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 break

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