Jhanvi, the protagonist of Naomi Kanakia’s novel The Default World, refers to an ongoing project of hers as a “marriage plot” a few times over the course of the book. This is an eminently accurate description of what Jhanvi is up to: she’s in the process of trying to marry a tech-bro friend of hers so that his health insurance will cover her gender-affirming care. But it’s also a nod on Kanakia’s part to the territory she’s entered with this book. On the one hand, it’s a spot-on satire of a certain segment of the tech world; on the other hand, it’s a book that’s in the grand tradition of, say, Edith Wharton’s The Custom of the Country.

That comparison is there for a reason. Much as said novel’s Undine Sprague is less sympathetic than most Wharton protagonists, so too is Jhanvi capable of being occasionally ruthless in her pursuit of what’s important to her. It would have been easy for Kanakia to portray Jhanvi as either brutally self-interested (a la Tom Ripley) or as a plucky underdog undermining a group of pampered, oblivious dilettantes. Neither of those accurately describes Jhanvi or the loft-dwelling collective whose lives she disrupts (word choice very much intentional). Instead, to paraphrase another memorable comedy of manners, everyone has their reasons.

When The Default World opens, Jhanvi has just uprooted her life and moved to San Francisco, where her college friend Henry lives in a shared space with a host of other tech workers. Henry and his cohorts have a penchant for sex parties, non-monogamous behavior, and trying to be as ethical as they can while not being remotely ethical in other aspects of their lives. In particular, their treatment of Roshie — who’s far less gregarious or hedonistic than her peers — is often deeply painful to behold.

In the interview with Kanakia that piqued my interest in her novel, Ross Barkan said of Roshie, “I was rooting for [her] to inflict serious harm on her spoiled housemates.” Throughout the novel, there’s a sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop: will one of Henry’s housemates direct a transphobic rant at Jhanvi? Will Jhanvi or Roshie grab a melee weapon and seek recompense from the people who have offended them? Will one of the underground gatherings these characters stage end in tragedy? The Ghost Ship fire is never mentioned directly, but it nonetheless looms over the proceedings.

There’s also the matter of Jhanvi herself, who has — to speak more therapeutically than I might otherwise — internalized a lot of transphobia and is constantly criticizing her own appearance, her own behavior, the way that she feels perceived by others. Reading this can be a haunting experience for her often brutal, often self-effacing sentiments.

Those aren’t Jhanvi’s only qualities, though, and her resourcefulness and ability to understand the rules that Henry and his cohorts play by — and brilliantly manipulate them — makes her an absolutely fascinating protagonist to spend time with. “More than anything, Jhanvi hated people who didn’t admit they knew what they knew,” Kanakia writes at one point — and while she isn’t as free from her own illusions as she might think, she’s also a lot more able to see the situation in front of her with relative clarity.

That blend of a classic format and very contemporary details makes for an enveloping, thoughtful read. But in the end, what I’ll take away most from this novel is Jhanvi’s perspective on the world, her reckoning with the gaze of others, and the things she’s willing to do to get where she wants to be. A memorable comedy of manners demands a great protagonist; The Default World does that brilliantly.

***

The Default World
by Naomi Kanakia
Feminist Press/Amethyst Editions; 278 p.

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