I was in the middle of reading a huge science fiction series, The Red Rising Saga, and honestly needed a break from its intense, sprawling plot. I wanted something shorter and more contemporary before diving back in. That’s when I picked up Yellowface, mostly because the blurb intrigued me. The premise immediately grabbed my attention: June Hayward, a struggling white author, steals the unpublished manuscript of her dead friend Athena Liu, a successful Asian writer, and publishes it under the racially ambiguous name Juniper Song.
My biggest struggle with Yellowface was the main character herself. June is just not very likeable, and at no point did I find myself rooting for her success. I don’t mind flawed characters, but she isn’t flawed in a compelling or layered way. She just keeps making one terrible decision after another. Every time she has a chance to come clean or even pause and reflect, she doubles down, lies more, and digs herself into an even deeper hole. Watching her do this over and over again became more frustrating than engaging.
Since the story is told entirely from her perspective, that frustration gets amplified. We’re stuck inside her head the whole time, listening to her defensive, entitled, and often ignorant justifications. I get that this was probably intentional, but it also made the reading experience feel exhausting. Instead of seeing a nuanced, morally grey character, she often came across as stubbornly ignorant, which made it really hard to emotionally invest in her journey at all.
This also weakens the book’s larger critique of racism and appropriation. Rather than really digging into systemic bias or the complexities of the publishing industry, the novel often leans on June’s obviously awful choices and shallow reasoning. It ends up feeling like the book is pointing out very obvious problems instead of unpacking the deeper structures that allow these situations to happen in the first place.
That said, the core idea behind Yellowface is undeniably compelling. It taps into very real conversations happening in the literary world about cultural representation and who gets to tell certain stories. But the real issue, in my opinion, isn’t just about who writes a story, it’s about who gets the opportunities, marketing push, and recognition afterward. In today’s publishing landscape, success isn’t purely about talent. It’s shaped by marketing budgets, industry connections, and even random social media virality. The book gestures toward this truth, but never fully dives into how powerful these structural advantages really are.
Interestingly, the premise feels even more relevant in the current moment with the rise of AI in writing. There have been increasing complaints about authors using AI tools to generate books or large chunks of them, which raises similar ethical questions about originality and ownership. While Yellowface focuses on stealing a manuscript rather than using technology, the underlying theme is basically the same: benefiting from work that isn’t truly your own.
Overall, Yellowface is a provocative and timely novel with a very strong premise, but the execution feels uneven. It raises important questions about race, privilege, authorship, and the publishing world, yet often settles for obvious commentary instead of deeper analysis. Combined with an unlikeable protagonist whose constant bad decisions make it hard to root for her, the reading experience ended up feeling more frustrating than immersive for me.