We’ve Reached Peak Millennial Novel—That's Not a Bad Thing
Plus, the best book I read in April gave me nightmares.
Not to state the obvious, but I read a lot. Like a lot. Generally, I lean toward contemporary stuff, with predilections for the dark and unseemly (I am who I am). In addition to being a voracious reader, I also have the gummy thrill of covering books for magazines like W. This means that, in addition to spending my life’s savings on novels, I’m also sent advance copies by hopeful publicists eager for their clients to appear in these articles. My bookshelves are an Ann Patchett novel away from collapsing.
Which is why a couple weeks ago, as I finished “Worry” by Alexandra Tanner, it dawned on me: Fiction has officially reached peak millennial novel. It seems that, while there certainly isn’t a shortage of novels written by older—or younger!—authors, or even millennial authors of different topics or writing styles, the swell of millennial lit has crested, promising to crash on the next wave of authors who attempt to follow the same tropes. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but a tide change might be welcome, or at the least, serve as a refreshing subversion. (Side note: Authors don’t need to be millennials to write a millennial novel, duh!)
So, what constitutes a millennial novel? Here’s my very flimsy criteria, in no discerning order:
Written by a cis white female
Typically told in first person
Protagonist is commonly a copywriter for a random brand that sells pickled artichokes or something. (In “Worry,” the narrator pens copy for an astrology app chef’s kiss.)
The narrator has an MFA that’s collecting dust under the laptop her parents bought her
Bodily functions! The more, the better! Menstrual issues, upset tummies, a weird growth, all described in graphic detail
Strained relationship with mother, absent father
A sweaty situationship that leaves the narrator vacant and confronting her hollowed out self, recounted with rich self-awareness
Some sort of unhealthy obsession with social media, whether the protagonist wishes to become an influencer or she hate-follows every tradwife she encounters on her explore page, anything weird or thirsty, or weirdly thirsty
Identity politics of some ilk, doesn’t need to be overly specific
Did I mention bodily functions? Yeah, more of those.
Based in the U.S., probably NYC or L.A.
H’ok so that’s a lot! The best things about these books are that they reflect the murky disillusion that a generation of disenchanted and disappointed women share. They reframe the female body as a living thing rather than a lazy tool to exploit for character development or drama. These novels reveal female physicality as problematic machinery that’s laborious to maintain, if not love. It strains under the load of universal expectation and scrutiny. They expose narrators as leading deeply insulated and anxious existences, confirming that this is more than O.K.: It's normal. With these novels, readers have somewhere to turn outside of their social feeds to find uncurated and messy truths about the world they’ve been plunked down in. The appetite for such work, some might argue, is palatable.
There’s plenty to enjoy here. But, there’s also plenty to advance. Here’s how I hope the genre progresses. I’d love to see authors move beyond stagnant neurotic ruminations and introduce tensions past the negotiations of their middling copywriting careers when we all know the narrator is going to pen some manuscript that’s definitely landing her an agent and a book deal. Even if it’s not detailed in the novels’ conclusions, there’s often the unwritten understanding here—the winking joke of it all. The trick mirror protracting veiled truths. Reading these novels can sometimes feel like hunting for the easter eggs in a Taylor Swift album.
I’d like to see authors introduce some plot point that forces protagonists to engage with external, difficult circumstances. That’s one reason, I’d venture, that “The Idiot” by Elif Batuman sings where others croak: Batuman was wise enough to get her narrator out of the university setting and send her abroad where her anxieties can be amplified or confounded. One could imagine Rory Gilmore penning such a novel.
At the end of the day, these authors should be applauded for encouraging folks to drop their phones and pick up a book. Seriously, there are more reasons than ever to not read. Here, a handful of millennial novels worth picking up.
5 Millennial Novels to Add to Your TBR List
“The Idiot” - Elif Batuman
“Worry” - Alexandra Tanner
“Annie Bot” - Sierra Greer
“Aesthetica” - Allie Rowbottom
“Piglet” - Lottie Hazell
The Best Book I Read in April Gave Me Nightmares
First of all, giving me nightmares isn’t that big of thing, it literally happens all the time, so take that for what it is. As mentioned, my bookshelves are *thriving* with unread novels. To lessen their load (literally), I picked up “Prophet Song” by Paul Lynch, the 2023 Man Booker Prize Winner for Fiction. If you’re a fan of “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy, you will delight in this novel. If you prefer romantasy or fluffy novels, good luck and godspeed.
The novel follows a family in contemporary Ireland while shit hits the fan in their government. Rights are revoked, access to information is denied, people go missing. The protagonist Eilish is doing everything to maintain a grip on her family and their recent past that, increasingly, seems implausible as the ship hurtles toward the iceberg. It is only when she is confronted with undeniable realities that she manages to move beyond suburban resignation and steps into unfamiliar courage. I don’t want to give too much away, but for the love of Andy Cohen, please read this book.
As I’ve been in a haze of frothy millennial novels, this book felt like a wakeup call. Good art, specifically literature as the reader can be planted into a character who doesn’t share their values, can crack open opinions to welcome openness and understanding. This novel accomplishes that. I found myself reflecting on current events with a deeper level of compassion. The story is so moving and delivered in unflinchingly lyrical prose that, if you’re anything like me, you’ll be planning your reread as soon as you reach the final page.