[In the following excerpt, Williams discusses the strengths and weaknesses of Generation X.]

Coupland has come out of nowhere with Generation X, a book enveloped in clouds of hype optimistically proclaiming it as that publishing Holy Grail, “the new Catcher in the Rye”. Here at last, so the hype has it, is the book that defines a twentysomething generation, Generation X: a term publishers seem inordinately pleased with, considering it has had at least two previous outings. First it was the title of an early 1960s piece of youth-cult sociology, and then the name for Billy Idol's vaguely seminal punk combo.

Generation X's Unique Selling Point is its fetching square format and wide margins peppered with zappy neologisms (e.g., “Ozmosis: The inability of one's job to live up to one's self-image”), cartoons and rather vapid sub-Jenny Holzer slogans (“You are not your ego”, “Bench press your IQ”). All of which is OK for the first few pages but rather rapidly runs out of steam, as do the novel's pretensions to deep-and-meaningfulness; i.e., a certain amount of irritating millennial tosh and much aimless use of nuclear symbolism.

Underneath the fancy-dan trappings, though, Generation X is a surprisingly endearing read: the tale of three middle-class drifters in their late twenties, refugees from yuppism, who have dropped out to Palm Springs, a kitsch oasis on the edge of the California desert. Here they work at aimless “McJobs” in bars and shops, and tell each other deadpan weird bedtime stories. It's a kind of updated Jules et Jim in which neither of them gets the girl: self-conscious as hell, but charming too.