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A review by root
Yellowface by R.F. Kuang
dark
informative
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
Yellowface is an artfully written novel that reminds me why I enjoy reading in the first place. It is delicious and repulsive at once.
There are layers to the author's messages within that make this work a joy to dissect. There are the overarching themes of what stories should be told and by who, and, for lack of a better term, the pathology of white women and victimhood. Beyond that, it is a critique of western individualism and its effects on the self and others, concise commentary on issues within publishing and literature as a whole, on assimilation and the struggle of cultural disconnect amongst diaspora, on labor, on class, on performative justice in online circles and broader: how social media affects our behaviors, and surprisingly manages to touch on historical aspects without leaving the plot itself. And Kuang does all of this without patronizing and without condescending: it is plaintext, expected for the audience to excavate its meaning themselves without spoon-feeding.
It is a wonderfully crafted story: every word has a purpose, every detail strategically placed just so. It is a story about who should tell stories and why the "who" is important from the narrative of the villain herself, as we watch her twist and change her own story. The ending could not have been any other ending--it is a foregone conclusion, but only retrospectively. The narrative itself and how it was crafted in a way that relies on and trusts the reader to understand makes me indefinitely curious how white women would perceive this story. Does it sound normal to them? Is the horror removed? Or is the horror in recognizing the similarities? Are they willing to recognize themselves, their friends, their family? Is there a point where they shift from believing things are okay to drawing the line--and what point is that? I wonder if that was part of Kuang's thought process; I wouldn't be surprised!
I haven't actively wanted to write a book review in a very long time. I mostly do it in order to keep track of my own thoughts in the future when I am looking back at what I've read. This one I wanted to write.
My one and only critique of this book is not even specific to this book or to its author but to recent literature in general: I worry that modern literature's references to current technology--specifically company and brand names rather than technology type--will make it difficult at best to understand years from now. This book was released this year and Twitter has already been renamed to X, for example. But this only matters to the book's ability to be timeless, and certainly doesn't affect its relevance in the here and now where it is clearly intended to be perceived.
There are layers to the author's messages within that make this work a joy to dissect. There are the overarching themes of what stories should be told and by who, and, for lack of a better term, the pathology of white women and victimhood. Beyond that, it is a critique of western individualism and its effects on the self and others, concise commentary on issues within publishing and literature as a whole, on assimilation and the struggle of cultural disconnect amongst diaspora, on labor, on class, on performative justice in online circles and broader: how social media affects our behaviors, and surprisingly manages to touch on historical aspects without leaving the plot itself. And Kuang does all of this without patronizing and without condescending: it is plaintext, expected for the audience to excavate its meaning themselves without spoon-feeding.
It is a wonderfully crafted story: every word has a purpose, every detail strategically placed just so. It is a story about who should tell stories and why the "who" is important from the narrative of the villain herself, as we watch her twist and change her own story. The ending could not have been any other ending--it is a foregone conclusion, but only retrospectively. The narrative itself and how it was crafted in a way that relies on and trusts the reader to understand makes me indefinitely curious how white women would perceive this story. Does it sound normal to them? Is the horror removed? Or is the horror in recognizing the similarities? Are they willing to recognize themselves, their friends, their family? Is there a point where they shift from believing things are okay to drawing the line--and what point is that? I wonder if that was part of Kuang's thought process; I wouldn't be surprised!
I haven't actively wanted to write a book review in a very long time. I mostly do it in order to keep track of my own thoughts in the future when I am looking back at what I've read. This one I wanted to write.
My one and only critique of this book is not even specific to this book or to its author but to recent literature in general: I worry that modern literature's references to current technology--specifically company and brand names rather than technology type--will make it difficult at best to understand years from now. This book was released this year and Twitter has already been renamed to X, for example. But this only matters to the book's ability to be timeless, and certainly doesn't affect its relevance in the here and now where it is clearly intended to be perceived.