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Lapvona
In a village in a medieval fiefdom buffeted by natural disasters, a motherless shepherd boy finds himself the unlikely pivot of a power struggle that puts all manner of faith to a savage test, in a spellbinding novel that represents Ottessa Moshfegh’s most exciting leap yet
Little Marek, the abused and delusional son of the village shepherd, never knew his mother; his father told him she died in childbirth. One of life’s few consolations for Marek is his enduring bond with the blind village midwife, Ina, who suckled him as a baby, as she did so many of the village’s children. Ina’s gifts extend beyond childcare: she possesses a unique ability to communicate with the natural world. Her gift often brings her the transmission of sacred knowledge on levels far beyond those available to other villagers, however religious they might be. For some people, Ina’s home in the woods outside of the village is a place to fear and to avoid, a godless place.
Among their number is Father Barnabas, the town priest and lackey for the depraved lord and governor, Villiam, whose hilltop manor contains a secret embarrassment of riches. The people’s desperate need to believe that there are powers that be who have their best interests at heart is put to a cruel test by Villiam and the priest, especially in this year of record drought and famine. But when fate brings Marek into violent proximity to the lord’s family, new and occult forces upset the old order. By year’s end, the veil between blindness and sight, life and death, the natural world and the spirit world, civility and savagery, will prove to be very thin indeed.
Little Marek, the abused and delusional son of the village shepherd, never knew his mother; his father told him she died in childbirth. One of life’s few consolations for Marek is his enduring bond with the blind village midwife, Ina, who suckled him as a baby, as she did so many of the village’s children. Ina’s gifts extend beyond childcare: she possesses a unique ability to communicate with the natural world. Her gift often brings her the transmission of sacred knowledge on levels far beyond those available to other villagers, however religious they might be. For some people, Ina’s home in the woods outside of the village is a place to fear and to avoid, a godless place.
Among their number is Father Barnabas, the town priest and lackey for the depraved lord and governor, Villiam, whose hilltop manor contains a secret embarrassment of riches. The people’s desperate need to believe that there are powers that be who have their best interests at heart is put to a cruel test by Villiam and the priest, especially in this year of record drought and famine. But when fate brings Marek into violent proximity to the lord’s family, new and occult forces upset the old order. By year’s end, the veil between blindness and sight, life and death, the natural world and the spirit world, civility and savagery, will prove to be very thin indeed.
313 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 21, 2022
6,475 people are currently reading
185k people want to read
About the author
Ottessa Moshfegh
44 books22.1k followersOttessa Moshfegh is a fiction writer from New England. Eileen, her first novel, was shortlisted for the National Book Critics Circle Award and the Man Booker Prize, and won the PEN/Hemingway Award for debut fiction. My Year of Rest and Relaxation and Death in Her Hands, her second and third novels, were New York Times bestsellers. She is also the author of the short story collection Homesick for Another World and a novella, McGlue. She lives in Southern California.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 18,165 reviews
June 25, 2024
while lapvona is the biggest departure from ottessa moshfegh previous novels, it still strangely feels the most ‘moshfeghian’. maybe because it contains the usual macabre bleakness that has arguably become her trademark, or because it contains many of the themes she has touched on previously, albeit explored in much greater depth.
the fictional medieval fiefdom of lapvona is used as a vehicle for moshfegh to peel back the flesh and examine the bare bones of humanity, with all of its guilt, greed, and corruption. while the novel has a historical setting, it is by no means a historical fiction book - instead, the medieval setting is reconfigured into a kind of dark, grisly fairy tale, a fable with a clear message to be conveyed by the end. in a general sense, the book very much feels like moshfegh’s pandemic novel due to its depiction of the wealthy spoiling in riches while the poor suffer and die from poverty and lack - a particularly felicitous reflection of our current world state, only further exemplified by the polarity of people’s experiences of the pandemic.
lapvona features moshfegh’s usual penchant for writing the grotesque and the disgusting, and much of the depravity of human nature is laid bare with the help of the barbaric and macabre setting. the bleakness of the medieval town is complimented by moshefgh’s trademark blunt prose, still allowing the novel to feel stylistically modern despite its historical setting.
when compared to moshfegh’s previous novels (with the exception of her novella ‘mcglue’) which all somewhat have a focus on femininity, femininity is relatively absent from lapvona, a town which is otherwise constructed as a brutal and cold masculinised landscape. ina, the town witch, is both the novel’s and the town’s manifestation of more gentle femininity. ina was a wet nurse for many of the children in lapvona, and serves as an integral character which many of the others revolve around throughout the story. during the instances when her feminine presence is more absent, the town of lapvona and its residents seemingly lean further into barbarism.
religion is the principal theme running throughout the novel, aptly summed up by the (quite humorously used) demi lovato lyric ‘i feel stupid when i pray’ which serves as the book’s epigraph. the novel investigates the place of religion in a world rife with such evil, madness, and violence, even going so far as to consider whether religion is an evil in itself. moshefgh does not attempt to answer any of these questions outright, instead they are explored in all their complexities through each of the character’s own relationship to faith.
in line with the corruption of the town’s lord and governor, villiam, and the town priest father barnabas, religion and faith come to serve as sinister forces lurking in the underbelly of the town. lapvona’s violence and abhorrence largely revolves around the idea of human suffering as a virtue, with most of the lapvonians perfectly willing to push their own suffering to the extremes in order to please god and earn a place in heaven.
karl marx's infamous (and paraphrased) dictum of religion as ‘opium of the people’ regularly came to mind as i was reading this book. both lord villiam and father barnabas knowingly weaponise religion to fool the villagers into blind acceptance of their poverty, starvation, and enslavement, thereby wielding religion as a fool to cushion their oppression.
lapvona is sure to be quite polarising upon its release, with many fans of her previous books, particularly avid fans of my year of rest and relaxation, probably being left confused about the abrupt change in direction. however, to me, this book serves as a great example of literary experimentation and an author pushing the boundaries of what their fiction can be.
rating: 4.5
thank you jonathan cape / vintage books for the arc!
the fictional medieval fiefdom of lapvona is used as a vehicle for moshfegh to peel back the flesh and examine the bare bones of humanity, with all of its guilt, greed, and corruption. while the novel has a historical setting, it is by no means a historical fiction book - instead, the medieval setting is reconfigured into a kind of dark, grisly fairy tale, a fable with a clear message to be conveyed by the end. in a general sense, the book very much feels like moshfegh’s pandemic novel due to its depiction of the wealthy spoiling in riches while the poor suffer and die from poverty and lack - a particularly felicitous reflection of our current world state, only further exemplified by the polarity of people’s experiences of the pandemic.
lapvona features moshfegh’s usual penchant for writing the grotesque and the disgusting, and much of the depravity of human nature is laid bare with the help of the barbaric and macabre setting. the bleakness of the medieval town is complimented by moshefgh’s trademark blunt prose, still allowing the novel to feel stylistically modern despite its historical setting.
when compared to moshfegh’s previous novels (with the exception of her novella ‘mcglue’) which all somewhat have a focus on femininity, femininity is relatively absent from lapvona, a town which is otherwise constructed as a brutal and cold masculinised landscape. ina, the town witch, is both the novel’s and the town’s manifestation of more gentle femininity. ina was a wet nurse for many of the children in lapvona, and serves as an integral character which many of the others revolve around throughout the story. during the instances when her feminine presence is more absent, the town of lapvona and its residents seemingly lean further into barbarism.
religion is the principal theme running throughout the novel, aptly summed up by the (quite humorously used) demi lovato lyric ‘i feel stupid when i pray’ which serves as the book’s epigraph. the novel investigates the place of religion in a world rife with such evil, madness, and violence, even going so far as to consider whether religion is an evil in itself. moshefgh does not attempt to answer any of these questions outright, instead they are explored in all their complexities through each of the character’s own relationship to faith.
in line with the corruption of the town’s lord and governor, villiam, and the town priest father barnabas, religion and faith come to serve as sinister forces lurking in the underbelly of the town. lapvona’s violence and abhorrence largely revolves around the idea of human suffering as a virtue, with most of the lapvonians perfectly willing to push their own suffering to the extremes in order to please god and earn a place in heaven.
karl marx's infamous (and paraphrased) dictum of religion as ‘opium of the people’ regularly came to mind as i was reading this book. both lord villiam and father barnabas knowingly weaponise religion to fool the villagers into blind acceptance of their poverty, starvation, and enslavement, thereby wielding religion as a fool to cushion their oppression.
lapvona is sure to be quite polarising upon its release, with many fans of her previous books, particularly avid fans of my year of rest and relaxation, probably being left confused about the abrupt change in direction. however, to me, this book serves as a great example of literary experimentation and an author pushing the boundaries of what their fiction can be.
rating: 4.5
thank you jonathan cape / vintage books for the arc!
August 22, 2024
this book is like someone made me a beautiful, perfect salad, with seasonal vegetables and arugula and spinach and an insane amount of croutons, and then put goat cheese on it.
i'm sure it's very good but it can only be primarily disgusting to me.
this is a very well written and interesting and creative book that is almost impossible to read for being so nasty.
all of the themes: excellent. the point: carried. the work: unrelentingly unique. every moment: hard to get through. do i recommend it? yes. will i ever read it again? no.
which is basically how to describe every ottessa book.
bottom line: the best, the worst.
3.5
-------------------
tbr review
how am i supposed to focus when there's an ottessa moshfegh book i haven't read yet
i'm sure it's very good but it can only be primarily disgusting to me.
this is a very well written and interesting and creative book that is almost impossible to read for being so nasty.
all of the themes: excellent. the point: carried. the work: unrelentingly unique. every moment: hard to get through. do i recommend it? yes. will i ever read it again? no.
which is basically how to describe every ottessa book.
bottom line: the best, the worst.
3.5
-------------------
tbr review
how am i supposed to focus when there's an ottessa moshfegh book i haven't read yet
March 6, 2022
dizzying and fantastical. haunting depictions of a medieval village plagued with tragedy and manipulation. where does god fit in such evilness? where does god fit in madness? perhaps religion is a madness of its own. every character delusional and wicked in their own ways, the story both languid and shocking. clever, funny, and disturbing, split into 4 parts: summer winter fall spring and the subsequent disillusion of reality after each season passes. With morale and sanity deteriorating after each disaster, they look to god, their hands twitching to pray, only to discover that dark forces are more powerful than their faith.
May 13, 2022
u crazy for this one ottessa
June 27, 2022
That was so gross
July 18, 2022
my favorite part was the demi lovato epigraph
March 10, 2023
Call Me By Your Name's peach scene walked so Lapvona's grape scene could run.
Read
June 28, 2024And smelt so? Pah!
July 24, 2022
Everyone in this book is an absolutely miserable person and I can’t decide if I loved or hated it.
EDIT: I decided. I hated it.
EDIT: I decided. I hated it.
July 1, 2022
Arghhh...this ain't it, Ottessa. I was really looking forward to Moshfegh's new novel, as I felt that her writing has become better and better (plus I love me some unsympathetic protagonists and disturbing imagery). But while in her other texts, the grotesque and the detailed portrayal of repulsive scenes could always be seen as serving a topical or aesthetic purpose, "Lapvona" remains strangely pointless, offering a pseudo-medieval cabinet of horrors in order to...well, why exactly? What does this story aim to do?
The setting is declared to be the fictional European town of Lapvona during the Middle Ages, but mind you, this isn't a historical novel: Moshfegh uses stereotypical clichés, it reads like no actual research has gone into crafting this setting. This is a carnival version of history, which unfortunately renders the location fairly uninteresting - to challenge common perceptions should have been a natural choice for this author. Our protagonist, 13-year-old Marek, is the disabled son of a shepherd, who was told that his mother has died in childbirth. In a not-to-be-spoilt turn of events, Marek is adopted by Villiam, the ruler, who is only interested in his own pleasure and is assisted in his endeavors by an utterly ignorant priest. Oh, and there is also a magical wet-nurse (don't ask).
I have to admit that despite all the obvious flaws (meandering plot, no point, gross stuff for being gross), I enjoyed listening to the audiobook, it is weirdly compelling, but not actually good. Moshfegh again writes about base human urges which in this case aren't put in opposition to (questionably) high civilization, because Lapvona is a dark cliché. Strangely, the novel does talk about the consequences of women not being able to have safe abortions, which has again become an urgent political matter - the author couldn't foresee it, and would probably not have included it in the current climate, as Moshfegh always makes a point not to partake in such political discussions.
This is just an interesting author, and she remains interesting even when she fails, which speaks volumes about her talent. Still, I'm waiting for the next really good book.
The setting is declared to be the fictional European town of Lapvona during the Middle Ages, but mind you, this isn't a historical novel: Moshfegh uses stereotypical clichés, it reads like no actual research has gone into crafting this setting. This is a carnival version of history, which unfortunately renders the location fairly uninteresting - to challenge common perceptions should have been a natural choice for this author. Our protagonist, 13-year-old Marek, is the disabled son of a shepherd, who was told that his mother has died in childbirth. In a not-to-be-spoilt turn of events, Marek is adopted by Villiam, the ruler, who is only interested in his own pleasure and is assisted in his endeavors by an utterly ignorant priest. Oh, and there is also a magical wet-nurse (don't ask).
I have to admit that despite all the obvious flaws (meandering plot, no point, gross stuff for being gross), I enjoyed listening to the audiobook, it is weirdly compelling, but not actually good. Moshfegh again writes about base human urges which in this case aren't put in opposition to (questionably) high civilization, because Lapvona is a dark cliché. Strangely, the novel does talk about the consequences of women not being able to have safe abortions, which has again become an urgent political matter - the author couldn't foresee it, and would probably not have included it in the current climate, as Moshfegh always makes a point not to partake in such political discussions.
This is just an interesting author, and she remains interesting even when she fails, which speaks volumes about her talent. Still, I'm waiting for the next really good book.
July 5, 2022
I was expecting something way more shocking, gross, and disturbing based on earlier reviews, but it really read like every other Moshfegh book I’ve ever read. When I think of Moshfegh, I typically think:
-Unlikeable/weird characters
-Gross imagery, most of it relating to bodily fluids and excrement
-Stilted, almost blunt dialogue
-Darkly comedic prose
And it checked all those boxes. I think this is probably her most “out there” book thanks to the medieval-ish setting, but yeah, if you’ve read and enjoyed her other books, you’ll like this.
I actually found Eileen to be way more disturbing than this was in the end, but it still had some pretty bizarre and gross imagery. My biggest complaint is I was expecting it to be the craziest book I’ve ever read, and it just really wasn’t, not in the slightest, but I still really enjoyed it!!
-Unlikeable/weird characters
-Gross imagery, most of it relating to bodily fluids and excrement
-Stilted, almost blunt dialogue
-Darkly comedic prose
And it checked all those boxes. I think this is probably her most “out there” book thanks to the medieval-ish setting, but yeah, if you’ve read and enjoyed her other books, you’ll like this.
I actually found Eileen to be way more disturbing than this was in the end, but it still had some pretty bizarre and gross imagery. My biggest complaint is I was expecting it to be the craziest book I’ve ever read, and it just really wasn’t, not in the slightest, but I still really enjoyed it!!
February 17, 2023
*Louis Theroux voice* I wasn’t quite sure what I’d just seen, but I knew it was time for me to leave.
June 30, 2024
don’t let mary and her little lamb read this
June 28, 2022
a lot of "did i read that right???" and mommy issues. like deeply disturbed mommy issues.
November 18, 2022
Villiam liked grotesque topics of conversation, nasty comedy always conveyed as colloquially as a passing fancy.
Moshfegh goes Medieval.
This is Ottessa Moshfegh’s fourth novel and very much lives down to if not subceeds its predecessors in its lack of literary merit.
The author’s first novel “Eileen” was shortlisted for the 2017 Booker Prize – my view on that book were captured by a Sunday Times review ”Billed as a thriller, Eileen was more of a mystery, a mystery as to how it ever got published, let alone .. wound up on the Man Booker shortlist.” . As well as having a ludicrous plot development, the book relied heavily on confrontational, unfiltered behaviour and calculated “grossness” (the first of which I can appreciate, the second of which always reminds me of nothing more than my experience in youth groups with young-ish children who think they can shock leaders by using swear words and sexual terms they have just learnt) – a tendency which I find is never far from the surface in the author’s writing. The book was not assisted by interviews the author gave – firstly saying that she wrote the book using a guide to best seller fiction: “The 90-Day Novel: Unlock the story within” and secondly making it clear that she was nothing like her “loser” protagonist with a much more successful and fulfilled life. Again with the author the impression is never far from the surface (at least for me) that she looks down on her characters.
Her second novel “My Year of Rest And Relaxation” worked a little better for me – I found it an initially promising but ultimately tedious tale of tedium with a very heavily signposted ending (and of course added scatalogical detail) became something of a hit again during lockdown.
Her third “Death In Her Hands” almost worked for me – at least if I assumed that the “Drive Your Plow Over The Bones of the Dead” borrowings were deliberate and one character looking up a guide to “Top Tips for Mystery Writers” was a piece of self-satire.
Unfortunately with this book the slight upward trend has been rapidly reversed.
Unlike her other books with their intense, very private first person voice - this is a multi-character third person novel with an omniscient narrator – one that seems to have best condescending sympathy and at worse disdain for the various characters.
Much of the author’s early worked aimed to explore the greed and delusion of individuals, of capitalist society and of distorted organised (as opposed to genuine) religion.
Here the author has chosen to create an entirely imagined setting – a “medieval” fiefdom (albeit it one relying more on Monty Python than any historical verisimilitude) to explore these ideas more overtly and in a more allegorical way - and also it seems to give her a playground for authorial excess unencumbered by any sense of reality.
That fiefdom is Lavona – ruled by Lord Villiam from his guarded hilltop manor house. Other characters include: Father Barnabas – village priest and something of an intemediary between Villiam and the village peasants (rather than between them and God); the village shepherd (and the Lord’s obscure cousin) Jude and his abused and part crippled son Marek (Marek’s mother Agata supposedly dying in childbirth); Ina – a blind crone-like midwife, wet-nurse and traditional healer; Grigor – whose grandchildren are killed at the start of the book in one of a series of recurring bandit raids; Villiam’s cocky son Jacob.
When Marek accidentally kills Jacob – Villiam decides to swap sons with Jude, and over time a drought/famine and various other events lead to all the characters spending time at the castle.
Grigor is perhaps the only villager to really question (at least to himself) the benevolence of Villiam. The reader though has no need to question anything as Moshfegh, who clearly does not believe in show not tell or in reader ingenuity (her attitude to her readers seems at times to me in line with that to her fictional creations), spells out up front the exploitative roles of Villiam (who actively encourages the raiders to keep the villagers in check and who hoards the areas water suppliers) and Barnabas (who actively works with Villiam in his aims).
If this is meant to be a satire on modern day American political and religious leaders and their role in pretending to care for the common people while actually exploiting them then it is a hardly controversial or revelatory, rather muddled and very crudely crafted one.
And crude is an appropriate word – as Moshfegh occasionally breaks off the story to throw in random scenes presumably designed to shock (a lengthy cannibalism scene, an unpleasant grape insertion/consumption incident) but which instead provoke only boredom in me.
In fact the author herself seems to appear in the book – in the character of Villiam, who seems to enjoy prokoving people but who seems only to produce something between distaste and tedium even in himself.
The dreams he did share with Villiam were more playful. ‘I dreamt there was a bird that had a voice like a man, and he would say everything a man would think but never say.’ ‘What did he say?’ ‘I love poop,’ Marek said. Villiam thought that was rather tame. ‘How about “I’d like to cover my testicles in custard and have the servants clean me with their tongues?” Yes. What a nasty little bird!’ ‘Very funny,’ Marek said. ‘What else, Marek?’ Villiam asked. ‘I’d like to marry my grandma.’ ‘Disgusting!’
A very worthless read.
June 24, 2022
"Perhaps hell is a tiny place"
After reading this novel, I'm inclined to agree.
As engrossing as it is grotesque, Lapvona is the car crash you cannot turn away from.
A wide array of characters, each as repugnant as the next, engenders a distinct hopelessness - a sense that malevolence is not merely pervasive in humanity, but innate. The concept that humankind and malice are inextricable permeate the novel so thoroughly that any instance of respite is profoundly jarring. Particularly disquieting is the apparent ceaseless opportunity for cruelty and the indifference with which it is executed.
Initially, this crassness is compelling, refreshing even. It allows the reader to sate their morbid fascinations whilst remaining detached - it's freeing. But you can only read so many sexual taboos and gratuitous acts of sadism before the shock is dulled to a vague acknowledgement and, eventually, to fatigue.
My greatest frustration with Lapvona is the absence of valuable commentary - on class, on religion, on free will - on anything. The narrative is overflowing with moral dilemmas, both personal and societal, yet Moshfegh manages to evade all opportunities to establish meaning. I don't doubt this is intentional - after all, the detached perspective complements the narrative. However, without defined purpose, a book as inordinately repulsive as Lapvona is quickly reduced solely to it's capacity for shock-factor, and I expected more.
In summary, I found Lapvona to be genuinely captivating throughout, powerfully evocative on occasion, but ultimately lack-lustre and largely forgettable.
So, if you're looking for mindless indulgence in the morbid and vulgar, Lapvona is your dream come true - but if you expect an exploration of morality beyond the surface-level, you may find yourself disappointed.
Thank you to Vintage Publishing for providing a free ARC in exchange for an honest review.
TWs:
Graphic: Rape, Pedophilia, Abuse (Child, Sexual, Domestic, Animal, Physical, Emotional), Violence, Gore, Body Horror, Death (inc. Parent, Child, Animal), Murder, Religious Trauma, Blood, Ableism, Vomit, Starvation, Self Harm, Excrement, Gas-lighting, Slavery, Toxic Relationships, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Cannibalism, Classism, Misogyny, Confinement, Paranoia, Sexual Content
Moderate: Abortion, Miscarriage, Drug Use, Alcohol, Infidelity, Fire, Bestiality Adjacent (?)
After reading this novel, I'm inclined to agree.
Moshfegh recounts a year in Lapvona - an impoverished medieval town whose citizens answer only to God and base carnal instinct. Ranging from sadomasochistic devotee to prophetic midwife, the citizens vary wildly, united only by a distinct and ubiquitous depravity. Such degeneracy infects even the governor, a man infantile and inhumane in equal measure. Steeped in complacency, he watches avidly from his manor as his denizens scarcely cling to survival.
Defenceless to assailing bandits the Lapvonian residents grow fearful, and as unease festers the Church beckons. In Lapvona, each act is one of reverence, and as the unsuspecting citizens bow in veneration, they do so not to God, but to a charlatan and a traitor.
What is a prayer to a false God? And when the divine exact their vengeance, who is it that's abandoned - God, or man?
As engrossing as it is grotesque, Lapvona is the car crash you cannot turn away from.
A wide array of characters, each as repugnant as the next, engenders a distinct hopelessness - a sense that malevolence is not merely pervasive in humanity, but innate. The concept that humankind and malice are inextricable permeate the novel so thoroughly that any instance of respite is profoundly jarring. Particularly disquieting is the apparent ceaseless opportunity for cruelty and the indifference with which it is executed.
Initially, this crassness is compelling, refreshing even. It allows the reader to sate their morbid fascinations whilst remaining detached - it's freeing. But you can only read so many sexual taboos and gratuitous acts of sadism before the shock is dulled to a vague acknowledgement and, eventually, to fatigue.
My greatest frustration with Lapvona is the absence of valuable commentary - on class, on religion, on free will - on anything. The narrative is overflowing with moral dilemmas, both personal and societal, yet Moshfegh manages to evade all opportunities to establish meaning. I don't doubt this is intentional - after all, the detached perspective complements the narrative. However, without defined purpose, a book as inordinately repulsive as Lapvona is quickly reduced solely to it's capacity for shock-factor, and I expected more.
In summary, I found Lapvona to be genuinely captivating throughout, powerfully evocative on occasion, but ultimately lack-lustre and largely forgettable.
So, if you're looking for mindless indulgence in the morbid and vulgar, Lapvona is your dream come true - but if you expect an exploration of morality beyond the surface-level, you may find yourself disappointed.
Thank you to Vintage Publishing for providing a free ARC in exchange for an honest review.
TWs:
Graphic: Rape, Pedophilia, Abuse (Child, Sexual, Domestic, Animal, Physical, Emotional), Violence, Gore, Body Horror, Death (inc. Parent, Child, Animal), Murder, Religious Trauma, Blood, Ableism, Vomit, Starvation, Self Harm, Excrement, Gas-lighting, Slavery, Toxic Relationships, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Cannibalism, Classism, Misogyny, Confinement, Paranoia, Sexual Content
Moderate: Abortion, Miscarriage, Drug Use, Alcohol, Infidelity, Fire, Bestiality Adjacent (?)
June 17, 2022
excuse me.... what the fuck did i just read???!??!!??!!
but also ottessa you are too crazy and brillant for this. your mind is something else
but also ottessa you are too crazy and brillant for this. your mind is something else
June 24, 2022
Lapvona was an extremely strange and thought-provoking novel; I didn't expect anything less. In my opinion, it is among Ottessa Moshfegh’s best work.
Lapvona is a meditation - albeit a messy and absurd one - on human behavior. The narrative focuses on a rotating cast of characters - all unlikable, complex, and isolated in their own way. All have their own beliefs and ways of constructing meaning out of what they know (or believe they know) of the world around them.
Each vary in personal circumstance and social status in the village of Lapvona, but are all affected in one way or another by forces beyond their control. I found the decisions some of the characters made throughout the narrative to be really intriguing. They were usually based on ignorance, lack of knowledge, or illogical reasoning and these decisions often moved the story along in fascinating and unpredictable ways.
With each character, Moshfegh also brilliantly explores faith, belief systems, and power structures. I wouldn’t label this novel necessarily allegorical, but many parallels can be drawn (and I feel are meant to be drawn) from the medieval narrative to our modern era. I’m glad I went into this knowing very little of the plot. I found it to be just as exciting of a reading experience as I’ve found her other work to be - quintessential Moshfegh, but unique in its own right. I believe this is her first dive into magical realism, which was woven into the story lightly and executed very well.
I would consider Lapvona as Moshfegh’s most serious and literary effort. There are some funny bits for sure, but this novel is pretty much void of the dark comedy found in My Year of Rest and Relaxation and Death in Her Hands. Compared to her other work, I would say Lapvona channels the weird and grotesque found in a lot of stories in Homesick for Another World (particularly the title story) and the unsettling historical narrative of McGlue.
Overall, a really stunning novel that is sure to stay with me far beyond the last page. As a huge fan of Moshfegh, I am really grateful to be an early reader and reviewer of this novel. Very few writers are able to captivate and excite me in the same way. I already can’t stop thinking about it and am looking forward to a re-read and physical copy for my shelves.
Thank you to the author, publisher, and Edelweiss+ for a digital arc of this novel in exchange for an honest review.
Lapvona is a meditation - albeit a messy and absurd one - on human behavior. The narrative focuses on a rotating cast of characters - all unlikable, complex, and isolated in their own way. All have their own beliefs and ways of constructing meaning out of what they know (or believe they know) of the world around them.
Each vary in personal circumstance and social status in the village of Lapvona, but are all affected in one way or another by forces beyond their control. I found the decisions some of the characters made throughout the narrative to be really intriguing. They were usually based on ignorance, lack of knowledge, or illogical reasoning and these decisions often moved the story along in fascinating and unpredictable ways.
With each character, Moshfegh also brilliantly explores faith, belief systems, and power structures. I wouldn’t label this novel necessarily allegorical, but many parallels can be drawn (and I feel are meant to be drawn) from the medieval narrative to our modern era. I’m glad I went into this knowing very little of the plot. I found it to be just as exciting of a reading experience as I’ve found her other work to be - quintessential Moshfegh, but unique in its own right. I believe this is her first dive into magical realism, which was woven into the story lightly and executed very well.
I would consider Lapvona as Moshfegh’s most serious and literary effort. There are some funny bits for sure, but this novel is pretty much void of the dark comedy found in My Year of Rest and Relaxation and Death in Her Hands. Compared to her other work, I would say Lapvona channels the weird and grotesque found in a lot of stories in Homesick for Another World (particularly the title story) and the unsettling historical narrative of McGlue.
Overall, a really stunning novel that is sure to stay with me far beyond the last page. As a huge fan of Moshfegh, I am really grateful to be an early reader and reviewer of this novel. Very few writers are able to captivate and excite me in the same way. I already can’t stop thinking about it and am looking forward to a re-read and physical copy for my shelves.
Thank you to the author, publisher, and Edelweiss+ for a digital arc of this novel in exchange for an honest review.
November 11, 2022
Can an author break your heart?
Before reading Ottessa Moshfegh's new novel, I was aware that there were plenty of negative reviews for it, and not just in Goodreads-land. Lapvona has been eviscerated all over the place. People seem to take a particular glee in doing so. My favourites are by people who say, "I really hated all her books, but this one takes the cake." (Honestly, why read her if you hate what she does? Just for an opportunity to sound pompous and superior?)
My review is different from those, simply because I LOVE this author. I love Moshfegh's work. I love what she does. She's had a profound influence on me, as a reader and as a writer, and unlike many "reviewers" out there, I think she has a brilliant modern voice. She's brave, she's fierce, she's free, and she's original.
But... I couldn't stand this book.
I have to wonder, did she write this in response to the critics who say her work is nothing but vile and grotesque? Oh yeah? I can see her sneering. You think I write meaningless nasty shit? Okay... HERE IT IS, 300 PAGES OF IT. ENJOY.
Cuz there's plenty of the nasty stuff here, not that I'm bothered by that, if there's meaning behind it. Sadly, there really isn't. And not a single compelling character in sight. Whether they lived or died was of zero consequence, to each other, or to me.
However, Moshfegh's greatest sin is NOT dragging her reader through sheep droppings (and she does that - on one page, for example, she tells us of an old hag, who, after cannibalizing some guy, and taking out her own eyeballs and replacing them with a horse's, starts offering perineal massages in the village with "oil" made by her own boiled down urine), no, it's that she bores us.
I think this was meant to be satirical, which accounts for the absurdity and the hollow characters, but I couldn't figure out what she was satirizing. This is a big problem.
My heart sank and sank and sank as I turned the pages, seriously contemplating putting it aside, unfinished. My heart ached, reading her prose and feeling uninspired, for the first time. My heart bled, knowing the review that I would write.
I don't even feel like myself, writing this review. Who the hell am I now, anyway??
Yeah, an author can break your heart. (But let me be clear, I still love you, Ottessa.)
Before reading Ottessa Moshfegh's new novel, I was aware that there were plenty of negative reviews for it, and not just in Goodreads-land. Lapvona has been eviscerated all over the place. People seem to take a particular glee in doing so. My favourites are by people who say, "I really hated all her books, but this one takes the cake." (Honestly, why read her if you hate what she does? Just for an opportunity to sound pompous and superior?)
My review is different from those, simply because I LOVE this author. I love Moshfegh's work. I love what she does. She's had a profound influence on me, as a reader and as a writer, and unlike many "reviewers" out there, I think she has a brilliant modern voice. She's brave, she's fierce, she's free, and she's original.
But... I couldn't stand this book.
I have to wonder, did she write this in response to the critics who say her work is nothing but vile and grotesque? Oh yeah? I can see her sneering. You think I write meaningless nasty shit? Okay... HERE IT IS, 300 PAGES OF IT. ENJOY.
Cuz there's plenty of the nasty stuff here, not that I'm bothered by that, if there's meaning behind it. Sadly, there really isn't. And not a single compelling character in sight. Whether they lived or died was of zero consequence, to each other, or to me.
However, Moshfegh's greatest sin is NOT dragging her reader through sheep droppings (and she does that - on one page, for example, she tells us of an old hag, who, after cannibalizing some guy, and taking out her own eyeballs and replacing them with a horse's, starts offering perineal massages in the village with "oil" made by her own boiled down urine), no, it's that she bores us.
I think this was meant to be satirical, which accounts for the absurdity and the hollow characters, but I couldn't figure out what she was satirizing. This is a big problem.
My heart sank and sank and sank as I turned the pages, seriously contemplating putting it aside, unfinished. My heart ached, reading her prose and feeling uninspired, for the first time. My heart bled, knowing the review that I would write.
I don't even feel like myself, writing this review. Who the hell am I now, anyway??
Yeah, an author can break your heart. (But let me be clear, I still love you, Ottessa.)
March 25, 2024
Even if I were into S&M, I still wouldn't have liked this.
January 14, 2022
Hmm... I'm really not sure what to make of this book. I understand Moshfegh was writing this during lockdown so in some senses it's a Covid novel - but only in an oblique, weird way which, surely, is what we'd expect from Moshfegh. We can sense it, I think, in this being a retreat from a 'normal' realist world, as it has the feel of a fable or fairy tale: the vague setting and time, the broad brush characters and situations that feel heightened and not really allegorical but figurative more than naturalistic: the cruel father, the missing mother , the initially abused and put upon son, the witchy crone, the exploitative priest, the greedy and cruel Lord.
The vaguely medieval setting indicated by the fiefdom allows the book to lean on romances and poetry from the period: I was thinking of the moral concerns of the dream-vision of Piers Plowman mixed up with the gleeful gross-out scenes and social commentary from The Canterbury Tales and the period's concerns with moral trials such as we find in romances like Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Even the way Marek's twisted body is made to reflect and stand in for his warped actions and uncertain moralities has a distinctly Middle English feel to it. There are clear engagements with structures of power and privilege, also of religion, especially Christianity with its values of sin and self-flagellation. And the differences between the institution of the church versus a sort of spiritual divinity.
Grotesqueries abound: a blind woman made to see again with a horse's eyes, cannibalism, various rapes and other bodily parts and fluids - this is a bit stomach-churning at times!
Other literary and cultural allusions are bound in, too: Cain and Abel but also Romulus and Remus; and the disquieting scenes between Marek and Ina made me think of the Rose of Sharon in The Grapes of Wrath, another text concerned with economic inequalities, communities and ethical behaviour (Steinbeck, too, in his own structural use of Cain and Abel in East of Eden).
Perhaps oddly, this also made me think of The Books of Jacob - in some ways Tokarczuk's meticulous historicity and detailed scene settings couldn't be more different from the pencilled-in outlines here but both books explore issues of faith, religion, communities and power, and the creation of narratives to excuse, exploit or sustain. Each book has an important old woman in Ina and Yente, and a would-be messiah - and there's that disturbing image of sucking milk from a woman's breast.
So a kind of moral framework makes this quite distinct from Moshfegh's earlier work. There is still a sense of anarchism though more subdued here and an unexpectedness about the story. It is, as ever, eminently readable and that arresting cover is fantastic! But still, I'm not quite sure how I feel about this one...
Thanks to Random House for an ARC via NetGalley
The vaguely medieval setting indicated by the fiefdom allows the book to lean on romances and poetry from the period: I was thinking of the moral concerns of the dream-vision of Piers Plowman mixed up with the gleeful gross-out scenes and social commentary from The Canterbury Tales and the period's concerns with moral trials such as we find in romances like Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Even the way Marek's twisted body is made to reflect and stand in for his warped actions and uncertain moralities has a distinctly Middle English feel to it. There are clear engagements with structures of power and privilege, also of religion, especially Christianity with its values of sin and self-flagellation. And the differences between the institution of the church versus a sort of spiritual divinity.
Grotesqueries abound: a blind woman made to see again with a horse's eyes, cannibalism, various rapes and other bodily parts and fluids - this is a bit stomach-churning at times!
Other literary and cultural allusions are bound in, too: Cain and Abel but also Romulus and Remus; and the disquieting scenes between Marek and Ina made me think of the Rose of Sharon in The Grapes of Wrath, another text concerned with economic inequalities, communities and ethical behaviour (Steinbeck, too, in his own structural use of Cain and Abel in East of Eden).
Perhaps oddly, this also made me think of The Books of Jacob - in some ways Tokarczuk's meticulous historicity and detailed scene settings couldn't be more different from the pencilled-in outlines here but both books explore issues of faith, religion, communities and power, and the creation of narratives to excuse, exploit or sustain. Each book has an important old woman in Ina and Yente, and a would-be messiah - and there's that disturbing image of sucking milk from a woman's breast.
So a kind of moral framework makes this quite distinct from Moshfegh's earlier work. There is still a sense of anarchism though more subdued here and an unexpectedness about the story. It is, as ever, eminently readable and that arresting cover is fantastic! But still, I'm not quite sure how I feel about this one...
Thanks to Random House for an ARC via NetGalley
November 16, 2022
This is a tough book to review.
First, I saw someone call it Valpona in their review and I won't ever forget it. Lol
Secondly, this book is taboo as shit. It's uncomfortable, disturbing, off-putting, and just...
*gesturing*
Gross. It's gross.
Like a fucked up fairytale.
And if you have very specific triggers, I highly recommend seeking those out. Some of the more blatant ones are child abuse and rape but there is a plethora of other very disturbing subject matter including an elderly woman that is a wet nurse for grown men. The descriptions are *shudders* blech. Ugh.
But despite my repulsion to almost everything depicted in this novel, I was utterly glued to it; mesmerized. Captivated. I had to know how all of this was going to turn out.
Lapvona is not something I can just recommend to anyone.
I can't think of anything weirder than telling someone I enjoyed this book and then having them think about me while they're reading it, wondering what the actual fuck is wrong with me.
But if that seems interesting to you, my refusal to suggest you read it while also telling you that I'm glad I read it, then by all means--pick it up.
Just don't think of me.
I will be getting more books by Ottessa Moshfegh.
First, I saw someone call it Valpona in their review and I won't ever forget it. Lol
Secondly, this book is taboo as shit. It's uncomfortable, disturbing, off-putting, and just...
*gesturing*
Gross. It's gross.
Like a fucked up fairytale.
And if you have very specific triggers, I highly recommend seeking those out. Some of the more blatant ones are child abuse and rape but there is a plethora of other very disturbing subject matter including an elderly woman that is a wet nurse for grown men. The descriptions are *shudders* blech. Ugh.
But despite my repulsion to almost everything depicted in this novel, I was utterly glued to it; mesmerized. Captivated. I had to know how all of this was going to turn out.
Lapvona is not something I can just recommend to anyone.
I can't think of anything weirder than telling someone I enjoyed this book and then having them think about me while they're reading it, wondering what the actual fuck is wrong with me.
But if that seems interesting to you, my refusal to suggest you read it while also telling you that I'm glad I read it, then by all means--pick it up.
Just don't think of me.
I will be getting more books by Ottessa Moshfegh.
October 12, 2022
not perfect but perfect.
Read
September 8, 2022??????????
March 25, 2022
bleak godless manipulative mindfuck! 🙏🏽
November 16, 2022
Dame Hilary Mantel will probably roll over in her tomb if she hears me now, or send a vengeful spirit to haunt me. I have been struggling since December last year to finish ‘The Mirror and the Light’. It is nearly a year later, and I am pleased to report I am (about) halfway through its nearly 900 pages.
What is the problem, you may ask. Well, the book is just so fucking perfect that it is exhausting to read. The amount of detail is so overwhelming it induces a kind of synaesthesia. The sentences are so glorious (and long) I tend to backtrack and meander.
On the other hand, I breezed through the 300 pages of ‘Lapvona’ by Ottessa Moshfegh in about a week. This book will definitely make Dame Mantel spin in her tomb, as feudal-type characters utter incongruous words like ‘yeah’. Plus there is a truly disgusting scene involving a grape. And an even more disgusting cannibalism scene. (I read a lot of horror, but this book made me blanch on a couple of occasions.)
But, actually, what Moshfegh has to say about feudal power structures and patriarchy generally chimes with what Mantel has to say. Only 600 pages less. Of course, ‘Lapvona’ is highly stylised and baroque in its deliberate gratuitousness and deadpan tone.
There are lots of writers who have tried their hand at genre-type books: Jeanette Winterson had a go at horror in ‘The Daylight Gate’ and Colson Whitehead tackled the zombie apocalypse in ‘Zone One’. Heck, even Shakespeare produced a schlockbuster in the form of ‘Titus Andronicus’.
I was not mad about ‘Eileen’ but loved ‘My Year of Rest and Relaxation’, which I read around about the time of the Covid-19 pandemic, giving the book a whole different feel and heft. Moshfegh has a unique literary voice that is curiously distanced and even bland, while describing the most outrageous events or behaviour.
Now while reading ‘Lapvona’ I was reminded of the HBO series ‘House of the Dragon’, of all things. One modern trend that Moshfegh engages with is the idea that ‘Game of Thrones’ is an accurate representation of history. Actually, there is nothing in ‘Lapvona’, no matter how disturbed or graphic, that would not fit right at home in ‘Game of Thrones’. Well, maybe not that grape scene…
If you look beyond the dirt and bodily fluids and the general melodrama of the plot, which has enough twists and turns for a soap opera (which is one of the reasons it is so compulsively readable), ‘Lapvona’ is deeply yet tragically funny. Everyone is pretty unlikeable and engages in the vilest and most despicable forms of behaviour, with Moshfegh’s authorial voice constantly reminding us how dumb and gullible human beings are.
It is well-known that capitalism would never have succeeded as the dominant global politico-economic system if it had not been propped up by organised religion. One of Moshfegh’s profound achievements in ‘Lapvona’ is how she conveys the human tragedy of exploiting people’s faith and sheer sense of self-worth simply to make a quick buck. Usually at the expense of someone else. And often in the most devious manner possible.
I kind of grew to understand and empathise with Marek throughout the book, even as he becomes gradually more boorish, pathetic, detestable and ineffectual. (Yes, this is a classic Moshfegh protagonist.)
Divided into sections named after the seasons, and marking different times and fortunes in village and manor, reading this was like trying to navigate a train wreck: Could Moshfegh maintain the pace she sets from the first page? Does she manage to top even her most outlandish setpieces (including that grape scene)? The answer is yes and yes.
And that devastating last paragraph, so light-filled, is both transcendent and brutal. This is a truly extraordinary literary experiment by a fearless, committed writer unafraid to take chances or alienate readers.
What is the problem, you may ask. Well, the book is just so fucking perfect that it is exhausting to read. The amount of detail is so overwhelming it induces a kind of synaesthesia. The sentences are so glorious (and long) I tend to backtrack and meander.
On the other hand, I breezed through the 300 pages of ‘Lapvona’ by Ottessa Moshfegh in about a week. This book will definitely make Dame Mantel spin in her tomb, as feudal-type characters utter incongruous words like ‘yeah’. Plus there is a truly disgusting scene involving a grape. And an even more disgusting cannibalism scene. (I read a lot of horror, but this book made me blanch on a couple of occasions.)
But, actually, what Moshfegh has to say about feudal power structures and patriarchy generally chimes with what Mantel has to say. Only 600 pages less. Of course, ‘Lapvona’ is highly stylised and baroque in its deliberate gratuitousness and deadpan tone.
There are lots of writers who have tried their hand at genre-type books: Jeanette Winterson had a go at horror in ‘The Daylight Gate’ and Colson Whitehead tackled the zombie apocalypse in ‘Zone One’. Heck, even Shakespeare produced a schlockbuster in the form of ‘Titus Andronicus’.
I was not mad about ‘Eileen’ but loved ‘My Year of Rest and Relaxation’, which I read around about the time of the Covid-19 pandemic, giving the book a whole different feel and heft. Moshfegh has a unique literary voice that is curiously distanced and even bland, while describing the most outrageous events or behaviour.
Now while reading ‘Lapvona’ I was reminded of the HBO series ‘House of the Dragon’, of all things. One modern trend that Moshfegh engages with is the idea that ‘Game of Thrones’ is an accurate representation of history. Actually, there is nothing in ‘Lapvona’, no matter how disturbed or graphic, that would not fit right at home in ‘Game of Thrones’. Well, maybe not that grape scene…
If you look beyond the dirt and bodily fluids and the general melodrama of the plot, which has enough twists and turns for a soap opera (which is one of the reasons it is so compulsively readable), ‘Lapvona’ is deeply yet tragically funny. Everyone is pretty unlikeable and engages in the vilest and most despicable forms of behaviour, with Moshfegh’s authorial voice constantly reminding us how dumb and gullible human beings are.
It is well-known that capitalism would never have succeeded as the dominant global politico-economic system if it had not been propped up by organised religion. One of Moshfegh’s profound achievements in ‘Lapvona’ is how she conveys the human tragedy of exploiting people’s faith and sheer sense of self-worth simply to make a quick buck. Usually at the expense of someone else. And often in the most devious manner possible.
I kind of grew to understand and empathise with Marek throughout the book, even as he becomes gradually more boorish, pathetic, detestable and ineffectual. (Yes, this is a classic Moshfegh protagonist.)
Divided into sections named after the seasons, and marking different times and fortunes in village and manor, reading this was like trying to navigate a train wreck: Could Moshfegh maintain the pace she sets from the first page? Does she manage to top even her most outlandish setpieces (including that grape scene)? The answer is yes and yes.
And that devastating last paragraph, so light-filled, is both transcendent and brutal. This is a truly extraordinary literary experiment by a fearless, committed writer unafraid to take chances or alienate readers.
June 27, 2022
I need a new brain -- and a much more snuggly book --I just didn't like it.
I'm an Ottessa Moshfegh fan too -- oh well. I picked the wrong book for the wrong time.
Maybe? Third time is a charm (we shall see).
I'm an Ottessa Moshfegh fan too -- oh well. I picked the wrong book for the wrong time.
Maybe? Third time is a charm (we shall see).
March 1, 2023
och, Marek, Marek...
July 12, 2022
A novel that is both captivating and disturbing at the same time. Left me indifferent towards characters and some parts made me put it down for a while. And yet, I was drawn to the medieval world of Lapvona as it is described without any romanticised background and sounds real.
A strange novel, to say the least ...
OverDrive, thank you!
A strange novel, to say the least ...
OverDrive, thank you!
Want to read
June 1, 2022every time i see the title of this book, my brain reads "la putona".
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