I I was recently at a book event where an author born in the 1990s spoke of the dubious feeling that literature of her generation is expected to deliver “news from the internet” to older readers. I was reminded of this again as I read Mariel Franklin’s debut novel, Bonding, a fast, harsh, clever and entertaining satire on contemporary tech elites. Thirty-something Londoner Mary loses her job at a lifestyle app called Healthify and is hired by her ex Lara, the founder of Openr, a dating app. Lara is a gorgeous monster: rich, selfish, dressed in vintage Celine and Saint Laurent clothes. She positions Openr as a disruptor: the site takes a progressive stance toward alternative forms of sexuality, from niche fetishes to abstinence, and conveys a firm ethical position that tries to hide the fact that it exists to capitalize on its “community.” Meanwhile, Mary reluctantly enters into a hot but conventional relationship with a marketing executive named Tom. Tom is working on Eudaxa, a novel drug touted as a pill to end unhappiness.

Set during Rishi Sunak’s time as Prime Minister, against a backdrop of social fragmentation and aggression on the streets, Bonding follows the planning and launch of Eudaxa and the budding intimacy between Mary and Tom. The connection they feel with each other doesn’t sit well with the stories of sexual liberation and empowerment on which their professional lives depend. “I think we both wanted out on some level.” Described on the cover as a “uniquely modern” story of “our digital age,” Bonding is marketed with the tagline “a beach read with big ideas.” That’s a lot to ask, but it doesn’t disappoint. The story moves quickly, delivering fast-flowing views on data, pharma, ageing, connectivity; what people want, how people love, and how the internet is changing everything. It’s fast-paced, but also always analytical. Holding the two together feels like a mark of respect for the reader.

At times, Bonding’s hyper-contemporary focus on its apps and marketing elite becomes oddly out of touch with reality. That’s less a flaw of the novel than a feature of the small community that is its subject. The story of data and its manipulation is relevant beyond Openr and Healthify, but when the characters address a broader reality in a range of situations, from observations of provincial England to commentary on how power or employment works today, the novel loses bite. The provinces – Margate and Luton – are sketchily characterised by Mary’s horrified narration: puddles of vomit, broken windows, violence, racists and a woman with a “thin, pale face” pushing a pram over shattered glass. The suburbs are brought to life by Tom’s stepmother, who buys Sainsbury’s own-brand products. We’re told this twice.

Throughout the book, characters utter exaggerated platitudes about modernity. In the past, Mary says, age “conferred wisdom,” but today it is “a synonym for obsolescence.” Taking this seriously requires blinders or a suspension of belief in much of the world beyond the wellness internet or emerging startups. Has Mary never heard of the people who actually call the shots at Google, News Corp, or America? Tom observes that “a stable life” is “no longer enough” for people. “These days, you have to get to the top.” King Charles said something similar 20 years ago. Food lines and small-boat crossings are just two of the most obvious and serious symptoms of an enormous hunger for stability that is felt almost everywhere.

The problem is not that Mary and Tom are young (and white, metropolitan, and middle class), but the assumption that this particular demographic can be invoked as an explanation for modernity. (I wonder where all the gerontocracy novels are—maybe it’s the people who put their hands around our necks who really have their finger on the pulse.) Bonding works in its own way, portraying a confusing and tangled swirl of claims and counterclaims that is comparable to the impasse described in Jia Tolentino’s 2019 essay collection Trick Mirror: a state of being simultaneously critical of this rigged digital system that, as Franklin shows, still holds such power, and in which one is simultaneously enmeshed. The finale of Bonding is fittingly both dramatic and analytical, unfolding the author’s vision of how online movements can manifest in violence.