From "rom-com" to "traum-com"?

Getting in The New York Times, categorization at all costs, and letting go of control

On Thursday morning I woke up to an author’s dream: my book was in The New York Times. THE—NEW—YORK—TIMES!! I had been given a heads up a few days earlier from my publisher that it was selected for an upcoming list, but I’ve learned never to get excited about anything in the literary world unless it’s actually happened and I see it with my own eyes.

And there it was.

Seeing my book, my name, on their (digital—hey, we can’t have it all) pages, I couldn’t stop smiling. I sat giddy and disbelieving. Then I started reading.

“By many measures,” the summary began, “old college friends Edie and Peter seem destined to end up together. But this debut rom-com—”

Wait.

Rom-com?

My book is dark. Like, very dark. It’s satirical, too, playful, but also has an almost laughably long content warning. It does involve a woman crushing hard on her best friend, with a solid dose of will-they-won’t-they energy, but without spoiling too much, it has much more frequently been categorized as a “thriller”—which I think is similarly misleading but at least is in the realm of accuracy—than a “rom-com,” which, actually, it has never been described as.

Until now!

And so I started to Google: what makes a book a rom-com anyway?

• “Being light witty and full of fun”

• “Containing moments of romance and comedy”

• “Light-hearted with plenty of smiles”

Lol—yeah, no. To say a slew of bad dates and unrequited love with a maybe-murderer constitutes romance is a stretch. But—and I mean this with the utmost sincerity—The New York Times can call my book an f*ing fairytale if they want to. I’m merely grateful beyond words to be on their lips (pages) in the first place.

Enter my brilliant writer friend, Sarah Kasbeer, who saw this and quickly chimed in: More like ‘traum-com!’ I mean, if that’s not already a genre, can it please become one immediately? We’d like in. Romance is funny, certainly. But trauma? The comedic potential is endless. I’m thinking Alexandra Tanner’s Worry, Jean Began’s Big Swiss, anything by Melissa Broder. It would instantly become my favorite genre by miles, and a perfect place for our dark little books to land.

Back to Google, where a quick search revealed a Vanity Fair article from 2022 touting the rise of the “traum-com” in television. The piece referenced shows like Issa Rae’s Insecure (the best representation of modern dating on TV, IMO), Amy Schumer’s Life and Beth, and Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s iconic Fleabag (one of my favorite shows of all time). Before this there was also the emergence of the “dramedy,” which is similarly a blend of comedy and darker drama (à la the one and only Nurse Jackie). Perhaps it’s time for the book world to take note.

I’ve always worried that the cover of my book is giving rom-com vibes, and that rom-com readers will pick it up and be deeply disappointed because they’re expecting one thing and getting something very different. It’s kinda like when The Bear gets nominated for Best Comedy and everyone loses it. It’s not that it’s not an excellent show, but—a comedy? When the expectations are wrong, it sets people up for disappointment.

Going through this publishing process, I’ve learned that the book world likes, or at least relies on, their categories. Every book needs to fit into one, even though the premise of neat categorization flies in the face of the novelty and chaos inherent to art.

Writing, like television, sits at a challenging intersection of art and capitalism, because it requires mass consumption to sustain. Selling books is not like, say, selling a fine-art painting to a high-paying buyer with nuanced taste. You have to find a way to fit it into the broader marketplace, to capture the attention of many, quickly, to say a lot in very few words. This is where categories come in, familiar terms can do that work—a coarse but arguably (I’m not arguing this but it could be argued) necessary tool.

During my “querying” process, the most common piece of feedback I got from agents was that my thriller-seeming story was not “thriller” enough. Agents wanted a different, more typical ending, whereas my ending leans literary (more ambiguous, not neatly tied together). That’s the point! I wanted to say, It’s not any one genre, it’s something entirely different! But of course you can’t argue with a rejection.

And anyway they didn’t want something entirely different.

Thank god I found and agent and editor who did. Throughout the process, my editor reminded me that each part is a bit harder when you don’t fit neatly into a category—finding a cover that works, finding reviewers, since they often cover specific genres, getting on lists—but it’s also what makes it interesting. And I’m continuously, infinitely grateful they were willing to take that risk.

More than anything, I’m learning that the process from here on out is mostly out of my control. Every day new things come up that aren’t *exactly* the way I imagined they would be at this point, but also are no longer my decision and cannot be changed. For the first time since I started working on this book six years ago, it is finally growing a life of its own—wild and incredible to watch—and something I’m sure will only become harder to deal with post release. And so, leading up to launch, I’m working on letting go, allowing people to have their own experiences with it and call it whatever they like! Especially—especially—The New York f*ing Times.

To celebrate this milestone I got myself my favorite takeout and a nice bottle of wine and watched HBO’s Industry, and then Babygirl (now streaming) because honestly I couldn’t think of anything that sounded better. I had shied away from Industry when it first came out because I’d worked at a big consulting firm out of college, hungry for power and money, and I was a little afraid I’d identify with it too much. I’m happy to report that I’m far enough away from that world to now thoroughly enjoy the show. Babygirl, too, was of course worth the watch. Neither is perfect but both are great—fun and provocative and I live for stories about how capitalism and feminism intersect to both shape and distort women’s identities, self-worth, and desires.

I also love the conversation

Aminatou Sow

is having about tech’s distortion of free speech: “A sweaty Silicon Valley CEO dressed like a divorced DJ getting rid of fact-checking mechanisms is not in service of the First Amendment. A South African billionaire enabling people to use slurs is not a defense of the First Amendment.” Plus, as a product manager, I had to laugh at (and agree with!) her impression of Substack’s app.

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Friendly reminder I’m going on BOOK TOUR and would LOVE to see you!! All are welcome—the more the merrier. RSVP links below:

• 2/18 — P&T Knitwear in NYC (+ Release Party)

• 2/20 — Greedy Reads in Baltimore

• 2/21 — Harvard Book Store w/ Sara Petersen in Boston

• 2/26 — Skylight Books w/ Kate Brody in Los Angeles

• 2/27 — Green Apple Books w/ Josh Reidel in San Francisco

• 3/8 — Appletree Books in Cleveland

• 3/11 — Rough Draft Bar & Books in Kingston, NY

• 3/13 — Snowfort Books in Westport, NY

Hope to see you there!! ❤️🎉