Bunny

I find it difficult to rate this book. It left me so confused that I started questioning my ability to follow a story in a foreign language. If other reviews are to be trusted I am not alone in my confusion, but contrary to them I cannot know whether my own lack of awareness is at fault here.

It started well though. I was intrigued to see what the premise and setting would lead to. But further in the book, as more and more pages were turned, I became perplexed then disinterested then annoyed. And I had made it as far as the last thirty pages so I had to finish, didn't I? Fortunately skipping even entire paragraghs did not seem to matter much for the actual plot, especially by the end.

Because if I had to make a succinct description of this novel: 300+ pages of self pitied rambling dusted with teenage drama. The latter could have been interesting if the main character had stopped wallowing in her misery so that we had time to focus on the rest of the cast. If you're looking for horror, which I did expect a bit of given how this book was advertised, just keep moving because there is no meat to it.

I might come back to this in a while and spit at my past self for not realizing how brilliant this piece of work has been all along. But for now I'll have to accept that I'm missing out.

The Secret History meets Mean Girls meets…well, one other book and one other movie which, if I name either, will reveal too much about this story. While it always feels like a cop-out because it means that I can’t say much, the less you know about this book, the better. Seriously, don’t even look at other reviews. There are inadvertent spoilers there too. Suffice to say, this was a dark, twisted, adamantium-razor-sharp story and a thoroughly gripping read. Also, there were times when I identified so strongly with the main character and felt so intensely seen that I wondered how Mona Awad knew so much about my past. It tapped into an old well of anxious, interpersonal woe that I seldom think about these days, but was surprised to find felt no less vivid for the passing of years. Equal parts distressing and validating in an ‘I thought it was just me’ sort of way. Oh, the magic of books.