THE ATMOSPHERIANS by Alex McElroy

McCarthy’s allusive style and illuminating observations carrying them along, readers may become unsettled by the drift and dysfunction of its protagonist. But if ever there was an example of a quest story where the quest matters more than the objective, it’s this coming-of-age novel.

An intellectually stimulating fiction debut.

THE ATMOSPHERIANS

McElroy, Alex Atria (304 pp.) $27.00 | May 18, 2021 978-1-9821-5830-9

A cult sets out to reform men.

Sasha Marcus built a career as a wellness influencer, but she loses everything—her followers, her connections, her job—when a troll livestreams his suicide and publicly blames her. The day she receives an eviction notice, just after her 29th birthday, her oldest friend, Dyson Layne, a struggling actor, shows up unannounced at her front door with a wild idea: “Mindfulness is the swamp of aspiring quacks...me and you: we’re starting a cult.” They plan to use land Dyson inherited from his grandparents to host and reform 12 middle-aged White men. The world of the novel is hyperreal, presenting a familiar reality studded with uncanny details. For example, there’s the problem of “man hordes”: a growing phenomenon in which groups of men lose consciousness temporarily, sometimes causing destruction but other times doing things like gardening or saving pets. Dyson insists they are “a sign of something deeply wrong in the souls of men today.” The Atmosphere, Sasha and Dyson’s cult, is supposed to be the solution: “The Atmosphere: where men become human.” McElroy’s debut is as uncomfortable as it is thoughtprovoking. It takes on toxic masculinity, eating disorders, influencer culture, and the violence inherent in power dynamics without dragging or overreaching.

Edgy, addictive, gruesome, and smart.

IN A Graphic Novel

McPhail, Will Illus. by the author Houghton Mifflin Harcourt (272 pp.) $28.00 | May 18, 2021 978-0-358-34554-1

Cartoonist McPhail’s debut graphic novel follows a youngish artist’s desperate search for authenticity in a culture where true selves hide behind performative, perfunctory interactions.

Professional illustrator Nick Moss isn’t sad but wants to be—at least for a night. He’s heard of sad men being sad in sad bars, so he tries on the role for himself, but an attractive young woman named Wren playfully calls him out on his artifice. This meet-cute leads to a fun, steamy, no-strings-attached affair, which weaves through Nick’s everyday struggles to form meaningful connections to his fellow humans—strangers, neighbors, and family alike. Eventually he learns to lean into awkward encounters and finally say something that matters to the other person—transcendent moments that McPhail brings to life by fantastically transporting Nick to vibrant, inspiring vistas for the duration of these fleeting epiphanies. McPhail’s art is exceptional—realistic if impressionistic settings and anatomic figures with cartoonish accents like bug eyes and overemotive gestures. The visuals are scrumptious and the yearning for personal connection is deeply relatable, but the story loses focus with observational bits about pretentious coffee shops and corporate jargon, and the central romantic relationship has a bit too much of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl dynamic to fully resonate. But even when beats feel overly familiar, McPhail presents them with style and grace, deftly moving the story along with subtle, impactful visual cues. Nick isn’t an especially likable character, save for the relatability of his desires, but the eyes McPhail gives him—perfect white circles with pinprick