What Even Is A "Sad Girl Novel"?

In which we consider the current trend of Sad Girl novels and what their critical and commercial reception says about the current landscape of literature

Hi, Y’all! Glad You’re Here—

Over the last few weeks, all of Twitter (now X?) has been abuzz with the latest book by Emma Cline, a novel titled The Guest. The simplest description would be that it follows an unnamed twenty-two-year-old grifter as she spends a week in the Hamptons. If you’ve read the works of Ottessa Moshfegh, Melissa Broder, Jen Beagin, or Halle Butler, this book might seem familiar to you. The protagonist is deceptive and dabbles in questionable behavior, and she might be labeled an ‘unlikable’ character, depending on how well you vibe with the slightly depraved. This recently popularized genre of book has been labeled as ‘Sad Girl Literature’—defined by author Pip Finkemeyer as a story “about a girl who is sad/mad/bad—or some combination of all three—and is railing against the hand she’s been dealt with mute protest or just not being very happy about anything.” It’s been described as one of the most popular types of books circulating among readers as of late, especially those in the BookTok community, but what’s so special about this genre? What exactly is the appeal?

Stories like this aren’t new—in fact, some of the most popular books over the last century might loosely fit into the genre of ‘sad girl’ literature. Virginia Woolf’s non-fiction captures the quiet, internal distress of womanhood, Sylvia Plath’s poetry and her novel, The Bell Jar, capture the anxious unsureness of navigating one’s mental health, and even books like Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of The Dolls show what has become a trope, of young women self-medicating, tuning out the greater world in favor of their own enraged interiority. In the nineties, we saw a burst of memoirs that are still popular today, for how they capture these feelings—books like Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen, and Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel. The nineties, just in general, seems like the most angsty period of time—also I feel like this era of Alanis Morrissette could loosely fit in here. And maybe it’s this time period that really informed our recent rise in sad girl literature. Many of the writers of these books grew up in the nineties. Wouldn’t such a specific moment in time be influential to soon-to-be writers?

You’ll notice that one of the commonalities between the books I’ve already mentioned is that the majority of these books feature affluent white women—people who have the ability, the privilege, of doing not much else besides sulking. This is one of the main criticisms lodged towards this genre of book. I understand this argument, as many of these books feature protagonists who challenge our ability to empathize with them or to like them at all—a recent, defining factor for these books is that they feature ‘unlikeable’ protagonists. I think many of us who struggle with our mental health and our place in society, but who are too busy working all the time, struggling to make ends meet, to have time to sulk, hold a little resentment towards these types of people. It’s tricky, I think, because we have several conversations happening here—the validity of a person’s feelings and struggles, the discourse around privilege and whether or not these characters should develop an awareness of that privilege, whether or not it’s important to like or connect with a character, and asking, why should these types of stories exist?

I recently started watching Girls on HBO—the show created by Lena Dunham—and I feel like that show and its initial reception also speaks to this issue. The show was widely criticized throughout its run because it was advertised as a show about the experience of 20-something women of the 2010s, but the only characters featured were bratty, affluent white women. The characters were often described as privileged, unlikable, whiny, frustrating—many of the things that the characters in sad girl literature are accused of now. Many have since re-evaluated the show and praise the brilliance of its writing, the sharp dialogue, astute observations, and interesting character development. I think it’s because it actually is a really good show—of course it’s not a show that’s going to capture the widely differing experiences of girlhood, and in fact only captures a very niche experience of girlhood, but I don’t think Dunham was ever trying to capture all of the experiences. Her characters are very problematic at times and not all of them really grow out of that—but just because they don’t have this awareness doesn’t mean that the show isn’t aware. The show is often critiquing a lot of their behavior just as frequently as it asks us to empathize with them. When the show was first created, Lena Dunham was just trying to write about the experiences of her and the people she knew—I think the main issue was more to do with the marketing team saying it was about this wide experience when it wasn’t. This same thing happens to books all the time.

This isn’t to say that things like Girls or many of the ‘sad girl’ books are above critique—art was made to be engaged with, and sometimes that means being frustrated by it, disagreeing with it, calling it out on what it gets wrong or praising what it gets right. But I also think sometimes the greater issue has to do with how we talk about art and our own expectations versus what it’s actually doing. When I first started discussing sad girl books a few years ago, one of the biggest sticking points for other people was that I included books that wouldn’t *technically* be considered sad girl reads. I included books like Luster by Raven Leilani, Post-Traumatic by Chantal V. Johnson, Your Driver Is Waiting by Priya Guns, All This Could Be Different by Sarah Thankam Mathews, and My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite, and people would point out little reasons why these books didn’t fit into the category. For some, these characters were too proactive, they worked too hard or were too involved in the outside world, some said these characters showed too much agency, or weren’t actually sad or mad enough to fit the genre. But I think the reality is that people who made these arguments just had a very narrow idea of what these experiences can look like if you don’t have money, or if you’re not white, or not straight. When it comes to the critics of sad girl literature, I honestly think they have less issue with the works themselves than they do with those who are a fan of the genre, and of what it signifies within the greater landscape of literature.

Back in 2020, I remember there being a bit of a controversy around this book My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell, when author Wendy C. Ortiz suggested that Russell plagiarized elements from her memoir Excavations. While I’ve read both books and don’t believe Russell actually plagiarized anything, one of the common critiques I saw for My Dark Vanessa was that it was a streamlined, uncomplicated, white version of Excavations. The truth is, Ortiz’s memoir is great, and it does touch on more topics than My Dark Vanessa, including the complicated intersection of race and girlhood. I also agree that Excavations and many books like it are overlooked by publishing because they don’t cater to the white women of bookstagram and the like. But I feel like My Dark Vanessa wasn’t trying to be anything more than what it was—the issue, to me, seems less about the actual text and more to do with the privilege afforded to white authors, the way publishing prioritizes our stories, and the way our stories are often considered the default.

One of the most popular writers of this genre might be Irish author Sally Rooney, whose sophomore novel Normal People was longlisted for the Booker prize back in 2018. What I find most interesting about her work within the genre is how the political nature of them have been received by critics. Many people have described sad girl literature as often being “apolitical”—an opinion that I disagree with—and there have, at times, been a demand to more deeply engage with certain social and political ideas. But when someone like Rooney attempts to do this, this aspect of her work faces more criticism. People have basically accused her of being performative and self riotous in her ideas, or have accused her of having a lack of clarity in her opinions. But I wonder if it’s less that she isn’t clear on her opinions and more that she doesn’t want to hold the readers hand when it comes to communicating her ideas. And I actually think this is really true with many of these books.

The reception of sad girl literature reminds me of the reception of the popular 2004 teen film Mean Girls. You watch the movie at fourteen and you see yourself, you agree with many of the character’s actions, you feel frustrated when they’re frustrated and are deeply connected to the feelings of these characters. Then, you watch the film as an adult, with enough time and separation from those experiences, and you begin to see the film for the satire it really is. I feel like this happens a lot with sad girl literature. Many of the people who love these books don’t necessarily see the critiques by the authors of some of the character’s behaviors because they’re at a point where it’s all so close to them, that all they can do is identify with the experience. I don’t think this is a bad thing—it’s not a criticism—but I do feel like it’s possibly one of the ways that we see such varied opinions about some of these works.

When I think about the evolution of this genre, I think about how we actually have a novel critiquing it now (Sad Girl Novel), that it’s become such a staple that people are trying to find their space within the genre, that we’re arguing about what fits into the genre and not…when I mentioned that Emma Cline’s new novel was a sad girl read, I was once again corrected. I said The Guest, in some ways, reminded me of last year’s Hurricane Girl by Marcy Dermansky, and a friend said they didn’t think either of those books belonged in the sad girl canon. Are there sub-genres for this already niche genre of literature? What do we think the evolution of this type of book will be over the next decade or so? Is it already shifting into something new? This year alone, I’ve read a number of books that I considered to fit into the genre, books that I loved—the new Melissa Broder, All-Night Pharmacy by Ruth Madievsky, Big Swiss by Jen Beagin, My Last Innocent Year by Daisy Albert Florin. Part of me honestly just thought it was more of a vibe than a trope? But it’s interesting to think about. And also, despite my interest in these books, my lack of understanding of the genre has made me realize that I’m not the best person to write about this. Still, I wanted to write some thoughts, maybe just in the hope that someone else would want to talk to me about it.

In some ways, I find myself feeling like the protagonist of a sad girl novel. I wonder if we all do.

If you’ve been thinking about these genre at all, or if you have any thoughts to contribute, please, let’s discuss. And if you disagree with any of my thoughts, as always, I am thrilled to converse!

Thanks to everyone for reading, and I can’t wait to jump back into NBA discussion soon.

Until then,

XOXO