It’s like a balloon inflated with shocking humor and nonchalant horror. In her inventive debut collection Earth Angel (CLASH Books, 2023), Madeline Cash offers an ultramodern exploration of American society with a funky, surrealist twist. The stories, though not directly interlinked, unfold in a prophetic, dystopian version of Los Angeles where the technoscape has engendered a cynical climate. The stories, each unfolding like an unexpected revelation, gripped me in a way that felt both trancelike and harrowing, reminiscent of those late nights at 3 AM when my phone screen illuminates with never-ending posts and notifications, pulling me into a series of digital vortexes.

Throughout the book, Cash blurs the line between real life and imagination as she amplifies the post-postmodern condition into an uncanny reality. The first three stories in Earth Angel set expectations. In “Slumber Party,” a woman utilizes an app to plan a commoditized sleepover for her thirtieth birthday, which quickly descends into a hodgepodge of group sex, Bitcoin mining, egg freezing, and looming threats of murder. “The Jester’s Privilege” follows a marketing agent who secures a substantial promotion after her audacious Al Qaeda rebranding campaign; and in “Plagues,” God punishes the world with gender non-conforming frogs who organize against non-consensual touching, establish an autonomous zone, and develop seasonal depression. This initial trio of stories sets the stage as a frightening social commentary with flickers of jocularity, introducing the reader to Cash’s cheeky, playful style when broaching matters as serious as sexual assault or terrorism. Her delivery strays us away from the predictable confines of a homogenous culture and toward the tumultuous fabric of our era, characterized by an unceasing buffering that feels like an impending apocalypse. Cash pushes us to confront the fragile threads holding our society together, threads I see fraying at the edges of gender norms, capitalist exploits, and technological dependencies.

Cash facetiously confronts the times in which we currently live, where misinformation spreads as rapidly as teen gossip, where our most passionate pursuits are driven by the thirst for online validation, where our earnest yearnings for fulfillment often leave us feeling jaded. “I tell everyone that I want to go to bed,” says the protagonist in “Slumber Party.” But before they can, “Max hands [them] an iPhone mini and says it’s not time for sleeping. It’s time for networking.” While Cash seamlessly incorporates technological determinism, the intent is not to express disdain for such mediums; they instead serve as tools to world-build and propel the narratives forward. The world Cash creates is not just a backdrop but a character in itself, interacting, influencing, and sometimes even coercing the characters in her stories. This intricate blending of environment and theme — specifically, themes addressing the impacts of technology on human behavior, societal norms, and interpersonal relationships — intensifies the reader's engagement. It prompts profound reflection on our own positions and choices in a world that is increasingly under the sway of technological dominance.

Incorporating these mediums evokes a simultaneous sense of unease and amusement, as social media has woven itself into the fabric of our everyday existence. Perhaps what captivates us as readers is how closely these themes resonate with our own experiences, without the narrator adopting a self-righteous, preachy tone. Reading her tales, I’m taken back to my own relationship with social media and networking, where every LinkedIn request, Instagram story view, like, or comment feeds my ego, though never truly quenches the thirst for genuine connection.

Earth Angel’s subtle complexity is strikingly evident in moments that distill emotions into blunt, precise, nearly impossible-to-ignore grace notes. In “Beauty Queen,” the encroachment of societal pressures on the impressionable minds of young people is sharply expressed as God instructs the protagonist’s younger sister to win the Teen Miss Florida Pageant — a damning commentary on our culture's unhealthy obsession with external validation and superficial achievements. Similarly, in “Sponge Cake,” Cash confronts the lurking dangers of the digital age with chilling candor. As the protagonist contemplates the pervasive menace of assailants in an era where the line between personal and public is blurred, Cash writes, “She asks where your rapist is now, and you say he’s in your pocket. Your rapist is on Instagram, hanging out with everyone.” This is not mere storytelling; it’s a piercing reflection of the modern-day conundrum where trauma can be both intensely personal and unsettlingly ubiquitous.

Cash’s masterful construction of weighty scenes, conveyed through a deadpan voice, showcases her unique ability to juxtapose the delightful with the macabre, and the somber with the satirical. Cash not only presents a captivating narrative but also challenges the reader to confront uncomfortable truths in a digestible manner, showcasing her distinctive voice in contemporary literature.

“TGIF” presents an office staff through whom Cash portrays the inescapable mundanities that seep through the cracks of work-life balance, reminding us of the relentless routines, the soul-crushing monotony, and the profound sense of disenfranchisement that often accompany modern-day workplace culture. I often find myself among those navigating this maze, swamped with smarmy emails and Slack messages, enduring Zoom meetings where faces are just pixels and voices lag just enough to disrupt natural conversation. Yet, amidst this monotony, Cash highlights the small reprieves. The joy of a colleague sharing a new joke, the brief escape of a lunchtime walk, or the collective sigh of relief when Friday evening finally beckons. In this world, the small moments of camaraderie during post-work drinks become a lifeline — a reminder that beyond the repetitiveness of a 9-to-5 existence, there is still life, laughter, and the possibility of genuine connection. The characters include an ISIS recruit, a woman who breastfeeds her 12-year-old son, and the worst assistant the office has ever hired — all of whom find solace in getting together after work on Fridays for Happy Hour: “We’re the American workforce and our scaffolding is on Zoom … We cheers to our 401ks, our health insurance, our dental … It’s happy hour and for that hour we’re happy.” 

In each story, even though Cash’s characters do demonstrate a sense of morality, their ennui hampers them from actively contributing or making a difference in society. They possess an otherwise apathetic demeanor, as if their online citizenry and need for stimulation have made them all the more blasé in their day-to-day lives, driving them to seek out other avenues for instant gratification and fulfillment. 

Cash’s prose is nothing if not kaleidoscopic, as scenes move swiftly between narrative structures that range from mundane observations to diptychs combining flaring run-on sentences and spunky cross-references. Her words pulsate with energy and tenacity, with youthful vigor, emanating a force forged through a healthy dose of teen spirit. In “Hostage #4,” she writes: “I hoard quarters to play Dance Dance Revolution at the arcade after school and my feet fly over the neon arrows. I’m on level: EXPERT and I’m so good that I have to lean back on the bar for support. My friends are on Animal Crossing and Club Penguin and have Nintendogs and Neopets and Tamagotchis and all of the simulated animals of 2008 and the US is in a financial crisis…” I’m transported back to my teenage years, where I spent entire dissociative afternoons playing Guitar Hero and Wii Fit, feeling the adrenaline of hitting perfect scores, juxtaposed against the uncertainty of looming uncertainties and responsibilities of growing up. It’s a nostalgic ride, contrasting the levity of gaming with the severity of real-world problems.

Earth Angel presents a captivating yet disrupted realism and leaves a lasting impact. Each story is a lucid dream that eerily mirrors the present reality, an off-putting sense of relatability that subverts our expectations. Crafted with smart brevity and unabashed audacity, these stories underscore the minutiae that occupy our thoughts in the midst of our ceaseless online consumption. Cash’s blend of irony and wit effortlessly engages the reader, eliciting profound reactions to the themes braided throughout. She satirizes the inherent absurdity of contemporary existence, embracing its peculiarities rather than attempting to downplay or condemn them. This collection invites introspection, urging us to question the inanity of our co-dependent relationship with technology. It implores us to reflect on what truly remains the moment we disconnect from the digital world. Reading Earth Angel is like stumbling upon a graveyard where tombstones, instead of names and dates, bear QR codes which lead to forgotten social media profiles –– a juxtaposition of the ephemeral nature of digital life and the permanence of death. Once you see it, you can’t look away.