This conversation between PILCROW and Sam Kahn dismantles the pervasive myth that the internet has killed long-form fiction. Instead, Kahn argues we are living through a quiet renaissance, one that is being stifled not by a lack of talent, but by the outdated bottlenecks of traditional mass media. For the busy professional tired of the 24-hour news cycle, this piece offers a compelling case for why the serialized novel is not just a relic of the past, but the most viable future for narrative depth.
The Bottleneck of Mass Media
Kahn opens with a provocative assertion that challenges the current cultural narrative: "We're in a writing renaissance actually, we just somehow don't acknowledge it and I think it has to do with these bottlenecks and how mass media works." He posits that the gatekeeping mechanisms of the traditional publishing industry have obscured a vibrant landscape of new voices. This reframing is crucial; it shifts the blame from the reader's attention span to the structural failures of the distribution system.
The author, Sam Kahn, describes his own journey with his novel Henchman as a deliberate rejection of these gatekeepers. He admits, "I really didn't have another venue, I just don't have any publishing industry contacts. And I've just become less and less interested in that, and for me Substack is a huge deal." This is not merely a complaint about the difficulty of getting published; it is a strategic pivot toward direct democratic publishing. By bypassing the traditional route, Kahn and his peers are attempting to reclaim the relationship between writer and reader.
"I just feel like Substack has already done so much to lengthen people's attention spans from what it was in the 2010s."
Kahn's optimism here is striking. He acknowledges the skepticism surrounding fiction on platforms dominated by news and opinion, noting that "consistently, the fiction always does much less well than everything else." Yet, he views this as a challenge to be met rather than a reason to quit. His goal is a "quixotic attempt to try to get people to lengthen their attention spans." While critics might argue that expecting readers to voluntarily engage with long-form fiction in an era of algorithmic fragmentation is naive, Kahn's experience suggests that the infrastructure for deep reading is already being built, one subscriber at a time.
The Perspective of the Disposable
The conversation then turns to the specific narrative choices in Henchman, a workplace comedy set in a skewed James Bond universe. Kahn's central innovation is shifting the lens from the hero to the "extra-territorial and interplanetary adventures" of the henchman. This is a profound commentary on the nature of work and hierarchy in the modern economy.
Kahn explains that the story is born from a desire to explore the "inner life, the kind of subconscious, collective subconscious of the culture" through the eyes of those who are usually treated as expendable. He draws on his own experiences in the documentary film industry, describing a "very hierarchical setup" where intimacy exists only in the margins, such as "bitching about the director in the car" after the crew is dropped off. This observation grounds the fantastical elements of the novel in a very real, very human dynamic of workplace alienation.
"You're off on the side. So just being that person— Yeah. And being that person, for one thing, it just felt like it was really funny to see everything from them."
The humor in Kahn's work serves a deeper purpose: it highlights the absurdity of the "Sisyphean ongoingness" of life for the non-hero. He notes that in action movies, the hero is always the focus, but in reality, "most of the time, a lot of the time in life, especially in work, you are not the main person. You're the NPC." This metaphor resonates powerfully in an era where many professionals feel like cogs in a machine, their efforts disposable in the face of larger corporate or geopolitical forces. By centering the narrative on the "disposable" character, Kahn validates the experience of the majority who do not get the spotlight.
The Sublime in the Cliché
PILCROW and Kahn also delve into the literary theory behind using archetypes and clichés. Kahn embraces the idea that "two clichés make us laugh, a hundred clichés move us," echoing Umberto Eco's analysis of Casablanca. He argues that in Henchman, the repetition of tropes is intentional, creating a space where the "height of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the sublime."
This approach challenges the modern obsession with "grittiness" and "realism" in genre fiction. Kahn suggests that the attempt to make everything feel "real" often strips stories of their mythic power. Instead, by leaning into the archetypes of the Bond franchise, he is able to explore the "melancholy underneath" the camp. The result is a story that feels both familiar and strangely new, a testament to the power of the serialized form to allow for this kind of nuanced, slow-burn exploration.
"I believe very, very deeply in this kind of equality between all human beings, that we all have equal worth. And you end up in all these situations where it's not equal and it's unjust how unequal it is."
This moral core is what elevates Henchman from a simple parody to a serious work of social commentary. Kahn's insistence on the equal worth of every human being, even the villain's henchman, serves as a quiet rebuke to the hierarchical structures that dominate both the fictional world of spies and the real world of work.
Bottom Line
Sam Kahn's argument is a vital reminder that the tools for a literary renaissance are already in our hands, even if the mainstream media hasn't caught up yet. The piece's greatest strength lies in its ability to connect the personal act of writing a serialized novel to the broader democratic potential of the internet. However, the argument's biggest vulnerability remains the economic reality: while the platform exists, the audience for long-form fiction is still fighting against the grain of modern consumption habits. The future of this renaissance depends on whether enough readers are willing to invest the time Kahn asks of them.