Clare Greeman – Middle-Part Haver

I’m only writing to appease the countless requests since my DWMs article (*see issue 11 of the Weekly) to explain what the millennial fiction novel is; since that article thousands of letters have been sent our offices for the benevolent, whimsical, and extremely timely opinion writer with her finger on the pulse to explain what this genre is and where they can pick up their very own millennial fiction novel. Therefore I’ve taken down my The Batman 2022 picket sign and retired to my desk, cracked my knuckles, and fed the raven that sits on my writing desk so I can address the masses but most importantly, write an extremely self aggrandizing introduction for myself, and now that that’s over:
The millennial fiction novel, as defined by myself (but will most likely receive an update as long as I find a way to anger a fellow opinion writer) is a novel that features a millennial protagonist who deals with millennial issues, and surprisingly I don’t mean skinny jeans or side parts. To get more specific these “millennial issues” often mean a depressed or traumatized protagonist addressing failings in their personal life while staring down dead-end jobs, crippling debt, unstable political climates, or all four. Unlike the DWMs, these books sometimes have a plot, don’t necessarily always have a female protagonist, and are sometimes self-aware, but not always. Sometimes these characters are even likable and you care about them- I often wonder why that would appeal to anyone, but to each their own I guess.
The above definition seeks to be specific but not overly so as many new books could be defined as “millennial fiction”- the genre has become more pervasive since the successes of the Sally Rooney’s and the My Year of Rest and Relaxation’s of the world.
My most recent foray into this genre has been Want by Lynn Steger Strong. The book follows a mother of two who works two jobs and is currently filing for bankruptcy. The book has no real plot and has no timeline, yet it features a series of extremely stressful focal points in an already stressful life. Our unnamed protagonist doesn’t grapple with any big questions, nor does she answer them, yet she just tries to survive under extreme economic and social stress. It’s an extremely angry book that says so much without saying much at all.
Convenience Store Woman also doesn’t say much, but that’s because Sayaka Murata’s writing focuses on dialogue and is limited to the mind of her protagonist, Keiko, who is happy to live paycheck to paycheck through her job as a convenience store woman. She doesn’t want to make waves, and yet does when she constantly is fending off the questions as to why she is still working at a convenience store at thirty-six. The novel both endorses the notion of not having a career and cautions against being aimless– while Keiko is completely fulfilled and is living her best life no matter how it fits into other people’s definition of one, she is tread on by those who would take advantage of a passive woman such as herself. In the face of other novels where the protagonist’s only goal is to be economically stable, Keiko is happy being just as she is, which is an act of rebellion in of itself.
Real Life by Brandon Taylor shows the academic struggle of a black, gay, grad student trying to find his place in the world amongst the stigma of higher education and his tumultuous relationship with his lover. Taylor creates an entire life within the span of 300 some odd pages, and creates a beautiful and heartbreaking portrayal of a man living in a world that wasn’t made to accommodate him.
My last recommendation tells the story of a woman who, on the eve of Donald Trump’s election, finds out that her boyfriend runs a conspiracy Instagram account. But like all millennial fiction books, it isn’t really about that: Lauren Oyler discusses politics, the impossibility of “knowing someone” during a time where all we do is perform online, all while showing a woman unmoored in the world and on the internet. Fake Accounts feels so of the times, I’m surprised that this book wasn’t just an immaculate conception born of the 2016 election.
In a world where there are no answers to questions about debts, politics, race relations, gender, the internet, or life in general, these books don’t offer one. They depict other people struggling just as we are to answer these questions, failing, falling, and getting up again. When there is no light at the end of the tunnel, there are dapples in these books which will cause you to look for some in your own lives.
This genre and these books are so special because they address our current climate so well. If we still occupy this Earth in 40 years, I’m sure the next generations will look down on this literature as being of the time, but that’s why I love them. They are so poignant and they are so uniquely us in a way that makes me feel uniquely found amongst these pages.