How Does Landlines Compare To Other Novels?

Landlines' stands out in a sea of contemporary novels because of its raw, unfiltered dive into human connection—or the lack thereof—in the digital age. While most stories either romanticize technology or villainize it, 'Landlines' threads the needle by exploring how something as outdated as a rotary phone becomes a lifeline between two strangers. It’s not just nostalgia bait; the novel uses the physicality of the landline—its tangibility, its limitations—to mirror the characters’ emotional barriers. Compare that to something like 'The Circle,' where tech is this omnipresent, suffocating force, or 'severance,' which leans into dystopian detachment. 'Landlines' feels quieter, almost like a character study wrapped in a speculative premise.

What really hooked me, though, was how the prose mirrors the theme. The writing is sparse but deliberate, like dial tones in an empty house—every sentence carries weight. It’s a stark contrast to the lush, sprawling descriptions in novels like 'the overstory' or the frantic, stream-of-consciousness style of 'normal people.' Even the dialogue feels different: clipped, awkward, yet painfully real. The characters don’t monologue their traumas; they stutter through them, just like real people do. I’d say 'Landlines' is less about competing with other novels and more about carving its own niche—a love letter to analog vulnerability in a digital world. After finishing it, I caught myself staring at my phone like it was some alien artifact. That’s the kind of lingering effect few books manage to pull off.