There was a period of time during the Cold War when a bunch of second-string scientists were hanging out in their university labs, bored, waiting for their more famous bosses to come home from the Manhattan Project, who, to assuage their boredom, invented a bunch of elements. By shooting uranium with an electron-emitting ray-gun, Glenn Seaborg and Albert Ghiorso “discovered” berkelium and californium and mendelevium, these (relatively) enormous atoms that were super unstable and existed for, like, nanoseconds before deteriorating into more stable elements. Predictably, this started a race among universities for who could get the next one, and by so doing cement that university’s (or scientist’s) legacy by winning the right to name that element. The aspect of that race – a bunch of university-affiliated brains trying to outpace and outmaneuver one another in order to define one small, but sexy, part of a very large field – puts me in mind of the current race in English over who will “discover” the true identity of post-postmodernism. And like the science race too, the popomo race means shooting our guns at an unstable, radioactive element: irony. Irony is basically impossible to write about because it won’t hold still. As soon as we’re sure that it’s just a utilitarian trope, it becomes a discursive mode. As soon as we’re sure that it’s a discursive mode, it becomes a rebellious attitude. As soon as we’re sure that it’s a rebellious attitude, it becomes a marketing strategy. And so, because of its protean nature, defining irony, let alone defining a period based on its attitudinal relationship to irony, is a totally fraught enterprise, and, in this way, irony, like anything else radioactive, will kill you. Lee Konstantinou (who I understand walks around Maryland wearing one of those lead-lined dentist smocks) is, nonetheless, undaunted, and, in Cool Characters, pulls off a tough trick. Rather than trying to parse how succeeding generations of authors have related to irony by unpacking the use of irony in their fiction (which will kill you), or attempt to show how irony in fiction has changed its character from playful to political to exhausted (which will kill you), Konstantinou expands on four real-world character types (the hipster, the punk, the believer, and the coolhunter) who convey in their behavior the moment’s attitude toward irony. By classifying these characters, Konstantinou is then able to dig into the literature and make his larger argument without sustained exposure to radioactivity. And that larger argument is the work of defining this brave new period, which for Konstantinou means orienting our understanding of contemporary literature around his term “postirony.” Becoming postironic, the argument goes, means passing through ironic postmodernity and coming out the other side having learned to recognize its curious power to criticize and undermine without conflating symbolic resistance with meaningful political action. This methodology is what makes Konstantinou’s postirony model so robust, for rather than cleaving aesthetics from materialism and treating them as though they’re separate, he weaves materialist criticism into his aesthetic framework, allowing for readings that include commentary on neoliberalism and marketing, the two poles of the Death Star that Jameson and company have been facing down for decades now. So postirony is a kind of grand unifying theory for literary criticism. Too, Konstantinou, the first person I’ve seen do this in print, engages with the New Sincerity, saying that, of all the arguments for what to call the period following postmodernism, postirony is closest in spirit to the New Sincerity, but that the New Sincerity is flawed for how narrow its purview is. As a proponent of the New Sincerity myself, this rankles, and, having now read the book, I see his point. The stuff here on the punk and “positive dystopia” was flummoxing, and, because of my personal interests, I wanted a lot more on the believer, but in permeating the reality-fiction barrier and accounting for contemporary fiction’s disparate branches, Konstantinou has in postirony a solid theory and in Cool Characters a solid book.