A delicious satire on woke culture, toxic masculinity and online influencers, Isle McElroy’s The Atmospherians is an engaging read and one that’s well suited for our times.
It follows Sasha Marcus, formerly a famous Instagram personality, as her life spirals out of control following the live-streamed suicide of one of her trolls; as her life craters, she’s approached by her oldest friend Dyson Layne, who’s about to start a cult based on reforming bad men. Men, meanwhile, are growing chaotic: there’s a rise of “Man Hordes,” groups of men who gather and do deeds (sometimes good, often bad) and have no recollection of the event.
Right from the get-go, McElroy’s book goes for between the eyes: men’s rights activists marching outside Sasha’s apartment, the details of her life collapsing before her eyes: getting dumped over a text, friends declining her calls. By the time Dyson enters the picture, Sasha’s life is at an all time low and the former self-empowerment fashionista is wearing sweatpants and eating takeout. Dyson charms her with a mix of flattery and demands:
“And you need this. You’ve hit rock bottom. You’re broke. Evicted. The Atmosphere is your only path to redemption. I wish this could happen some other way, but this is the world we have: Americans love reckonings. They’re obsessed with atonement. Reform some men, prove you can care for guys like Lucas DeVry and the media will slobber over your tale of redemption. Boom: you get your life back.” (Pg 15)
Dyson calls the cult The Atmosphere, and the idea is to rid men of their toxic habits through a regimen of self-examination, hard exercise and dieting. Partly, this is related through Dyson’s body image - McElroy’s description of Dyson’s disordered eating and self-loathing is compelling and disturbing - and partly through a desire at fame. As a failed actor and something of a burnout, the cult and Sasha are a chance for Dyson to recapture a sense of self and glory.
Throughout the book, McElroy’s prose is sharp and their characterizations are clear: Dyson has major issues, yet has somehow found himself as a kind of therapist; Sasha’s a guru who preaches against drinking and wearing makeup, yet isn’t against a weekend getaway where she smokes and has a few pops. And the ghosts of the dead - the men’s rights activist, Dyson’s father - are never far from the plot, always haunting these two at the margins. Before long, their cult has a dozen men, eating spoiled meat and drinking red wine before puking them back up into a trough in a scene that’s morbidly compelling.
Indeed, maybe that’s the best way to sum up this book. Dyson emerges as a character that’s easy to fall for, yet hard to like; the quest for missed opportunities and second chances gives this book it’s propulsive energy, while Sasha’s journey keeps the plot moving; her little dropped hints about Dyson, about movies made on the group and such lend the book a sinister edge, a feeling that things are about to fall apart - although they never quite do. This feeling’s part of what makes McElroy’s novel such a compelling read.
It’s tempting to compare this book to other internet novels that have come out this year (like Patricia Lockwood’s Nobody Is Talking About This). Where Lockwood talks about the absurdity and emptiness of online culture and fame, McElroy probes deeper into what makes someone create themselves as an Instagram celebrity, why someone would put so much of themselves online and what keeps them there. There’s addiction, partly (Sasha regularly sneaks off to a spot with just enough reception to use her cell phone), but also power. The ability to control the narrative, to make people bend to one’s will. Be it Sasha on TV explaining why makeup is bad or Dyson making a group of men act in a shed, both show a craving for power. The Atrmospherians doesn’t have any easy answers, but it does help explain a little bit.
McElroy also has fun skewering current trends. There’s Blake, a country singer who acts nice when he’s dating Sasha, but skewers her once he’s more famous (ring a bell?). Or Sasha’s former partner and sometime antagonist Cassandra Hanson: a wonderful sendup of self-important online wellness culture, a person who can’t speak without being condescending, who’s ideas don’t really mean anything but have this hollow ring of received wisdom. But my favourite was this bit was about a podcaster named Sy Cunningham:
“Sylence consisted of sixty minutes of silence - plus two segments from sponsors - and on rare occasions, it was rumoured, Sy could be heard breathing into the mic. His most committed listeners argued for the authenticity of these moments with the enthusiastic paranoia of alien abductees. Syphers, they called themselves.” (pg 128)
Perhaps the lasting bit about this book is it’s concept of man hordes, a notion of masculinity that runs out of control, forcing itself on people of both genders: the men who act out a gender role without thinking, the women who are acted on without consent. It’s an interesting commentary on power and male privilege - I could be wrong, but I don’t recall any of the men involved actually going to jail for their actions in them - and there’s a moment of genuine pathos surrounding one deep into the book.
Ultimately, The Atmospherians is a funny and engaging read about the rise and fall of two problematic, yet interesting people. McElroy builds a world that’s quite a lot like ours, but with maybe just a little more meanness and absurdity, and definitely a lot more emphasis on what happens online. It’s reminiscent of Vonnegut, I think, and it’s dark, it’s funny, and I enjoyed every page. Recommended.