The minute an author proclaims themself the voice of a generation, I lose all respect for them.
At twenty-five years old, what gives you the right to say that you speak for your whole generation? Maybe if you add the rider “… well, the privileged white part of my generation that grew up in a two-parent home, never received a smack for mouthing off, and that went to an Ivy League school paid for by my parents …” Maybe then I might cut you some slack. But as it is, to be the voice of a generation, that’s usually something that gets tagged onto your name either after you’re dead or long after you’ve been shuttled off to the old folks’ home.
Calling yourself the voice of your generation does not make people stand up and notice you. It makes you into a punch line to a joke you just don’t seem to get.