting it harmfully wrong, her own thoughts are this: “Over the years, I’ve gotten really frustrated with this language of permission. Often [it] gets turned around and used as a weapon against the marginalized writers that it’s supposed to help.” She likens this to authors becoming tour guides of their own culture, instead of being viewed as storytellers. Asian writers are pigeonholed to only writing about immigrant trauma or Asian hate crimes. The industry has taken the call for more diverse voices and commoditized it.

She’s reminded of an earlier conversation she had with writer Roxane Gay. When asked about white men saying that they want to write about Black women, Gay responded, “Let them do what they want. They’re probably going to do it badly, and when they do, they’ll get roundly criticized for it.” Kuang found this perspective refreshing and adds, “Instead of censoring outright what kinds of stories different people can work on based on a single aspect of their identity, we should just judge stories on the basis of the craft. How is it told? Is it interesting? How is it engaging with the tropes that came before? Has the author done their research?” 

A Complicated Relationship 

Sometimes it’s hard to tell that “Yellowface” is a satire. Much of that element stems from June’s narration than anything else. She’s bitchy, hypocritical, absolutely unreliable, and often lacks self-awareness as a white woman to the point where you’re often left in disbelief by her commentary and actions.

Even then, Kuang writes her as a sympathetic character. June is wrong for many things, but there are moments where you do feel for her. One place that feels relatable is when she talks about her upbringing and how that influenced the writing process for her. She reflects on the dichotomy between writing for yourself when you’re younger as a way to escape reality, versus writing with an audience in mind when you’re trying to get published.

Some of that sympathy also comes into play in her relationship with Athena. As much as June talks shit about her friend, the emotions are more complicated than just jealousy — and for me, the complexity is what makes their dynamic one of the most interesting parts of the book. While the two come from different backgrounds and have opposite levels of success in publishing before Athena dies, the two are more similar than they think (both terrible people to an extent). They’re the only two that seem to really understand each other. And even after Athena’s death, the two can’t escape each other — June’s actions make sure of it. Both end up hurting one another, but it also makes you wonder if the two are just a byproduct of the publishing (and capitalist) machine.

Part of the fun of “Yellowface” is that it’s meant to be meta. Barring some questionable decisions from June, there are moments where it’s as if Kuang herself is breaking the fourth wall. The final act gets truly self-referential, when June begins to write her account of what happened with Athena, which presumably becomes the book we’re reading now. This is also where Kuang takes another turn to psychological thriller. At this point, we don’t know what’s going to happen and neither does June. “Yellowface” is a wild ride until the very end, though the final events do feel a little rushed and maybe a little disjointed, with a loose connection to some earlier parts of the book (if you were really paying attention, then you might have seen it coming).

Athena’s character blurs the line between fiction and reality, too. Readers may recognize that Kuang and her character bear similarities in their background and their accomplishments, though Kuang refutes this. While Athena is an overnight success in the publishing world, Kuang’s own journey took some time, so she understands both June’s and Athena’s perspectives. Part of Athena’s characterization came from wanting to deconstruct the idea of an innocent woman of color whose work had been stolen. “That’s a very boring story to read, because the ethics are so clear cut,” Kuang says. But adds that “writing [a character] who has fallen into this trap [of pushing others away] was a way of working through how you get there, what lies you start believing about yourself, and how dangerous it is to be in a place where you’re so isolated that you have nobody to pull you back down to earth.”

Moving Toward Change

Kuang shares a lot of thoughts in 300-something pages (a short book for her), where she gives a look inside the publishing industry. For readers removed from those inner workings, it’s fascinating to learn about. But for those more familiar, it’s a cheeky nod to the harsh realities of the business. One of these is the idea of winners and losers being chosen from the start, to which Kuang can attest — publishing involves a lot of backroom decisions that even authors aren’t privy to. “Too many careers fizzle out or end too early because all of that blame [when things go poorly] gets pushed on the writer, instead of the folks making decisions about what kinds of stories are shown to readers,” Kuang says.

There’s a lot that happens privately — and a lot of hands that touch a book before it’s released to the world. In “Yellowface,” Kuang aims to make that more visible, such as highlighting editorial assistants in a big role to showcase a larger structural issue. Publishing has a high barrier to entry, she explains, particularly for writers who lack connections or family wealth. “All this talent and diversity [are] being filtered out at the entry level, which means that the makeup of the room never changes … And the profile of the people who are getting published and who have their stories selected never change.” 

For Kuang, publishing’s reaction to “Yellowface” has been surprisingly welcoming. “I think that speaks to a lot of people being ready to have this conversation and lay it all out there,” she explains. But for the average reader, reviews elsewhere (yes, I did look on Goodreads) seem to be mixed. Though Kuang can understand the nuance behind different arguments (she was a competitive debater, after all), it’s frustrating when you put out your own work and someone misinterprets you. At that point, “The text doesn’t belong to you anymore,” she says sagely. “It’s the reader who’s responsible for creating meaning by making the story come alive in their head.”

Despite all that happens in the book, there’s no clear call to action. By the end, we’re still in the same place as the cycle continues. While the book is a page-turner and is clever in its awareness, sometimes that feels a little ironic — especially when “Yellowface” seems to exist partly to give the publishing industry kudos for its ability to be “woke” without actually doing anything. 

But Kuang has hope that change can still come for publishing — and to revolutionize the industry, that means changing who’s in the room. It’s a tall order, but she says, “You can only change who’s in the room if you can crack open the door so more people can get in.” She goes on to talk about the seeds of change that we’re already starting to see with the HarperCollins strike that she took part in last December (her main takeaway: “Unions are cool.”). And as much as “Yellowface” rags on social media, Kuang has really great things to say about its mobilizing power.

Whether you love it or hate it, maybe the point of this book is to continue getting people to talk. If so, it’s already doing its job.

“Yellowface” was released on May 16, 2023. You can order the book on Bookshop.com through Mochi’s affiliate storefront. (A percentage of your purchase total goes towards supporting our mission.)

Images Credit: Ben Hao