{"id":136892,"date":"2019-06-07T13:11:14","date_gmt":"2019-06-07T17:11:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=136892"},"modified":"2019-06-07T14:04:47","modified_gmt":"2019-06-07T18:04:47","slug":"staff-picks-bunnies-berries-and-baffling-omissions","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/06\/07\/staff-picks-bunnies-berries-and-baffling-omissions\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Bunnies, Berries, and Baffling Omissions"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Mona Awad. Photo: Brigitte Lacombe.<\/p><\/div>\n

Mona Awad\u2019s prose is dangerous. She crafts beautiful meals laced with poison; her new novel Bunny<\/em><\/a> is a satirical glimpse into elite education that transforms a college into the deep, dark woods of a fairy tale. Set on the ivy-covered campus of Warren University, a monied institution gleaming at the heart of a poverty-stricken, crime-ridden city, Bunny<\/em> follows the M.F.A. candidate Samantha Heather Mackey as she becomes entwined with four fellow writing students, a glittering, eerie group of women who call one another \u201cBunny.\u201d The Bunnies lure Samantha into their mysterious Workshop, where \u201ckill your darlings\u201d is a literal practice, the creative process a twee but twisted game of playing god(dess). Awad\u2019s words have shadows to them, dual meanings that she flexes in her surreal descriptions of the university\u2019s faculty and in the academic jargon the Bunnies employ to justify their desires. And though Bunny<\/em> is steeped in strange magic, real forces lurk throughout the novel, lying just past the confines of campus: poverty, gentrification, mental illness. The Bunnies\u2019 creativity is equally driven by magic as it is by class; they \u201cinherited it, like our summer houses, our grand pianos, our perfect, nuanced taste.\u201d Awad captures the allure of these tastemakers, the desire to be part of a we<\/em>, and the insidiousness that comes with power, a \u201cnecklace gleaming in the tall grass that could be a snake.\u201d \u2014Nikki Shaner-Bradford\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the recent surge of fiction written by millennial women for their peers, none have done quite what Molly Dektar does in her debut novel, The Ash Family<\/em><\/a>. Briefly summed, The Ash Family<\/em> is about a young woman who runs away after high school to join a cult. This story line may ring with a familiar tenor, but that is quickly quieted by the presence of something fresh we will undoubtedly see more of soon, both in fiction and life: the anxiety of ecological collapse and the radicalization of those who feel it. The \u201cmillennial novel,\u201d as it has developed into a subgenre thus far, is in large part about individuation and actualization, but here it is about trying to connect in some meaningful way with the physical world. The protagonist, Berie, is never fully involved in her new family\u2019s increasingly violent acts, and this is likely because Dektar\u2019s attention is as captivated by the natural world as Berie\u2019s is; she would rather linger over landscapes than plot a protest. And thankfully so\u2014Dektar crafts beautiful prose, lush and loamy in the vein of Thomas Hardy\u2019s naturalism. Even when characters from Berie\u2019s old life come to try and take her away, she is far more panicked at leaving the \u201cessential\u201d life she lives in the wild than she is at the thought of leaving the community. Dektar has a way of seeing\u2014the world, the people in it\u2014that makes me excited for whatever she does next. \u2014Lauren Kane<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Karen Havelin. Photo: Anna-Julia Granberg, Blunderbuss.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

After a dear friend of mine was diagnosed with endometriosis earlier this year, I found myself idly googling the condition one evening, looking for some kind of book or artwork to recommend her\u2014something to distract her, something to alleviate the endless waiting that now seemed to constitute large swaths of her days. My search eventually led me to Please Read This Leaflet Carefully<\/em><\/a>, the Norwegian writer Karen Havelin\u2019s debut novel, published in the U.S. this spring by Dottir Press. It follows Laura, a thirty-six-year-old Norwegian woman in New York, as she moves through her journey with severe endometriosis and into the shadowy, parallel universe that is our contemporary understanding of female pain and its accompanying treatments. By turns angry, consoling, and despondent, the book is a clear-eyed exploration of how women\u2019s health issues are rarely taken seriously. Another plus: its interesting use of time. Rather than moving forward through the narrative, Havelin has her character moving backward, with each chapter taking place at a younger and younger age, until Laura is a teenager again and at the beginning of this health journey. It\u2019s a clever unspooling of one woman\u2019s psyche\u2014I hope my friend enjoys her copy. \u2014Rhian Sasseen<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ayelet Waldman is perhaps best known in literary circles as the author of two brilliant (and fun) nonfiction books, one about motherhood and another about microdosing LSD. But it\u2019s her novels that I love best. Her fiction possesses a narrative velocity that pulls the reader along, relaxing in moments of emotional resonance and then whipping us forward once more. Her 2014 novel, Love and Treasure<\/em><\/a>, was largely missed on the various \u201cbest of\u201d lists that year\u2014a strange and, for me, baffling omission. The novel tells the interwoven story of Jewish and European refugees in the wake of the Holocaust, using purloined art as its fulcrum. But the book is also a window into history\u2014both emotional and political\u2014dipping into the creation of Israel, the impossible and irreconcilable guilt of survivors, and the ways in which subsequent generations can (and do) take up the cause of their parents and grandparents. This is the work of a novelist at the height of her powers, a balancing act between matters of the heart, of politics, of war, and of history\u2014and it kept me deeply engrossed to the final glorious page. \u2014Christian Kiefer<\/strong><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been thinking about Terese Marie Mailhot\u2019s memoir, Heart Berries<\/em><\/a>, every day since I finished it. The slim book is her telling of a childhood scarred by poverty, addiction, and abuse on the Seabird Island Band in British Columbia. Mailhot began working on the book after having herself committed following a breakdown. \u201cPain expanded my heart,\u201d she says, and she generously lets us in to the chaos of her past. She reckons with intergenerational trauma\u2014a terrifying father, an absent mother, foster care\u2014and her own subsequent relationships: a failed marriage, a son, a messy affair, her husband Casey. Her words are vulnerable and angry, self-deprecating and unsparing. \u201cIsaiah cried all night,\u201d she writes of her son, \u201cand I remembered well that I held a hand over his mouth, long enough for me to know I am a horror to my baby.\u201d But there\u2019s also a tenderness, a startling keenness. \u201cNothing is too ugly for this world,\u201d she writes. \u201cIt\u2019s just that people pretend not to see.\u201d And then: \u201cYou think weakness is a problem. I want to be torn apart by everything.\u201d Mailhot moves nimbly between extreme feelings and time periods, reshaping the memoir into an artistic, energetic form. By the end, we feel her ambition and her triumphs. \u201cI wanted as much of the world as I could take,\u201d she writes. \u201cAnd I didn\u2019t have the conscience to be ashamed.\u201d I\u2019ve carried her unapologetic confessions with me. \u2014Camille Jacobson<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Terese Marie Mailhot. Photo: Beowulf Sheehan.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This week, the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 considers the \u201cmillennial novel,\u201d revisits an underappreciated Ayelet Waldman book, and grapples with Mona Awad\u2019s wild \u2018Bunny.\u2019<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-136892","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Bunnies, Berries, and Baffling Omissions by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This week, the staff of \u2018The Paris Review\u2019 considers the \u201cmillennial novel,\u201d revisits an underappreciated Ayelet Waldman book, and grapples with Mona Awad\u2019s wild \u2018Bunny.\u2019\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, 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