7/10
Erasure is a sharp novel about a Black academic and writer whose frustration about the commercial failure of his cerebral novels, and the publishing world’s hunger for “authentic” Black trauma narratives, leads him to pena satirical parody (“My Pafology”) under a pseudonym which, to his horror, becomes a runaway hit.
The book is both a skewering of the literary industry and a meditation on identity, family, and artistic compromise.
Everett clearly draws on personal experience here and I constantly felt the line between author and character blurring. There were moments where I wasn’t sure if Everett was parodying the publishing world or exorcising real resentments. The character of Marilyn, for instance, whose sin is mildly enjoying an exploitative book titled “We’s Lives in Da Ghetto” feels less like a person and more like a composite of industry people Everett has met and quietly loathes.
Monk, the protagonist, is a standout. He’s prickly and self-aware, painfully out of step with the people around him, but deeply sympathetic. His collapse at the end feels real in a way that snuck up on me, and the ambiguous ending was a smart choice in my opinion. Monk doesn’t get a clean redemption arc, which makes his journey linger longer than a tidy resolution would.
Parts of the novel feel like Everett had a short story collection in mind, especially with scenes like the game show. Similarly, the family scenes were touching, but don’t fully cohere with the sharper satire elsewhere. Still, they give Monk depth and keep the novel from becoming a pure rant.
Erasure doesn’t quite knock it out of the park, but it’s clever and self-aware. I could have used a bit more of a bite. Good for people wanting to read about finding identity while being caught between categories.
Also, excuse me, but this line from My Pafology:
“Those giant jugs just flop there like big pillows, like bags of sand”
As Erasure predates The 40 Year-Old Virgin by a few years, who should be getting credit for this line??