Are the days of chick lit finally over? The Atlantic seems to think so. There’s a new genre in town, and it’s called farm-lit. Novels about women who abandon their high-stress city lives to go live on farms and small, rural towns.
Characters who once struggled to balance their work, friendship, love and their metropolis lifestyle are instead fleeing for the countryside to harvest oysters, or become cheese-makers and fall in love with burly, soft-spoken farmers.
Is it really the end of a genre? Or simply a change of scenery?
One response
is there perhaps a sort of rural female centered writing that you wouldn’t dismiss as “chick lit, farm lit” or some extension of it? Is there a valid reason for you to dismiss “chick lit” without bothering to define it? This is such a weird thing to spot in the Rumpus, which I can typically expect to share more positive tones in regard to the work women do, and the things they write.
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