A rave party takes place at a British country farmhouse during 2021 Covid restrictions. A hundred young people attend. As the music pumps out, a young man, Jake, bludgeons another man with half a million dollars’ worth of gold bullion. He escapes from the party and goes into hiding, taking the gold with him.

This is the basis for a story published as ‘Fool’s Gold’ by freelance journalist, Hannah, which opens the first fifty pages of Universality. Brown incorporates Hannah’s article into the plot, a technique she openly says is inspired by the New Journalism of the 1960s and 70s, which melded fictional and journalistic techniques. In fact, Hannah’s article, itself, draws upon this style as she inserts herself into its narrative. Hannah has been down on her luck and has been unable to make a living as a freelance journalist. She has had to take minimum-wage employment in the service industry to pay off her debts. But now her article has gone viral and she has sold the television rights and bought herself a home. The farm where the incident takes place is owned by Richard Spenser, reputedly a billionaire, who is separated from his wife, Claire. Richard has had a series of affairs, including an affair with columnist and provocateur, Miriam Leonard, better known as Lenny. It was Lenny who reached out to offer Hannah the opportunity to write the story. Lenny also just happens to be the mother of Jake. There is more to this story than is first apparent.

Universality is the kind of book that most people will either love or hate. It addresses political and social issues that are often the most contentious topics of social media and public discourse, particularly in America, but also in other Western countries like the UK where this novel is set. For example, it is hard to hear the word ‘woke’ now without understanding, whatever side of the political spectrum you stand, the pejorative connotations associated with it. Even though the word was initially used to suggest an attentiveness to equality – be it race, gender or class, and its meaning grew to encompass a broad range of progressive concerns – it has equally been used to characterise progressive positions as overzealous and overreaching in their attempts to change society and people’s beliefs, thereby impinging upon the rights and opinions of those who do not have a progressive leaning. Of course, this is associated with DEI programs – Diversity, Equality, Inclusion – just one of the subjects discussed in this book, which have sought to ameliorate the historical inequalities suffered by minorities, to the point that traditionally powerful groups – let’s say white men – now claim disadvantage as a result.

Which brings me, first, to the reason why some people may not wish to read Universality. It’s not that readers want to resile from current political and social debates, per se, but that it will have a lot to do with why people read novels. We are inundated by legacy media, new media and social media with arguments about ‘wokeism’ and identity politics. And Trump has further elevated the issue of DEI as he seeks to reshape the American governmental system and American society. To what extent that is affecting countries like the UK is debatable, but Universality is one metric that suggests that the influence of conservative pushback against ‘woke’ policies has been impactful. For those who are happy to consume news and editorial content around these issues but may wish to preserve reading fiction as a refuge, this book is not for you. In an Elle article we are told, “Everything Natasha Brown writes starts with a spreadsheet . . . After mapping out the narrative themes she wanted to interrogate in an Excel, she started writing before and after work . . .” It is an interesting insight into Brown’s writing process, but also into how she prioritises issues as the primary focus of her novels. The first fifty pages of Universality read a little like a thriller, but the rest of the book is something else.

What that something is, I feel, is an exploration of the premise of Hannah’s article from the point of view of the different people associated with it. To some extent, everyone feels they are in the right and are the victim of wider social forces in one way or another. This makes the novel sometimes feel polemical, or ideological, since we see these issues through the eyes of Brown’s characters. As a result, a first impression might suggest that the novel’s characters merely represent political and social stances; that though they may be superficially created as characters, they are primarily political constructs along a spectrum of right and left. John takes up a position in defence of the use of genetics to determine life opportunities. Lenny rails against DEI promotions. The breadth of this spectrum is suggested in Hannah’s opening news article about the rave party and the gold bar, in which she characterises her story as one of social extremes:

Cliché or not, in a certain sense the Universalists can seem like a counterbalance to Spenser’s excess. Both positions are undoubtedly extreme responses to the capitalist system: Spenser’s embrace versus the Universalists’ quixotic rejection.

The article intimates that the novel is concerned to test the limits of outlying political extremes, within which most people will fall more comfortably towards the centre. The Universalists, a Utopian collective led by a man called Pagasus who have taken over Richard Spenser’s farm, advocate that, “If you’re using the earth, if you’re farming the soil, then you own it. That’s that. Action is ownership.” It’s an extreme position against the key tenets of capitalism, and so their attempt to justify their Utopian collective seeks to characterise their opponents as motivated by “unbridled capitalism” and “globalisation”, of which they evidently see Richard Spenser as an exemplar. Hannah’s article seems to lean more sympathetically their way, too. After all, she is working class and struggles to maintain the social connections made at university. Her article mostly elides the circumstances of Spenser’s life – at least there is little attempt to gain empathy for him from the reader – by characterising him as part of the system: part of a class who face “no consequences”, and is represented by “greedy, pitiful men”. In addition to this, she makes up details about her own working-class background in an apparent act of solidarity with the Universalists.

But it is in the nature of Brown’s narrative that she gives us some insight into all her characters. In the case of Richard Spenser, capitalist tycoon, the narrative reveals a man more broken and vulnerable than we could have imagined. Spenser, through his own fault, is now estranged from his wife, which makes him an easy target of contempt. But we also see that he has been psychologically impacted by the failure of his father in business with the advent of the Global Financial Crisis in 2008. Richard had no choice but to work long hours to protect his own position so that he might support his family and his father. This, and his refusal to take charity from his wife’s family, has damaged his marriage and left him psychologically impulsive. He has succumbed to acquisitive practices – sometimes characterised as ‘prepping’, but also characterised as ‘capitalist greed’ – which are the only bulwark he has to stave off his feelings of vulnerability. Through Richard, possibly more than any other character, we see the disconnect between his perceived public persona and his inner turmoil. There is a wonderful scene that juxtaposes Richard’s heartfelt attempts to explain himself, and a journalist’s cynical inner monologue against him, as his article is mentally written in real time.

Richard Spenser’s situation is indicative of most characters in the novel. On the surface, characters are avatars for political stances, ideologies, movements: but as human beings, their public positions are founded upon deeper psychological drives. For example, Lenny blames ‘woke’ practices of businesses which she calls ‘woke capitalism’, a term originally coined by Ross Douthat in 2018 to describe virtual signalling and marketing ploys designed to appeal to progressive ideologies. She also describes a pragmatic shift in ideological positions for people like herself as a capitalist response to the market of ideas: “Left and right wing are obsolete concepts . . . Our motivation is to maximise our own profits, influence and longevity . . . The shift from serving advertisers to satisfying subscribers change everything.” In this world, moral and ethical concerns are irrelevant. Becoming the epicentre of a movement is the most profitable strategy, and that is the only salient concern.

But Brown’s narrative suggests Lenny’s human dimension, too. Brown humanises her characters by suggesting that ideological positions are not just bloody-mindedness, a bad character trait or a cynical response to the market. Instead, it is implicitly suggested, over and over, that they may also be a response to these human vulnerabilities. We see this even in the actions of the pragmatic Lenny. Though she is self-serving and she remains a fairly despicable character who readily uses others, she is plagued by thoughts of her own son’s failure. Though she will not help Jake, Lenny feels compelled both to defend her own mothering while keeping his failure external to herself, as well as exonerate his failure: as something not Jake’s fault. Her human response helps us understand her attitudes about DEI which she blames for her son’s lost opportunities:

If you’re a black disabled lesbian, or whatever, then you’re hired. Regardless of qualifications . . . Of course working-class kids give up when all that matters is capital-D diversity. The deck is so clearly stacked against them.

Lenny’s quest for subscribers and relevance has some similarity with Richard’s ‘prepper’ mentality, and also analogous with Hannah’s desire to focus not on career, only money, and switch her brain off, at her financial and social low point. Even John, who seems to advocate the use of DNA testing that skirts precariously close to eugenics, is revealed to be a man clinging to an opportunity for a successful career path, after his less-than-stellar career in the public service, where he clearly stagnated.

Brown’s narrative is a portrait of a changing Britain and a changing world. Old social norms are changing, privilege and wealth are beginning to look different, and that feels threatening. Hannah characterises her article, ‘Fool’s Gold’ as “a modern parable . . . exposing the fraying fabric of British society, worn thin by late capitalism’s relentless abrasion.” Even the prime minister – at least during the period the novel is being written – is no longer white. Lenny understands that these changing demographics have the power to transform society and British culture:

We’re seeing the beginnings of a new social demographic in the UK with sizeable purchasing power. Corporations notice this, and pander to these new potential customers. That’s what I mean by “woke capitalism”.

It is a frightening thought for characters who see that the changes threaten their own traditionally mandated social positions. The currency of racial privilege is being devalued and is less and less relevant in the arena of social and political power. Remonstrating against issues like DEI are a rallying cry. Beyond that, class is emerging as a more important social inflection than race, and that is a far less comfortable position to inhabit for the characters in this novel, all of whom are white – even the Universalists.

Richard Spenser laments attitudes held against privileged white males. Hannah’s sad story is one of exploitation through opportunity. Jake is a young man who has slipped through society’s cracks and faces an uncertain future. In the movie that will be made around the incidents of the night of the rave party, Jake will be portrayed by a black boy. The demographics of audience demand “some variety on their screens” and while modern Britain may be evolving, the semiotics of television dictate that Jake’s “struggles and arc feel more representative, when you know that he’s black.”

The novel may not be a comfortable read for those of any particular political creed. On the one hand, progressives may find the novel’s apparent advocacy of conservative and even far right positions confronting. On the other hand, conservatives may glean that there is more than a hint of satire in Brown’s narrative. The apparent victory Lenny has, close to the end of the novel, signals this forcefully. She is made to look triumphal and grotesque.

In as much as the novel sets up characters who advocate different positions and then simply has them expound those positions – a trope I am not fond of – Brown does enough with her characters to suggest that debates around identity politics, race and opportunity are grounded in human experience. It’s an important point to acknowledge, since reducing people merely to mouthpieces of certain standings or positions – to a group or idea, only – is far less compelling, and would otherwise just add shouting to the noise that is already in our public forums. Universality is a compelling novel of ideas with a gripping opening. But I have to admit that I felt wearied as its fictional artifice increasingly succumbed to a narrative that more openly slipped into scenes of contentious discourse. Then again, I can see where others will find this the best part.