How’s it going, friends? I’ve had a pretty intense week at work but this newsletter comes to you from my favourite cafe on a Friday, after a much-needed hair appointment. I hope you’re having a nice, slow Sunday, maybe with a cold Aperol Spritz in the sun.
📘 Review: Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh
Welcome to Lapvona – a medieval fiefdom with Eastern European vibes. At its heart, young Marek. He's a disturbing mix of piety and masochism, harbouring a truckload of disgust for his abusive, hedonist father, Jude.
And then there's Villiam, ruling over Lapvona like a big, bloated baby, gorging himself on food and wine bought with the money he’s squeezing out of his desperate subjects one bandit raid at a time. And Ina, an old crone with a mystical aura about her, who’s supposedly nursed the entire village when they were babies. Already a weird (and kind of gross) cast of characters.
These characters, along with a few other key players, swirl around in a dance that moves the plot along with a grotesque beauty. But to be honest, the plot isn't the main star here – it's the messy, fleshy, uncensored orgy of human desires that's in the spotlight.
Think grown men nursing from withered old ladies, twisted relationships, failed abortions, cannibalism, and more moments that make you squirm like maggots in an open wound.
And then there's the whole religious side of Lapvona, but it's not your usual Sunday morning fare. Here, it's (suitably) all about perversion and strange obsessions, and pseudo-pagan beliefs. There’s this gorgeous, gradual unveiling of the primal, raw reality of human desires and fears. And it ain’t pretty.
The novel is cleverly divided into seasons, and towards the end, we’re swept up into a whirlwind of surreal imagery, a perverse ‘Second Coming’ of sorts that's straight out of a fever dream.
As fate intertwines Marek's path with the volatile Lord Villiam's family, enigmatic and occult energies come crashing in, disrupting the established norms. As the year draws to a close, the boundary separating blindness from clarity, life from death, and the tangible realm from the ethereal grows astonishingly tenuous.
Lapvona is nothing short of a triumph. It's not just about Moshfegh’s storytelling chops or her masterful command of prose; it's about that visceral quality that makes you squirm and think and keep turning the pages at the same time.
She's not afraid to toss the rulebook and give us a wild ride that's less about neat narratives and more about laying bare the raw, unfiltered reality of what it is to be human.
📝 Writing update: I did the thing!
In a recent newsletter, I mentioned I had broken through my inner critic and was writing a short story. I thought I’d give you a bit of an update on that front.
Through Camp NaNoWriMo, I’ve managed to write 5,000 words in less than a month, which is huge for me. I used to shoot myself down before I let myself rack up even 2,000 words. I listened to the little voice in my head telling me that it was pointless to even try because there are better writers than me being published every single day.
And perhaps more importantly, I’ve managed to show up for myself almost every day. Some days were hard, and I’d only manage 50 words and a couple of ideas for a chapter or a scene. But others, most days, I’d be on fire.
I’ve been able to get into this incredible headspace where I lose track of time and all there is is the story. And it’s mine to do whatever I want with it.
There are no rules, no limitations. I’m going to keep working on this story and develop it into a novel. Hell, I’m going to try my luck and enter the first 5k into a competition.
The freedom I felt reminded me of when I was little and would set up entire worlds and narratives using my Playmobil without a second thought.
And on that note, I’ll just say that aging out of Playmobil was truly the greatest tragedy of my life, with aging out of soft play areas being a close second.