The Ugly Truth Behind Yellowface by R.F. Kuang: Book Review
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Stealing a story is one thing. Stealing a whole identity? Now, that takes a special kind of audacity. Yellowface by R.F. Kuang isn’t just a book—it’s a literary punch to the gut, a virtuosic performance in satire, and an uncomfortable mirror held up to the publishing industry’s dirtiest little secrets. From the moment June Hayward swipes Athena Liu’s manuscript off her still-warm desk, you know this is about to be a ride. A cringe-worthy, rage-inducing, can’t-look-away kind of ride. Because Juniper doesn’t just steal Athena’s words—she rewrites history, rebrands herself, and dares the world to call her out. And oh, does the world respond. With biting humor, razor-sharp social commentary, and an almost too-real take on literary theft, Yellowface isn’t just a book—it’s a reckoning.
Author: R.F. Kuang
Publisher: William Morrow
Genre: Fiction, Literary Fiction
Release: May 16, 2023
Pages: 336
Star Rating: 4.5 stars
Spice Rating: 0 chili peppers
There are very few books that balance the sheer physical cringe you experience reading with the inability to look away— like your hands are covered in tacky glue. Yellowface is one of them. Reading Yellowface is like watching a car crash in slow motion. Except for the driver? They stole the car, repainted it black to blend in, and are now claiming they invented automobiles. It’s uncomfortable. It’s infuriating. And it’s absolutely brilliant.
“Taking Athena’s manuscript felt like reparations, payback for the things Athena took from me.”
But Kuang doesn’t just tell a story—she dissects the ugly truth of race, privilege, and literary theft with surgical precision. And whether you love it, hate it, or find yourself wedged between the two, one thing is for certain: Yellowface demands to be discussed.
Juniper Song isn’t just jealous of Athena Liu—she’s seething with it. The kind of jealousy that festers, the kind that whispers into your psyche, why her and not me? Athena is young, talented, and effortlessly successful. She writes the kind of books that critics fawn all over, the kind that land her exclusive book deals, Netflix adaptations, and magazine covers. Meanwhile, June is stuck in literary purgatory, watching outside a club she can’t get in as Athena basks in the spotlight. And the worst part? Athena doesn’t seem even to have to try.
June’s envy of Athena’s success isn’t surface level—she resents her. It’s not fair, she thinks. I should be the one getting the accolades. I should be invited to exclusive publishing parties. I’m white, pretty, and write good books—so why does the world bow to Athena instead of me? And when she sees an opportunity to take what she believes she deserves, she grabs it without hesitation. *side note* When the fuck did she have time to steal Athena’s manuscript of The Last Front? While she is writhing on the floor, she thinks this is the perfect time! Her body wasn’t even cold yet! The audacity!!!
“… one of the more vocal Chinese laborers to a sympathetic white farmer. This adds complexity, the humanistic nuance…”
But June’s entitlement isn’t just about professional envy—it’s about who gets to tell stories, who gets to be celebrated, and who gets to be overlooked. Her mindset isn’t I wish I were as successful as Athena; maybe she could help me. It’s Athena took what’s mine, and she deserves to pay.
The writing in Yellowface isn’t just good—it’s intoxicating. I thought I’d read a few chapters while waiting for my son, you know just a quick dip into Kuang’s world before moving on with my day. Instead, I sank. No, I drowned. The words pulling you in; wrapping around you like a velvet rope, tightening with every page, refusing to let go.
Kuang’s prose is seamless and effortless—like slipping into a conversation you didn’t realize you were desperate to have. It lulls you in, familiar and inviting, only to slap you across the face with gut-punching moments of brutal honesty. One second, you’re gripping the book like a lifeline, whispering June, what the hell are you doing? The next, you’re screaming at the page, That’s not your work you’re basking in! And then you turn the page—bold accusing letters staring back at you: THIEF. PLAGIARIZER. And all you can do is laugh and say, Yeah, no shit.
“She was just like us, And in destroying her, we create an audience; we create moral authority for ourselves.”
Kuang’s writing doesn’t just tell a story—it projects one, frame by vivid frame, like a film unspooling in your mind. Every sentence is sharp and deliberate, painting a picture so clear you can almost hear the rustle of book pages, the tap of keyboard keys, and the sickly churn of June’s guilt (or lack thereof). But here’s the magic: while the words guide you through the chaos, they never force-feed your judgment.
You see everything—the theft, the lies, the death threats, the unraveling—and yet, Kuang leaves just enough space for you to sit with it, to let the discomfort settle in your bones. Do you think June’s actions are forgivable? Justified? (I don’t see how, but hey, it’s your moral dilemma to wrestle with.) The writing is direct, unflinching, and uniquely Kuang—razor-sharp, unapologetic, and utterly immersive.
Between the spaces, there’s a quiet, subtle horror in Yellowface. Not the kind that lurks in the dark, but the kind that festers in the mind, whispering insidious justifications until they become truth. June spirals, clawing for control, bargaining with herself long after there’s nothing left to bargain for. Her thoughts turn feverish, desperate, twisting reality into something she can live with. The book ends, but her unraveling does not.
“Writing is the closest thing we have to real magic.”
And hovering above it all, like a faceless entity pulling the strings, is the publishing industry itself. Kuang’s satire cuts deep, peeling back the layers of hypocrisy within traditional publishing—where diversity is often less about true inclusivity and more about optics, a marketable checkbox to be ticked. The pressure to be the next big thing, the next necessary voice, weighs on authors until they break, while the industry turns a blind eye to the cracks it helped create. Yellowface doesn’t just expose these ugly truths—it lets them bleed out onto the page, daring you to look away.
So the question is, should you read Yellowface? Absolutely! Yellowface is a masterclass in psychological horror, razor-sharp satire, and painfully uncomfortable truths. It forces you to witness June’s descent, to sit with her justifications, to watch as she clings to a stolen legacy with white-knuckled desperation. Kuang’s writing is intoxicating—cinematic in its execution, smooth in its delivery, yet barbed with accusations you can’t ignore. The industry’s hypocrisy, the suffocating pressure on authors, the exploitation of diversity as a trend rather than a necessity. It all coalesces into a story that refuses to be dismissed. You’ll turn the last page, but the unease will linger, much like June herself, spiraling endlessly in the shadows of her own making.
Thank you so much to William Morrow for sending me a copy of Yellowface! Make sure you shop Yellowface at your local indie bookstore.
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