Our leading writers are inhumanly cool

I see that Geoff Dyer has a new book out. I’m sure it’s brilliantly written, devilishly witty, and as shallow as a mirror. He sums up, for me, the literature of today. The most critically lauded writers of our day are writers of stylish non-fiction. Or of fiction that looks like non-fiction, that presents itself as the author’s rambling musings. You see, the author is too charmingly laid-back to structure his work around anything. He’s too busy being a flaneur, or in Dyer’s updating of the concept, a slacker.

I have recently read two other authors of this type: Tom McCarthy, and the American Ben Lerner. And there are many others who half-fit, who echo this orthodoxy. The style has deeply influenced most of the critically lauded writers of our day, especially male ones.

What essentially defines them? They are cool. Cool meaning more than fashionable: meaning detached, unimpressed, ironic. They give the impression that strong opinions and emotions are to be avoided.