Erasure

I learned about Erasure after watching American Fiction in theatres last summer in London. The movie is a smart and entertaining call-out of the publishing industry’s narrow portrayal of Black life in literature. I enjoyed watching Monk write the satirical novel My Pafology, but I also felt the movie was trying to accomplish too much. I was more interested in Monk’s creation of the rough-and-tough Stagg R. Leigh than in Monk’s personal life. Yet, the film spends significant time on his sister Lisa’s death, his brother Bill’s coming out, and his mother’s developing Alzheimer’s. I didn’t fully understand why until I read Erasure.

Erasure is a story about family first. Monk is not just an author but also a son and a brother. Although moving to the West Coast temporarily allowed him to escape the responsibilities tied to those roles, it all comes back after a series of painful events hit his family. Unlike his siblings, who pursued traditional careers and stable incomes, Monk chose a creative path that offers limited financial freedom. He’s frustrated by his books’ lack of sales, including his most recent string of 14 rejections. But the real consequences of being a creative reveal themselves when his family’s financial well-being falls into his hands. Seemingly overnight, Monk is no longer just a struggling author; he becomes the reluctant patriarch of what remains of his family.

This complicated, grief-filled backdrop provides a more nuanced context for Monk’s sudden foray into “Black fiction.” Monk is an African American man who doesn’t want to write about the African American experience. “I don’t believe in race,” he states plainly on page 2. One would hope that in the 21st century, an author of color could write about whatever they please, but Monk’s deliberate effort to distance his work from his race proves financially futile.

American Fiction poses the question: Is it okay to lie for fame and money?
It does so by highlighting how Black authors face significant barriers when their work doesn’t align with a certain commercial narrative. Through its various jabs at publishing houses, the film underscores that their definition of “marketable” Black literature often centers on poverty, illiteracy, and violence. American Fiction presents My Pafology—and even We’s Lives in Da Ghetto—as a kind of satirical reparations. That angle isn’t unimportant, but it shifts the story into an entertaining adventure about how long Stagg R. Leigh can exist without being caught. In my opinion, that framing undercuts the seriousness of the situation. Monk’s creation of Stagg isn’t driven by ambition; it’s driven by desperation.

In contrast to American Fiction,  asks a deeper, more urgent question: What do you do when your family is on the brink of ruin?

Monk in Erasure is more grief-stricken, more complex. He’s still processing his father’s death and the lasting impact of his father’s affair. Monk often reflects on how being “dad’s favorite” led him to writing—and created an uneasy dynamic with his siblings. That dynamic granted him the freedom to leave family responsibilities behind, but it now feels like a burden as he returns to the East Coast and tries to piece his family back together. Once home, Monk discovers he has a half-sister—a plot point the movie omits, perhaps for time. But this storyline adds depth. Monk’s search for her is symbolic, especially given Lisa’s murder. It further highlights his craving for connection and the grief that saturates his world. That grief is another reason he lets My Pafology flourish. In his words, “Call it expediently located irony, or convenient rationalization, but I was keeping the money” (260).

One of the most consequential distinctions between American Fiction and Erasure is how they frame My Pafology. The film prompts viewers to question whether Monk possesses the cultural and moral authority to undertake such a project. In contrast, the novel reveals the psychological and situational forces that lead Monk to write it in the first place. I find the latter far more compelling.

Erasure also emphasizes Monk’s lack of a support system. In American Fiction, Monk is portrayed as grumpy and closed-off. But in Erasure, he’s revealed to be deeply lonely. He has no close friends or a partner to lean on. Instead, the novel is filled with fragmented meditations—on trout, on trees, on fictional dialogues between historical figures like Adolf Hitler and Meister Eckhart. To me, Everett’s (brilliant) decision to include these digressions reveals Monk as an insightful man who struggles to form meaningful connections.

This added depth reframes My Pafology as more than just satire—it becomes a kind of therapeutic exercise. Monk and Stagg are opposites. Stagg comes from a low-income, single-parent household and has never attended university. Monk, on the other hand, grew up in an upper-middle-class family with two loving parents and graduated from a top university. In addition to those noticeable differences, Stagg is overly vocal and expressive of his emotions; he does whatever he wants whenever he wants. Monk, however, is introverted, awkward, and a strict rule follower. Writing as Stagg is a form of distraction from his current tribulations, but I also believe that, aside from Stagg’s abhorrent profanity, misogyny, and violence, Stagg’s character holds attributes that Monk envies.

It’s not accurate to say Erasure is “better” than American Fiction; they tell different stories. That difference is reflected in the title change. The name American Fiction ties directly to the literary genre. The movie makes a sharp, often funny case against the exploitation of Black poverty and the reductive expectations placed on Black stories. I appreciated its direct questioning of “Black fiction”.

Erasure goes further. The title speaks to more than just the literary world—it signals the slow disappearance of Monk’s identity and stability. There’s the literal erasure of Lisa, the mental decline of Monk’s mother, and Monk’s own erosion of moral clarity. Near the end of the novel, Monk tells his mother, “I promised myself once that I would not compromise my art” (257). The line implies he already has, and that the version of himself he once knew has been erased.

Some have critiqued Erasure for its open-ended conclusion, but I think Everett’s decision to end the novel before Monk reveals himself as Stagg reinforces the idea that My Pafology was always a subplot. In American Fiction, the fake novel becomes the central conflict, and so we get a very different ending. In Erasure, the real resolution comes from Monk’s quiet decision to reclaim himself. What matters is not what he says at the podium, but that he chooses to approach it at all.

Unlike American Fiction, Erasure isn’t about how far Monk can take the character of Stagg. It’s about what’s left when life unravels—when grief and pressure threaten to erase everything you thought you were, and you’re left trying to trace the outline of a self you’re no longer sure still exists.