Death by Pancake

Athena Liu– literary prodigy, Yale alum, and publishing’s golden standard of Asian American representation– dies choking on a pancake.

June Hayward, Athena’s moderately close white acquaintance, is the only witness.

However, the history between the two writers was never simple, tainted by simmering resentment from old grievances and June’s constant debilitating sense of inadequacy. After all, white writers were old news nowadays (at least, according to June). Publishers wanted fresh voices, “authentic perspectives,” and exotic faces they could plaster on diversity campaigns.

So when June discovers Athena’s unpublished manuscript about the forgotten Chinese laborers of World War I, completely untouched and almost finished, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.

One impulsive theft and a racially ambiguous name change later, June finally becomes the next literary sensation.

The only problem? None of it is hers.

As online suspicions grow and the ghost of Athena refuses to stay quiet, the story spirals into a razor-sharp satire of the publishing world– where racial diversity is a boon, stories are stolen as borrowed trauma, and everyone’s faking something. 

Basically, it was right up my alley. Without further ado, let’s dive right in.

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General Feel

For a biting social critique, Yellowface was an extremely enjoyable read. Faced with limited publishing success, June has adopted a spiteful, petulant voice that voices aloud frustrations with everything around her, wild takes that are sometimes valid and more oftentimes wildly offensive.

“Awards don’t matter– at least, I am told this constantly by the people who regularly win them.”

However, the addictive nature of this cynical tone is far eclipsed by the spellbinding tension brimming with every scene. Every desperate dodge and excuse June makes constantly leaves you wondering: is this the moment her house of cards finally collapses?

Kuang’s prose throughout is also refreshingly accessible– especially compared to her labyrinthine work Babel (which took me days to untangle). She folds heavy themes into a voice that feels immediate and unpretentious, never weighing down the story with preachiness. Above all, this book sneaks up on you, disarming with fast, sharp humor.

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Commodification of the Marginalized Voice

Nevertheless, the digestible but evocative prose masks a profound thematic complexity tackling ethnic privilege and entitlement. 

June’s entire career blooms from a single, brazen theft: stealing Athena’s manuscript on Chinese laborers during World War I. Plagiarism aside, a white woman profiting off a traumatic Asian story seems like an open-and-shut case of cultural appropriation. 

June claims otherwise. In her mind, ethnic identity is a marketable feature, what she calls a “golden ticket” into the publishing world’s elusive diversity campaigns. 

As such, she eagerly jumps on the opportunity of a publishing deal, readily agreeing to whitewash Athena’s stolen novel. Her actions quickly slip into “ethically questionable” territory when she edits out Athena’s brutal depictions of the injustices faced by Chinese laborers– and immediately preens in her editor’s praise, who says authors often have a much harder time “killing their darlings.” The cultural theft is blatant, but trauma must be palatable, and June? Well, she just wants to be published, whether or not she has the right to tell this story. 

Here, it is easy to hate. Yet Kuang complicates this reaction. She reveals that Athena– the doe-eyed, “perfect” victim of this literary heist– is a thief in her own right. 

Almost like a grief vampire, Athena has mined others’ trauma, including June’s (a dramatic reveal that causes you to see both in a different light), all while living a lavish lifestyle, clueless if $35,000 a year covers New York rent. As a wealthy, sheltered United States citizen who has had it all since she was born, Athena had no concrete connection to Asia beyond her ethnicity. In fact, she couldn’t even speak Mandarin.

And yet, Athena has profited from Korean war stories (despite being Chinese), described a close friend’s story of assault, listened intently to the grieving words of those around her, and non-consensually regurgitated all their painful words, almost verbatim, onto the page.

“Athena never personally experienced suffering. She just got rich from it.”

Q: Given the very nature of the literary industry, how do we draw the line between empathy-driven storytelling and exploitative depictions of trauma (consumed to provoke a feeling, but are ultimately destructive)?

June questions if Athena’s version of theft is really that different from her own, accusing the latter of the same cherry-picking of distant, impersonal pain that both twist for spectacle, ultimately raising a haunting question: Who truly deserves to write trauma? More importantly, in an industry that sells pain, is anyone’s story truly theirs to tell?

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Essentially, All the Characters are Deplorable– But Human

The fact is: nobody in Yellowface is innocent.

June is bitter, insecure, and spiteful. Athena’s doe eyes hide a grief vampire, willing to make questionable decisions to profit off of the trauma of those around her. Candice, the self-righteous critic, isn’t above impersonation herself. Even the editors at Eden Press will repackage their author’s ethnic background if it boosts sales, ethics be damned. No one escapes complicity here– because Kuang refuses to write moral binaries. Corruption lies in the good, and nuggets of truth are uncovered in hateful diatribes.

Yes, June is terrible. But sometimes, you almost wonder: was she entirely wrong?

At its core, Yellowface is about the messy, toxic undercurrent of jealous relationships that seem common among women– the admiration that curdles into envy, justified hurt turning into a desire for revenge. There is no perfect victim and aggressor here, only imbalanced relationships placed in an environment of competition. After all, Athena is the sun– blinding to look at– and all June can do is orbit, craving proximity: to talent, to success, to validation.

“Every writer I know feels this way about someone else. Writing is such a solitary activity. You have no assurance that what you’re creating has any value, and any indication that you’re behind in the rat race sends you spiraling into the pits of despair. Keep your eyes on your own paper, they say. But that’s hard to do when everyone else’s papers are flapping constantly in your face.”

But June remembers the good moments too. Being the first person Athena called when she landed her book deal. Feeling special, chosen, validated by someone extraordinary. And then having her own trauma exploited, left to decay in mediocrity while Athena skyrockets, snagging a Netflix deal and posing with Anne Hathaway.

Meanwhile, the publishing world itself churns on– forever chasing the next big thing, only to discard it when the novelty fades. And cancel culture, fervently fortified by faceless haters on Twitter– is just another cog in the machine.

“I hadn’t realized that even if you capture the entire literary world in the palm of your hand, it can still forget about you in the blink of an eye.”

It’s a bleak reflection of the world, caricatured in certain aspects– but ultimately real in its portrayal that no one is above surrendering to vice, especially given the right desperate circumstance.

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On Living in June’s Head

June’s first-person narration drives that point home. Some Goodreads reviews complain that Kuang humanizes June too much. But that’s the point. You’re supposed to feel trapped in her headspace, forced to sit with her rationalizations, her ugly truths.

Conversely, you feel her whole-hearted passion for her craft, her desire to be recognized and validated.

“What more can we want as writers than such immortality? Don’t ghosts just want to be remembered?”

Real-life bigots aren’t brainless; they’re often dangerously convincing– to themselves most of all. And Kuang forces you to walk blindly down June’s descent rung by rung, gray areas and justifications blurring until suddenly the chasm is yawning above you.

“Perhaps the core idea of this novel wasn’t mine, but I’m the one who rescued it, who freed the diamond from the rough.”

And such moments of “point of no return” come frequently: June refuses a sensitivity reader. She whitewashes Asian stories. She experiences moral reckonings but ultimately ignores them.

“But that’s what I need right now: a child’s blind faith that the world is so simple, and that if I didn’t mean to do a bad thing, then none of this is my fault.”

Kuang doesn’t ask you to pity her, nor does she let June be redeemed. She takes a character defined by her worst decisions and renders her like a mirror– despicable, but uncomfortably familiar. 

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Addressing More Goodreads Complaints

Other readers would argue that Yellowface lacks the thematic depth of Kuang’s other works like The Poppy War or Babel. And sure, this isn’t a sweeping epic on colonialism. But that doesn’t mean it lacks depth.

If anything, Yellowface feels like Kuang playing– testing the sharpest, most sardonic parts of her writing in a new genre. And in some ways, her characters have more psychological nuance than ever, a benefit of living entirely inside June’s spiraling mind.

You are immersed in June’s logic, repulsed when she speaks of Athena’s betrayal, and constantly contending with two antithetical notions of her character. The reader is forced to empathize and recoil at the same time as she resorts to increasingly desperate measures to hide her lies.

As June herself says:

“The truth is fluid, there is always another way to spin the story.”

And isn’t that the ultimate fraud? June’s insecurity is what demands the twisting of the narrative in the first place– a relentless borrowing of other voices, other pains, because she’s terrified she has nothing of her own.

We all have some part of June “Song” in us. And that is the entire, non-fraudulent truth.

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Final Thoughts

And in the wreckage of her destruction, I saw myself. And perhaps that is the greatest horror of all.

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But Wait!

First, if you’re still here, you officially deserve a medal. And my eternal gratitude.

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