海角大神

I first met author Jennifer Egan in late September at the Festival America, a Paris book fair celebrating some 70 North American authors. Hundreds of literary fans milled around the mazelike configuration of tables, stacked books, and writers at the salon du livre, in hopes of making a brief but meaningful connection with their favorite authors.

Ms. Egan was seated calmly amid the flurry, a lighthouse in the storm, and asked if we could speak later, over Zoom, so that she could 鈥渟tay present鈥� for the people who had shown up to see her.

It was apropos, given that her latest book, 鈥淭he Candy House,鈥� delves into our deep need for connection, but also, authenticity, as we are increasingly overwhelmed by technology鈥檚 slow but steady takeover.

It is also fitting, then, that the first thing that happens when she and I speak again is that my Wi-Fi cuts out. As I sit devising the few choice phrases I鈥檇 like to say to my internet company, Ms. Egan doesn鈥檛 mince words about our relationship to tech: 鈥淲e can鈥檛 go back.鈥�

In 鈥淭he Candy House鈥� 鈥� a sibling novel to her 2011 Pulitzer Prize-winning book, 鈥淎 Visit from the Goon Squad鈥� 鈥� the reader follows some 14 characters鈥� twists and turns as they navigate a world dominated by Own Your Unconscious, a technology created by Bix Bouton 鈥� a demigod 脿 la Mark Zuckerberg 鈥� that uploads users' memories onto a cube, so they are then available to others.

"The Candy House," by Jennifer Egan, Scribner, 352 pp.

Told in a dizzying array of narratives and styles 鈥� from first person plural to epistolary to an instruction manual for spies 鈥� each chapter of 鈥淭he Candy House鈥� is an exploration of our interconnectedness, but also our desire for real connection.

The book delves into the dangers of mass surveillance, the performative pressures of social media, and the consequences for 鈥渆luders鈥� 鈥� those who go to great lengths to reject this brave new world.

But lest you think 鈥淭he Candy House鈥� is in the same dystopian realm as Aldous Huxley鈥檚 1932 classic, Ms. Egan is here to set you straight. This is not a dystopian novel and was never intended to be.

鈥淒ystopia is kind of uninteresting to me,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 feel weary of a post-apocalyptic landscape in which everything has gone wrong. ...聽[This book] is such an environment of humor and even hilarity and absurdity, and one in which it鈥檚 pretty optimistic.鈥�

But that鈥檚 not to say she isn鈥檛 perplexed by our current relationship with tech. In fact, it was a driving force when she wrote this book. 鈥淚 ask the question again and again whether we are being changed internally by technology,鈥� she says.

If 鈥淭he Candy House鈥� is any indication, the people developing the internet, cell phones, and social media are probably not part of a master plan to destroy us. Thanks to technology, she writes:聽鈥渢ens of thousands of crimes solved; child pornography all but eradicated; Alzheimer鈥檚 and dementia sharply reduced by reinfusions of saved healthy consciousness; dying languages preserved and revived; a legion of missing persons found; and a global rise in empathy that accompanied a sharp decline in purist orthodoxies 鈥� which, people now knew, having roamed the odd twisting corridors of one another鈥檚 minds, had always been hypocritical.鈥�

Ms. Egan鈥檚 own relationship with technology would appear to be love-hate. Despite her fascination with our interactions with it, she says she regularly stashes her cell phone in another part of the house and is not tempted in the slightest by social media. As for misadventures down the internet rabbit hole, she does it like everyone else, but, she says, 鈥淚 rarely feel good about a lot of time spent noodling around online, and I don鈥檛 know many people who do feel good about it.鈥�

She cites 鈥淭he Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America,鈥� the 1962 work by Daniel Boorstin, as eerily prescient about the performative, curated nature of social media today. Mr. Boorstin essentially coined the term 鈥渇amous for being famous鈥� (a celebrity is 鈥渁 person who is known for his well-knownness鈥�) and claimed that press conferences and presidential debates were manufactured events, with the singular goal of gaining press coverage.

Today, according to Ms. Egan, 鈥渁 lot of what we see on social media is people trying to know each other鈥檚 interiors and trying to share the content of one鈥檚 own interior because that鈥檚 such a human wish and a human need.鈥�

Cue society鈥檚 almost painful desire to be 鈥渟een鈥� on a mass scale and social media鈥檚 ability to deliver 鈥� from the 鈥渉umble brag鈥� of the friend on Facebook who simply can鈥檛 figure out where he should donate his economic stimulus check, to the exhausted mother who posts a wholly unflattering Instagram selfie showing her futile attempts to put the kids to bed.

鈥淚鈥檓 fascinated by the desire for authenticity聽...聽[but] I literally never say to myself, 鈥楬ow can I live an authentic life?鈥欌�� she says. 鈥淭he minute you鈥檙e trying to do something authentic, it鈥檚 a sign that you鈥檙e in territory that is preventing you from doing that.鈥�

The desire to cut the act is so strong that it pushes some characters in 鈥淭he Candy House鈥� to the extremes, most spectacularly Alfred, whose 鈥渋ntolerance of fakery鈥� has led him to releasing a primal scream in public places, in search of genuine human reactions and authenticity.

But perhaps resistance to technology鈥檚 pull is futile. As the character Chris Salazar 鈥� the head of an entertainment startup fighting to preserve people鈥檚 privacy 鈥� says about externalizing one鈥檚 consciousness, 鈥淭he collective is like gravity: Almost no one can withstand it. In the end, they give it everything.鈥�

Ms. Egan鈥檚 own advice on how to exit the 鈥減aradox of authenticity鈥� is an obvious one: Get off the screen.

And so it is that as I am saying goodbye to her, I find myself trapped in a brilliantly ironic moment of life imitating art. There鈥檚 me, shamelessly seeking connection by relaying an anecdote that would link Ms. Egan and me聽through one of my closest friends,聽and my Wi-Fi once again going on the fritz.

鈥淚鈥檓 losing you again,鈥� she says, as the line cuts in and out. 鈥淚 think it鈥檚 a sign that we have to end.鈥�