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My First Book

Author Honor Levy
Read by Honor Levy
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A Most Anticipated Book of 2024 by Good Morning America, W, Nylon, SheReads, and LitHub

“We count on our best young fiction writers to bring us news from the digital nervous system. Honor Levy . . . does so with special bite and élan.” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times

From groundbreaking debut author Honor Levy, stories to delight and ensnare


Walking the wire between imagination and confession, My First Book marks the arrival of an electric new talent. Honor Levy’s uniquely riveting voice emerges from the chaos of coming of age in Generation Z. Never far from a digital interface, her characters grapple with formative political, existential, and romantic experiences in a web-drenched society on the brink of collapse.

Inventive, ambitious, and frequently surreal, the stories of My First Book are a mirrorball onto the world as it is. Levy illuminates what it is to be at once adorable, special, heavily medicated, consistently panicked, and completely sincere. One protagonist accompanies a girl with too many teeth through an abortion, while another discovers the infinite nature of love, a third reminisces about other sunsets that were “pinker, like way pinker,” and another encounters God in a downtown arcade.  To find and keep faith is the order of the day—but how?
Love Story

honor.baby/lovestory

Password: iloveyou!

He was giving knight errant, organ-meat eater, Byronic hero, Haplogroup R1b. She was giving damsel in distress, pill-popper pixie dream girl, Haplogroup K. He was in his fall of Rome era. She was serving sixth and final mass extinction event realness. His face was a marble statue. Her face was an anime waifu. They scrolled into each other. If they could have, they would have blushed, pink pixels on a screen. Monkey covering eyes emoji. Anime nosebleed GIF. Henlo frend. hiiii. It was a meet-cute. They met. It was cute. Kawaii. UwU. The waifu went, pick me, and the statue did, like a tulip emoji. If their two lips had met he would have tasted seed oils, aspartame lip gloss, and apple red dye 40 on her tongue. She would have tasted creatine, raw milk, and slurs on his.

They viewed each other's bodies, disembodied, laid out still, frozen shining cold in blue light, Liquid Crystal Display. He was posting physique, gym selfies, Bruegel landscapes, oh look how wide his lats look, he's growing angel wings. Flexed, he could flap right up to the sun. She was posting thinspo, puppy-dog-filter webcam progress shots, Bosch triptychs, wow you could put a whole stained-glass window in that thigh gap, the crucifixion maybe. Through her cathedral thigh gap you could see the sky where right-winged Icarus went flying by. He was kamikaze mode, pumping iron, all Sun and Steel sending hearts <3 <3 <3 to his Saint Wilgefortis, darling, starving, holy hikikomori virgin femcel holed up in her Serial Experiments Laincore bedroom.

She was posted up, sleeping beauty GIF, a maiden in an unmade bed, posting, Just A Girlboss Building Her Empire, I'm Rotting Here.

Why? he replied.

IDK, and she did decay like a time-lapse of a rotting fox GIF. If he was there with her, a wandering knight on a white horse taking secret refuge in her convent deep in the dark forest, he would kick around the empty cans of White Monster on her floor and she would say, Welcome >_< Take a Seat Wherever.

He wanted to tell the whole World Wide Web how he felt: She's so hot I want to clean her room, rescue her, white knight defend her in comments and battle. He was in his /a/ poster arc, Why Is She So Perfect? but he'd have to play it cool, chill sigma, no simping. Alcibiades, that's me. The last samurai, I'm him. I'm literally him. I'm Ryan Gosling in Drive. I'm American Psycho. I'm Joker. I'm Taxi Driver. He'd stand above her, tall and strong. She'd stare up at him with her shining anime, no her shining animal eyes, her real eyes, realize real lies. Wondering what he was thinking. He'd stare into them and then he'd sit beside her, very close, take a breath and say, Damn Bitch, You Live Like This? like Max to Roxanne from A Goofy Movie (1995) from the meme (2016).

They would smile. There would be butterflies. She'd kiss his cheek, his real cheek, not the marble one, the pink one with the acne scars.
“We count on our best young fiction writers to bring us news from the digital nervous system. Honor Levy, in My First Book, a collection of stories that is indeed her first book, does so with special bite and élan. . . . Reading Levy is what it must have felt like to read Ann Beattie on her generation in the early 1970s . . . In this collection’s finest work, Levy’s sentences are cold poetry of a sort. . . . What pushes Levy’s stories beyond being merely on the level of smart magazine essays is the empathy you can sense below the starkness . . . Is a hot take a stab at being found? Levy can dispense these as well as anyone. Crucially, though, she understands that ‘a hot take won’t keep you warm at night.’” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times

“Levy channels the blitzkrieg of contradictory micro-observations we absorb from social media, video games, and doomscrolling to create the absurd, incomprehensible cacophony that anyone born after 1997 had to grow up enduring . . . [In “Internet Girl”] Levy's portrayal of her narrator's interiority is both compellingly satirical and frighteningly plausible . . . [In “Love Story”] Levy poignantly captures the girl's vulnerability . . . Levy smartly skewers late capitalism in "Halloween Forever.” . . . A unique blend of the satirical and the poignant.” —NPR

“Inventive, beautifully written, expressive of its generation, and worthy of the attention it has garnered. . . . the energy and beauty of Levy’s style brings in something new. She has created something unique: an internet language in which to speak of the internet.” Compact Magazine

“Levy’s business is dowsing for truth in a frantic modernity, where sensations once bodily and sufferable, like love and longing, are filtered away into digital sediment and inscrutable signifiers. . . . Levy writes in her own referential language, a lightspeed style that must be post-post-post modern. . . . it’s a strange language for a strange epoch.” The Guardian

“A premier voice of a new generation of writers . . . Levy’s vulnerability and insightful reflections on growing up online are what made this for me and shine through.” Electric Lit

“In near-superb proportion, Levy draws from Woolf’s melancholia, Sylvia Plath’s existential dread, and Didion’s early adulthood sentimentality to extract some very cold but relevant truths about the society in which we live in and the next generation of leaders. It’s easy to predict a future in which literary nerds, aspiring writers, sociologists, and culturally curious individuals will come across My First Book and find the holistic emotional truth about this zeitgeist that most novels, movies, or other artistic endeavors might get blisteringly wrong.” —On the Seawall

“Captures the Gen Z experience . . . like reading a foreign language that I didn’t know I grew up speaking.” Michigan Daily

“Experimental and creative . . . A fascinating take on Gen Z life, lived online.” —Booklist

“Crackling debut collection . . . Levy shines when capturing her characters’ existential dread . . . Levy announces herself as an astute interpreter of Zoomer culture.” Publishers Weekly

“This book defies definition . . . Oddly exquisite.” Kirkus (starred review)

My First Book manages to somehow be based, redpilled, woke, cringe, and, above all else, brilliant all at the same time. (And if you’re not a zoomer, it’ll define some of that terminally online vocabulary for you.) Finally, my generation has a voice to be proud of.” —Brock Colyar, winner of the American Society of Magazine Editors Next Award
 
“Fractal stories from the eschatological present, told in a strange, new, manic, and flarfy voice that I trust and endorse.” —Tao Lin, author of Leave Society
 
“Nobody writes like Honor Levy. My First Book is brutal and feminine, dreamlike and fantastic. I relished every word.” —Cat Marnell, author of How To Murder Your Life
© Olivia Parker and Parker Hao
Honor Levy is a writer from California. She graduated from Bennington College in 2020. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker and New York Tyrant and been anthologized in Flash Fiction America. View titles by Honor Levy

About

A Most Anticipated Book of 2024 by Good Morning America, W, Nylon, SheReads, and LitHub

“We count on our best young fiction writers to bring us news from the digital nervous system. Honor Levy . . . does so with special bite and élan.” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times

From groundbreaking debut author Honor Levy, stories to delight and ensnare


Walking the wire between imagination and confession, My First Book marks the arrival of an electric new talent. Honor Levy’s uniquely riveting voice emerges from the chaos of coming of age in Generation Z. Never far from a digital interface, her characters grapple with formative political, existential, and romantic experiences in a web-drenched society on the brink of collapse.

Inventive, ambitious, and frequently surreal, the stories of My First Book are a mirrorball onto the world as it is. Levy illuminates what it is to be at once adorable, special, heavily medicated, consistently panicked, and completely sincere. One protagonist accompanies a girl with too many teeth through an abortion, while another discovers the infinite nature of love, a third reminisces about other sunsets that were “pinker, like way pinker,” and another encounters God in a downtown arcade.  To find and keep faith is the order of the day—but how?

Excerpt

Love Story

honor.baby/lovestory

Password: iloveyou!

He was giving knight errant, organ-meat eater, Byronic hero, Haplogroup R1b. She was giving damsel in distress, pill-popper pixie dream girl, Haplogroup K. He was in his fall of Rome era. She was serving sixth and final mass extinction event realness. His face was a marble statue. Her face was an anime waifu. They scrolled into each other. If they could have, they would have blushed, pink pixels on a screen. Monkey covering eyes emoji. Anime nosebleed GIF. Henlo frend. hiiii. It was a meet-cute. They met. It was cute. Kawaii. UwU. The waifu went, pick me, and the statue did, like a tulip emoji. If their two lips had met he would have tasted seed oils, aspartame lip gloss, and apple red dye 40 on her tongue. She would have tasted creatine, raw milk, and slurs on his.

They viewed each other's bodies, disembodied, laid out still, frozen shining cold in blue light, Liquid Crystal Display. He was posting physique, gym selfies, Bruegel landscapes, oh look how wide his lats look, he's growing angel wings. Flexed, he could flap right up to the sun. She was posting thinspo, puppy-dog-filter webcam progress shots, Bosch triptychs, wow you could put a whole stained-glass window in that thigh gap, the crucifixion maybe. Through her cathedral thigh gap you could see the sky where right-winged Icarus went flying by. He was kamikaze mode, pumping iron, all Sun and Steel sending hearts <3 <3 <3 to his Saint Wilgefortis, darling, starving, holy hikikomori virgin femcel holed up in her Serial Experiments Laincore bedroom.

She was posted up, sleeping beauty GIF, a maiden in an unmade bed, posting, Just A Girlboss Building Her Empire, I'm Rotting Here.

Why? he replied.

IDK, and she did decay like a time-lapse of a rotting fox GIF. If he was there with her, a wandering knight on a white horse taking secret refuge in her convent deep in the dark forest, he would kick around the empty cans of White Monster on her floor and she would say, Welcome >_< Take a Seat Wherever.

He wanted to tell the whole World Wide Web how he felt: She's so hot I want to clean her room, rescue her, white knight defend her in comments and battle. He was in his /a/ poster arc, Why Is She So Perfect? but he'd have to play it cool, chill sigma, no simping. Alcibiades, that's me. The last samurai, I'm him. I'm literally him. I'm Ryan Gosling in Drive. I'm American Psycho. I'm Joker. I'm Taxi Driver. He'd stand above her, tall and strong. She'd stare up at him with her shining anime, no her shining animal eyes, her real eyes, realize real lies. Wondering what he was thinking. He'd stare into them and then he'd sit beside her, very close, take a breath and say, Damn Bitch, You Live Like This? like Max to Roxanne from A Goofy Movie (1995) from the meme (2016).

They would smile. There would be butterflies. She'd kiss his cheek, his real cheek, not the marble one, the pink one with the acne scars.

Reviews

“We count on our best young fiction writers to bring us news from the digital nervous system. Honor Levy, in My First Book, a collection of stories that is indeed her first book, does so with special bite and élan. . . . Reading Levy is what it must have felt like to read Ann Beattie on her generation in the early 1970s . . . In this collection’s finest work, Levy’s sentences are cold poetry of a sort. . . . What pushes Levy’s stories beyond being merely on the level of smart magazine essays is the empathy you can sense below the starkness . . . Is a hot take a stab at being found? Levy can dispense these as well as anyone. Crucially, though, she understands that ‘a hot take won’t keep you warm at night.’” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times

“Levy channels the blitzkrieg of contradictory micro-observations we absorb from social media, video games, and doomscrolling to create the absurd, incomprehensible cacophony that anyone born after 1997 had to grow up enduring . . . [In “Internet Girl”] Levy's portrayal of her narrator's interiority is both compellingly satirical and frighteningly plausible . . . [In “Love Story”] Levy poignantly captures the girl's vulnerability . . . Levy smartly skewers late capitalism in "Halloween Forever.” . . . A unique blend of the satirical and the poignant.” —NPR

“Inventive, beautifully written, expressive of its generation, and worthy of the attention it has garnered. . . . the energy and beauty of Levy’s style brings in something new. She has created something unique: an internet language in which to speak of the internet.” Compact Magazine

“Levy’s business is dowsing for truth in a frantic modernity, where sensations once bodily and sufferable, like love and longing, are filtered away into digital sediment and inscrutable signifiers. . . . Levy writes in her own referential language, a lightspeed style that must be post-post-post modern. . . . it’s a strange language for a strange epoch.” The Guardian

“A premier voice of a new generation of writers . . . Levy’s vulnerability and insightful reflections on growing up online are what made this for me and shine through.” Electric Lit

“In near-superb proportion, Levy draws from Woolf’s melancholia, Sylvia Plath’s existential dread, and Didion’s early adulthood sentimentality to extract some very cold but relevant truths about the society in which we live in and the next generation of leaders. It’s easy to predict a future in which literary nerds, aspiring writers, sociologists, and culturally curious individuals will come across My First Book and find the holistic emotional truth about this zeitgeist that most novels, movies, or other artistic endeavors might get blisteringly wrong.” —On the Seawall

“Captures the Gen Z experience . . . like reading a foreign language that I didn’t know I grew up speaking.” Michigan Daily

“Experimental and creative . . . A fascinating take on Gen Z life, lived online.” —Booklist

“Crackling debut collection . . . Levy shines when capturing her characters’ existential dread . . . Levy announces herself as an astute interpreter of Zoomer culture.” Publishers Weekly

“This book defies definition . . . Oddly exquisite.” Kirkus (starred review)

My First Book manages to somehow be based, redpilled, woke, cringe, and, above all else, brilliant all at the same time. (And if you’re not a zoomer, it’ll define some of that terminally online vocabulary for you.) Finally, my generation has a voice to be proud of.” —Brock Colyar, winner of the American Society of Magazine Editors Next Award
 
“Fractal stories from the eschatological present, told in a strange, new, manic, and flarfy voice that I trust and endorse.” —Tao Lin, author of Leave Society
 
“Nobody writes like Honor Levy. My First Book is brutal and feminine, dreamlike and fantastic. I relished every word.” —Cat Marnell, author of How To Murder Your Life

Author

© Olivia Parker and Parker Hao
Honor Levy is a writer from California. She graduated from Bennington College in 2020. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker and New York Tyrant and been anthologized in Flash Fiction America. View titles by Honor Levy