BURO Book Club: ‘Yellowface’ Wants You to Watch Out for Karen in Sheep’s Clothing

It isn’t every day that one gets a glimpse at the inner workings of the publishing industry. But when it happens, it’s horrifying. Rebecca F. Kuang’s Yellowface gives a scalding-hot spin on the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing trope with June Hayward driving the narrative. The award-winning novel, one of the biggest titles to come out of 2023, kicks into high gear when Hayward witnesses the fatal accident befalling her literary frenemy Athena Liu.

Still reeling after the underwhelming reception of her debut novel, Hayward impulsively steals Liu’s unpublished manuscript about the unsung Chinese labourers in World War I. What transpires next is a series of miscalculations and bad decisions. From the sheer audacity to publish the novel and pass it off as her own to the calculative rebranding as an ambiguously ethnic author, Hayward strives to pave the career trajectory she thinks she deserves.

Yellowface, at its core, is an account of one woman’s insidious aversive racism. With every flimsy reason and rationale made to justify her choices, Hayward unknowingly reveals her rotten insides, which she casually brushes off. Her supposition that white authors are experiencing reverse racism, implying that a person of colour’s (POC) only currency to reach the highs of their white counterpart is the complexion of their skin, exposes her bigotry.

She goes to great lengths to absolve herself of responsibilities too, as far as smearing the good name of her dead friend. Now, Liu may not have been the poster child of female friendship but robbing her of her agency is a punishment unbefitting of the crime. What’s more tragic, Hayward is blithely unaware of the plight of her Asian contemporaries, notably Liu. Even in death she is refused the ownership of her own talent.

Hayward’s lackadaisical outlook on race politics is only exacerbated by the machinery that props her up—the hypocritical publishing industry. Yellowface highlights in bold neon colour the frustrating fine print in publications’ manifesto of diversity, where limitations remain applied. The door hasn’t so much as opened as it barely creaked ajar. Tokenism becomes a way for the bigwigs of the book business to pat themselves on the back for their god-like generosity.

Kuang then illustrates the power dynamics that the ‘anointed ones’ have to assimilate into in painful details. They are still subjected to the backward thinking of their paymasters regardless of all the acclaim and accolades. The notion that “POC can only produce POC story, thus they can only attract POC audience” prevents Liu from venturing out of her comfort zone. She is cornered into a box—a gilded one, sure, but a box nonetheless. Creative freedom is nothing but an illusion.

This is where social media becomes indispensable. Plotting the takedown in a way that maps the contours of our reality, Kuang brings the mob mentality of cancel culture into play. Here, whistleblowers like Adele Sparks-Sato and Diana Qiu are deployed to poke holes in Hayward’s flawed plan, providing the industry with some sorely needed checks and balances. Does it work? To an extent. In Yellowface, it only leads to more performative activism.

The people in power here have seemingly cracked the code: get caught red-handed, issue an apology, and go on their merry white way. Rinse and repeat. It is a victory that many would take satisfaction in but means nothing in the long run as the deeper systemic issues still go unaddressed. Optimists would argue it’s a step in the right direction; such a fundamental reboot demands time but even they would agree that a plaster won’t fix a cracked foundation.

Yellowface is a modern literary masterpiece that dazzles with its penetrating commentary on racial identity. Setting the stage within the intricate labyrinth of the publishing world, Kuang shines a spotlight on the pressing issue of cultural appropriation and challenges her audience to consider the nuances of race and privilege. To submit oneself to the razor-sharp prose, the voice of the unreliable, morally ambiguous narrator in the head, is to confront one’s own worldview.

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