It was when I found myself in the middle of a debate on Radio 4 that I felt something had definitely gone very wrong. I was invited on to discuss an article I had written for Dazed about the apparent lack of young male novelists breaking through in today’s literary scene. It was titled “Where have all the young male novelists gone?” and it had an… interesting reception. In it, I investigated a claim that was made by The Sunday Times that young male novelists (those under the age of 35) weren’t writing as many novels as previous generations, and the ones that were aren’t making it to the bestseller charts or making any great waves among the general reading public. Gathering the opinions of young woman writers and voices from the industry, most people agreed that the dearth was indeed a thing and that, in general, the lack of young male voices, especially at a time when they are quite a fraught presence within society, is no great cause for celebration.

The piece was met with accusations of everything from misogyny to racism, and sparked response pieces in which people listed every young male novelist that came to their heads (the majority of which didn’t actually fit into the parameters suggested by The Sunday Times, nor my piece).

Several names kept coming up in the responses and I think it is a testament to the skincare routines of Douglas Stuart (aged 46), Paul Mendez (40), Max Porter (41), Stuart Evers (46) and Ross Raisin (43) that people think they belong to a generation of writers who still have to bring their IDs to Tesco. As their names clogged up my mentions, I wondered why so many people were under the impression that the designation “young male novelist” would apply to someone alive when “Dancing Queen” was released.

It seems that the threshold for youth is given far more leniency for male novelists than it is for female novelists. Nobody in their right mind would ever consider Douglas Stuart to be a young man. But since he is not of the mould of the male novelists of yore (Martin Amis, Salman Rushdie, Julian Barnes, etc), he is considered to be a fresh young thing. This is a designation that is never afforded to women novelists. Toni Morrison didn’t write her first novel until she was 39 years old and, yet, is always found on lists of authors who “started late”.

Some of the responses to the piece also brought up the fact that there actually are a number of young male novelists being published in Britain today. This was usually accompanied by a short list of the same four or five names that people felt acted as a devastating gotcha. The problem is, the fact that we can neatly recall the (very) short list of these young male novelists further proves how much of a drought there is.

It’s also interesting to look at the kind of novels that young men are publishing today, or how they are marketed, at least. Recently, the Irish novelist Kevin Power tweeted, “I will be funding a prize for any novel published in 2023 that isn’t a moving exploration of trauma and identity.” Obviously, Power is poking fun at the homogeneity of books marketing jargon nowadays, but it does point toward a trend in a lot of recent fiction by young men. It feels like every book by young men now must be a “portrait of modern masculinity”. Is this the only way that agents and publishers feel that they can actually market works by young men? Fiction aimed at young women is currently so abundant that it has spawned microgenres – sad girl books, dark academia, “female manipulator” books – while young men just have to read books where the main character is considered brave for attending one whole therapy session. If that were the case for me I’d probably be due a Victoria Cross. We need more fun and frivolous books from young men. Where are our modern-day Ronald Fairbanks? Where’s our Party Going by Henry Green?

“It feels like every book by young men now must be a ‘portrait of modern masculinity’. Is this the only way that agents and publishers feel that they can actually market works by young men?”

But why did the suggestion that there are fewer young male novelists attract such a backlash? I think part of it has to do with the, frankly, rubbish press that young male novelists have garnered in the past. The words “young male novelist” immediately cause the guy in your MFA to spring to mind. He is the ponderous Holden Caulfield type; someone who sings the praises of Infinite Jest and probably hates women. He is a composite of the boorishness of the Beats, the devil-may-care attitude of the 80s Brat Packers, and the introspection of the early 00s Great American Novelists. And while it’s true that these kinds of young male novelists do still exist and can be absolutely awful, there don’t seem to be as many of them around anymore.

Recently, the Guardian published a piece by a woman writer who claimed that her boyfriend, also a writer, had become jealous of her newfound success and subsequently dumped her. In a rebuttal to this piece, and pieces like it in general, the writer Rachel Connolly penned a response entitled “Enough With the Sad, Put-Upon Woman Essay”. One line in Connolly’s piece really stuck out to me: “Male vulnerability is still wildly under-discussed. Men could write essays like this […] but they don’t, because everyone would laugh and make fun of them. In a patriarchal society, male vulnerability has no value, just as female vulnerability is too prized.”

“It’s for this reason that so many novels today about ‘male vulnerability’ all rehash the same tired tropes. Men can write about vulnerability as long as it is masked as a comment on masculinity or class or society or trauma or identity”

It’s for this reason that so many novels today about “male vulnerability” all rehash the same tired tropes. Men can write about vulnerability as long as it is masked as a comment on masculinity or class or society or trauma or identity. These are the ways we have made male vulnerability palatable. But really, all of this writing is utterly useless and says nothing. It is all too safe. Why would men, particularly young men, even bother? Why risk the backlash?

There is the oft-repeated justification that men have ruled the publishing industry for, well, ever and that it is simply now women’s time to be in the majority. However, when young male voices are few and far between, we all suffer. For there to be such a glaring gap in the representation of young men in society, written by those very men, is to erase a generation. How will people see the role of young men in British society in 2022 if first-hand sources do not exist? How can we all learn about the experiences and the attitudes of the time if the chronicles go unwritten?

2023 will be an important year in the British literary calendar. In the spring, the literary magazine Granta will publish its new Best of Young British Novelists list, a survey they have produced every ten years since 1983 which is seen as the definitive list of today’s and tomorrow’s literary superstars. It will be interesting to see the young male writers who will be present on the 2023 list and what their average age is going to be. All I can hope is that it introduces these young men to the audiences they deserve.