Erasure: A Novel

Someday, like a lot of things, we’ll figure this all out. No, it’s not the biggest issue out there. Yes, it’s a good thing the publishing business went through this substantive self-reflection. Went? No. It’s still going on. It’s still being calibrated, I believe, in the summer of 2024. And that’s good. More voices are being encouraged, more effort is being put into finding those voices, and there’s healthy discussion about who gets to tell what stories.My belief is any writer should be permitted to tell anyone’s story. That’s one guy’s view. One white guy’s view. One white writer’s view. But there’s one big caveat with that permission. Writers need to put in the work, do the research, and avoid clichés. Do I know precisely what all that means? No. But I know it when I read it. And if writers are limited to writing about their own kind, well, we’re in for a very dull world when it comes to reading novels.All that said, Percival Everett’s Erasure is a pitch-perfect send-up of the publishing industry during these hand-wringing times of trying to correct decades—er, centuries—of white editors publishing and celebrating white writers. Erasure is a spoof of agents, publishers, and literary critics and their phony posing and precious handwringing over diversity. The novel was published in 2001 (that’s amazing in and of itself, long before the issue reached a fever pitch).I listened to the audio book of Erasure, narrated by Sean Crisden, on a drive last winter and I was transfixed the entire time. The movie version (American Fiction) is wonderful but two things are better about the book. First, the ending. And, second, the book-within-book My Pafology by Stagg R. Leigh. In the written version, My Pafalogy runs a full 80 pages. In the movie, it’s almost an afterthought.My Pafology is the heart of the matter. Stagg R. Leigh is Thelonius “Monk” Ellison’s briefly adopted pseudonym so he can write a novel that is trashier and blacker than his more typical literary fare. He writes My Pafology in disgust at the crap that is drawing praise. Until My Pafology, Monk Ellison had only written smart literary stuff. He is “widely unread.”An agent tells him: “I could sell many books if I’d forget about writing retellings of Euripides and parodies of French poststructuralists and settle down to write the true, gritty real stories of black life. I told him that I was living a black life, far blacker than he could ever know … The hard gritty truth of the matter is that I hardly ever think about race. Those times when I did think about it a lot I did so because of my guilt for not thinking about it. I don’t believe in race. I believe there are people who will shoot me or hang me or cheat me and try to stop me because they do believe in race, because of my brown skin, curly hair, wide nose and slave ancestors. But that’s just the way it is.”And then, in response to the publication of the runaway bestseller We Lives in Da Ghetto by Juanita Mae Jenkins, Monk has is compelled to respond. Juanita Jenkins? The photograph of Jenkins’ face on the cover of Time magazine causes Monk physical pain. He’s got to write.The result is My Pafology. The result is, cha-ching, a hit. And movie deal. And soon Monk winds up on a national critics’ committee picking best novels of the year and finds himself arguing against picking My Pafology. Er, well, it was no longer called My Pafology because Monk had argued that the title should be changed to the simple word F***, most likely to see if the publishers could be pushed around in order to have their name on the precious piece of literature they think they’ve discovered.The layers of skewering and ribbing here are manifold. And then Monk is asked to sit on a committee of writers choosing ‘The Best Novel’ we can see it coming. Of course. Monk must consider his own work, written as Stagg R. Leigh, and there are scenes where “Leigh” must be seen in public and Monk must make sure he’s not unmasked as author of F***.Erasure is rich. Around the thread with My Pafalogy/F***, Monk is dealing with his mother’s mental decline, his sister’s financial stresses caring for their mother, and a brother who is divorced and coming out as gay. Monk will learn about his late father’s duplicity and deceit, too. Monk’s own journey, outside the My Pafalogy/F*** business is, well, the stuff of any main character’s search for identity and a sense of belonging. And those threads, alone, are amply compelling in Everett’s hands.Could a white guy have written Erasure?In a perfect world and with someone very talented, I’d like to think so. But Erasure is so good and so full of subtle observations about race—even though Monk doesn’t believe in race—that it’s a damn good thing that a white guy didn’t try. Someday, like a lot of things, we’ll figure this out.

Reading Erasure is like reading a darkly comedic indictment of the literary world, cultural assumptions and adaptations, and more. Reading Monk's struggles with identity, his wrestling with his art and the artistic endeavors of others, paralleled with the jarring judgments he crafts--in My Pafology of the world and in both Stagg R Leigh and the novel within a novel's lead of himself--made me wonder how much the novel itself is a "read" of the author, and us as both readers and voyeurs. I felt while reading it that I was as much in on the joke as the butt of one, and I love it for that... as much as I am leary of it. This is definitely worth a read, and a reread, a laugh both of rejoice and of wary... I can't wait to dig into more of what Ellison--I mean, Everett has to offer!

First this book is eminently readable. The plot is straight-forward. What if the writer of esoteric re-imaginings of Ancient Greeks decided to write a down and dirty racist trope and publish it under a nom de plume? And what if he was also dealing with family trauma at the same time? Thelonius “Monk” Ellison, product of upper class Black society, is doing that. After the unbelievable popularity of a supposed true life story of a black woman from the “ghetto” (yes no one says that anymore), Monk decides to write his own version, just to see what will happen. He succeeds beyond his wildest dreams. The money is needed. His sister has been murdered and left debts. His mother is suffering from Alzheimer’s and needs care. At the same time, Monk bemoans the book’s popularity and is both eager and afraid at being caught in the deception. There are several references to the nature of art that are thought-provoking, as well as the masks we wear that hide our true feelings and our true selves. An excellent read.

If you enjoy a great story, you'll love this book. If you liked the movie, you'll love the book. If you are like me and truly enjoy a literary challenge, you will be astounded by this book and this writer. Percival Everett is a complete GENIUS. I could read this book 100 times and get more and more deeply into the narrative techniques (formidable and fascinating( as well as the linguistics and many, many threads on the loom. If you are NOT into literary stuff like that, you can STILL enjoy this story 100% without pain or weirdness of any kind. And perhaps that is another level to this genius writer. Most books that challenge me intellectually are very abstract and most people would define as "too avant garde" or "incomprehensible." That is NOT the case with Percival Everett. Interestingly, I did not look up every single thing I did not understand because there were many things I did not understand. Usually I do a lot of looking up, but I just wanted to enjoy the main narrative. But about 3/4 of the way through, I got really interested in one of his several narrative tropes -- the conversations between visual artists -- the bit was SO outlandish, I thought, this can't be real. But since the artist aside had to do with erasing, I had a feeling it was important to the construction of the meaning(s). So I researched the matter and got my brain completely woven into his narrative in a very very deep and satisfying way. Honestly, if I were an English major or a writer, I would do everything in my power to have this man as my mentor. Bravo! I see also that he has many books, including "James" which I am reading now. I am going to read every book he has ever written.