Lapvona

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There's an insanity to this novel that is hard to describe. Barry Pierce tried it this way: "Lapvona is a gruesome farce, something like Monty Python and the Holy Grail if it had been directed by David Cronenberg".

That's actually not that far off, but it misrepresents the book as the comparison lacks a certain humanity Lapvona does have -- a humanity it shares with titles like Magda Szabo's The Door, or Marlen Haushofer's The Wall, or Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk or even The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia McKillip, 4 very different books I've already grouped before as sharing something.

So farce, yes, partly -- but with a psychological sophistication that hides itself well behind its seemingly coarse mannerisms and harsh gestures. That might be the reason why some reviewers don't connect with this book, so try to not get stuck in its surface level esthetics. At the same time, don't be scared away by all the talk -- including mine -- about its atrocities: Lapvona is so much more.

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