Broken Records and Missing Noses: A Decade-Long Reviewer’s Take on Yellowface
I really wanted to like this one because I loved Katabasis so much, but in the end, it was just okay. I know I should say more, but that is simply where I have landed this evening—I just expected more. I think what I missed was the specific magic that was in the first book I read. Yellowface is meant to be a drama and a dark satire; it’s hilariously grim and grimly hilarious to anyone who’s ever needed to close a book and “touch grass,” and it is certainly interesting to anyone moderately familiar with the inner workings of publishing. However, the prose isn’t Katabasis, where I was stopping every page to savor the writing style. While this is fast-paced and fairly easy to get through, I’m torn about whether it just didn’t work for me personally or if I’m being picky. For that reason, I’ve decided to round up to a 3.
As someone who has been an active reviewer on Goodreads since 2013—reading and reviewing way too many books to count—there was a specific, gritty satisfaction in seeing R.F. Kuang lay the publishing industry bare. She navigates the toxic clockwork of cancel culture and the high-stakes theater of social media with surgical precision. However, after over a decade of documenting the world of books, I found the experience of living inside Juniper’s head genuinely exhausting. There is a fine line between a story being about a “relentless cycle” and the story actually becoming one; the plot seemed to spin its wheels, retreading the same emotional ground three or four times over just a few hundred pages. While this redundancy might be a deliberate stylistic choice to mirror the “broken record” nature of online discourse, it felt somewhat blasé to rattle through these events without the searing emotional depth I know Kuang is capable of.
For many, the appeal will lie in this short, snappy autopsy of Twitter’s worst impulses, but for a seasoned reviewer, the satire eventually gave way to a sense of being tired—which, perhaps, is the most meta commentary of all. Established fans of Kuang’s more lyrical, immersive work should definitely adjust their expectations, as this is a jarring departure from her usual magic. I’m rounding up to a three-star rating despite being so torn, though I can’t end without mentioning my ultimate “personal ick”: the cover art. Call me traditional, but if you’re going to put any face on a book, it really needs a nose. Between the faceless gaze and an ending that feels like a blatant sequel-hook, I’m walking away from this one feeling more drained than enlightened.
