Critiquing the World of Publishing: ‘American Fiction’ Review
Three bottles of alcohol are placed before Thelonious ‘Monk’ Ellison (Jeffrey Wright). Arthur (John Ortiz), his publishing agent, adroitly demonstrates the intricacies of the book industry market. The same company created all three bottles despite the range in price. One has a retail value of $24, the second sells for $50, and the third costs a whopping $160. The cheapest is easy to consume; the second has some substance, and the third is a masterpiece. Arthur ties the alcohol bottles back to the publishing industry, its market, and Monk’s published works. So far, Monk has created the third bottle: complex and intricate books that are inherently valuable. They received an enormous book deal, which would have been welcome news; however, it was for a book Monk wrote to pander to the white perspective of black life and struggles. A book that Monk never intended to be sold, much less for a large amount of money by a well-established publishing company.
American Fiction (2023) is a satirical drama about the publishing industry and exposing its hypocrisies. After the denial of one of his books, as it was not considered “black enough,” Monk decided to experiment. Under a pseudonym, Monk writes a farcical novel, and with the book’s instantaneous success, it challenges his closely held worldviews. While the film chooses to take a more humorous and conspicuous approach, it does a sensational job of exploring and analyzing the publishing world and society's consumption of black tragedy.
The opening scene starts inside a classroom setting. The class is on the literature of the American South, and one hand is raised; however, it is not to discuss the reading but to proclaim that the title written on the board is offensive. Monk explains that the course will expose students to archaic thoughts and coarse language, but that everyone in the room is an adult and should be able to handle the context in which it is written. This interaction gets Monk sent to a meeting with several colleagues; this is not the first time a student has made a formal complaint against him. His colleagues suggest he takes a break from teaching and focus on the book festival in Boston. There is a paramount insight to this scene as it demonstrates Monk’s perspective on progressing away from being entangled in past transgressions. He believes it is time to embrace the past while electing to move forward.
When Monk reaches Boston, he’s immediately getting a call from Arthur. Arthur delivers the news that his book ‘Echo’ was denied by another publishing company, the ninth one to do so, and reads out one of the critics: the book doesn’t have anything to do with the African American experience. Monk is frustrated that the publishing companies want another book about a cop killing some teenagers rather than a story written by a black man. His frustrations intensify at the book festival when he hears an excerpt of “We’s Lives in Da Ghetto” by Sintara Golden (Issa Rae). The excerpt he’s heard only enrages him. In his mind, it is preventing blacks from being able to forge ahead from black tragedies. He should not be confined or expected to write such stories to conform to the industry. Stories that the industry found to be “painfully real,” "urgent,” and “raw.”
As a trivial farce, Monk decides to write his own story about black tragedy. Fluctuating away from his complex characters to stereotypical ones, straying away from his poetic dialogue to slang, and delving away from an intricate plot to a much simpler one. It was not meant to be taken seriously. Unforeseen to him, the book was perceived to be the next bestseller. His publishing agent revealed the amount of money the publishing company opted to send him. At first, Monk refuses to accept the money but is ultimately convinced due to Arthur’s alcohol metaphor. To sell the facade, Monk pretended the book was based on his life. He feigned being wanted by the police, and he changed the way he spoke. All to sell an image for the book. In a phone call with some representatives of the publishing company, Monk wanted to change the name of the book to something tactless. If not, he’d threatened to cut the deal, and hastily, his demands were met.
The book was a success, despite Monk’s criticism of it. He argued about how bland the book was. It didn’t accurately portray the struggles of black people, but it indulged in the idea of what other people thought those struggles were. Monk saw the world celebrate his work and praise it for being authentic when, in actuality, it was the opposite. He was a fraud, yet no one was seeing through his poorly fabricated facade. He was making more money from what he considered to be garbage than from the books he’d taken the time to craft. It became discouraging to Monk, seeing how far his charade managed to go. Monk got an offer for a movie deal, and his book became a contender and eventually won the New England Book Association’s Literary Award.
In a conversation with Sintara, Monk is surprised that the two share the same views as one another; this realization disillusioned the image he had created of her. He secretly resented her for conforming to the market and submitting to society’s ideals of black struggles and tragedy. Monk inquires for more information about her dislike of his book and questions what makes it any different from her book. Sintara challenges his views as to why he was burdening her with the blame rather than the publishing industry or those who actively consume that type of content. He held only black people accountable, rather than identifying it as an overlaying issue.
American Fiction delves into the intricate web of the publishing industry, offering a searing critique of its propensity to pigeonhole narratives of black life and struggle. Monk’s journey from defiance to reluctant conformity exposes the tension between creative integrity and commercial success. The film exposes the underlying structures that promote false narratives through Monk’s grudging acceptance of stereotypes and societal expectations, pressing the audience to concede their complicity in a reductive view of black experiences. As Monk grapples with the consequences of his own capitulation to market demands, American Fiction leaves the audience with a sobering reminder of the ongoing battle for authenticity and representation in an industry fraught with contradictions.
