"American Fiction" reframes what Black success means, especially for writers

"American Fiction" is the perfect film, at least for me. I am not a film critic, nor do I try to be one; however, I am a Black artist coming of age in the world that Thelonious “Monk” Ellison inhabits, and this is all too relatable.

My criteria for judging films goes as follows: originality, acting and destroying the single Black narrative. This brilliant film not only destroys the single Black narrative, it obliterates it – and puts pressure on every single film dealing with race that will come after.

The film written and directed by Cord Jefferson is based on "Erasure," the 2001 novel by Percival Everett, a satirical genius who also published other hilarious, thought-provoking books on race including “I Am Not Sidney Poitier” and “The Trees.” In the film we meet Thelonious “Monk” Ellison (Jeffrey Wright) – a seemingly talented writer whose books are not selling. We understand that Monk used to be a hot commodity; however, the publishing industry has moved on from eloquent, well-written novels by Black writers.

On top of the career issues Monk is having in publishing, and at the university where he teaches, his family of doctors are all wrapped up in drama as well. His sister Dr. Lisa Ellison (Tracee Ellis Ross) is struggling financially because of her divorce. His brother Dr. Clifford Ellison (Sterling K. Brown) is fighting the same kind of financial battles in combination with addiction, after his wife caught him in bed with a man and took half of his practice. To make matters worse, their mother now has dementia. The beauty of this film is that it runs away from the idea of Black success meaning that everyone flourishes. Because we don’t. It has always been my personal experience that if you see a Black person having success, there are at least 10 family members he or she is responsible for.

Since you are the one that made it, you must cosign from my car, house, and gift me $100K for the deposits on each. Since you are the one that made it, you have to pay for aunties, grandpas, a grandma's funeral. Since you are the one that made it, our back taxes are now your back taxes. Since you are the one who made it, we will never pay for dinners, vacations or reach for our wallets when you are around. Since you were the one that made it, your $1 million earnings should look more like $80K after you take care of us, fund our lifestyles, and pay your taxes. And you are not allowed to be depressed or complain . . . because you're the one that made it.

Monk attends a reading where he comes across Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), a Black writer who has the most popular book out, currently driving the publishing world crazy, even though it's full of what he would consider to be ghetto stereotypes. This all comes to a head when learning that Sintara, just like Monk comes from a place of privilege. Monk, frustrated by the premise of Sintara’s book, pens a similar narrative, under a pseudonym, using the same kinds of stereotypes that has propelled her to the top of the publishing world. Spoiler alert: he hits his first home run in a very long time.

I laughed until my stomach ached while watching this film, because even though I did not have a similar publishing experience as Monk, any story around being Black in publishing is ripe for telling. A 2020 Publishers Weekly article, “How #PublishingPaidMe Exposed Racial Inequities,” exposed the racism in publishing around advances, promotions, the double standards and the hypocrisy of the industry. The same happens in journalism.

When I used to freelance at a so-called progressive newspaper, not one editor questioned the reasons why they only called me for Black stories, Black trauma and to interview Black people. And when these progressive newspapers had functions, mixers and parties, the bulk of the writers who were on staff, normally white, loved running up to Black freelancers like myself, just to brag about the way in which they support Black issues and show us how woke they are. A white lady hand once told me that I could be the next “Freddie Gray,” if I continued to put out great work. “You mean the unarmed Black man from Baltimore who died in police custody? I am not sure what that has to do with publishing,” I responded. She shot me a toothy smile and continued to work the room.

“Hey D, we would love some perspective on the shooting that happened while a shooting was being investigated,” I once heard, around the same time an editor sent me a note saying, “What are the Blacks saying about Trump's popularity in the 2016 election?” as if we identify as “The Blacks,” and I knew every Black person, and how they felt about electing Donald. What makes it even more sad, is there are some writers who have to run towards stereotype pieces because that is the only work available. They can't afford to tell the kind of stories they want to tell, as they only have two options – cover the pain and trauma or choose a different profession.

Want a daily wrap-up of all the news and commentary Salon has to offer? Subscribe to our morning newsletter, Crash Course.

"American Fiction" does an excellent job exposing this reality without demonizing writers who come from a place of struggle like myself. Yes, I love talking about the trenches that raised me, my resiliency and the beauty of my people; however, I also have the ability to add nuance to conversations dealing with other topics. Many of us Black writers can do this, because we aren't just Black, we are American – meaning we go through the same things that our white, Latino, Native and Asian brothers and sisters go through. We love our families, we love our dogs, we love great food, we love great movies, we love vacation, we are people too.

That alone should give us the right to tell all kinds of stories about our American existence.

The more we embrace the kind of diversity present in "American Fiction," the better stories we will have, the better country we will be.

"American Fiction" is in select theaters.