Some people draw an easy, maybe even lazy, distinction between two generations: Gen Z performs coolness and irony, while Millennials are the cohort of political correctness and cringe. Gen Z wears low-rise jeans while Millennials post things such as “You can pry these high-rise pants from my cold, dead hands!” These theories might make for a fun 30-second TikTok, but they have become so commonplace as to be almost meaningless. As I read Anika Jade Levy’s debut novel, Flat Earth, I wondered if it might actually say something new, not just about what it means to be a member of Gen Z, but about what it feels like to come of age as an artist—and a person—in this particularly vexed American moment.
Flat Earth opens with an Adderall shortage in New York City, a consequence of supply-chain breakdowns and worsening relations with China. Without stimulants, 26-year-old Avery, a graduate student in a media-studies program, is unable to write. She’s supposed to be working on “a book of cultural reports, but it wasn’t taking shape.” Instead, she heads off on a summer trip with her best friend, Frances, another grad student, who’s making a documentary about “rural isolation and right-wing conspiracy theories.” The two friends take a road trip together, driving from the Georgia Guides
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