A Journey Through the Grotesque: A Review of Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh
When I first stumbled upon Lapvona, I felt an irresistible pull toward Ottessa Moshfegh’s murky world. Known for her incisive exploration of human flaws and societal decay, Moshfegh’s latest novel had been making waves and, honestly, it felt like a dark ride I couldn’t resist. “Perhaps hell is a tiny place,” reads one of the thought-provoking lines in the book, and after diving into the grim lives of Lapvona’s residents, I’m inclined to agree.
Set in an impoverished medieval town bursting at the seams with vice, Lapvona offers a year-long glimpse into a community that appears to worship only their most base instincts. The characters—ranging from sadomasochistic devotees to a prophetic midwife—are as intriguing as they are disturbing. Moshfegh beautifully captures this moral freefall where the governor, a paradoxical figure of childishness and brutality, watches his people barely scrape by, their only solace in worshipping a charlatan masquerading as divine.
The themes of hopelessness and innate malevolence are woven throughout the narrative, creating a dense atmosphere that’s almost suffocating. While there’s an initial thrill in the raw honesty of the uncensored humanity on display, it quickly evolves into a sense of fatigue as you realize that cruelty and depravity are not just prominent, but relentless. My initial fascination turned into something like dread as the characters began to blur into one grotesque entity, each as repugnant as the next.
Moshfegh’s writing style is striking, with vivid prose that brings the grim landscape to life—every detail sharp enough to cut. Yet, for all her skill in eliciting visceral reactions, one haunting question lingered: what is the purpose behind these moral dilemmas? It seems that Moshfegh intentionally sidesteps deeper commentary on class, religion, and free will, leaving readers craving some semblance of meaning. The narrative seems teetering on the edge of philosophical exploration but ultimately shrinks back, reducing the shocking moments to mere spectacles, leaving me with a sense of profound disappointment.
One of the book’s central quotes—“What is a prayer to a false God?”—haunts the pages as I read, echoing long after I closed the book. It feels poignant, yet it dances tantalizingly close to a deeper exploration that never comes. The absence of valuable commentary made me question whether the grotesque was enough to carry the weight of the narrative’s ambition.
In summary, Lapvona is undeniably captivating; it evokes powerful emotions and moments that will linger in your mind. If you’re seeking mindless indulgence in the morbid and vulgar, this book will be your guilty pleasure. But for those in search of a nuanced exploration of morality beyond surface-level shock, you may find yourself at a loss.
Lapvona will likely resonate with readers who appreciate stark depictions of human depravity and those who are not easily swayed by discomforting imagery. Personally, I walked away feeling both intrigued and dissatisfied; it’s a testament to Moshfegh’s prowess that even a journey through the grotesque can leave one pining for a more profound exploration of its heavy themes.
Thank you to Vintage Publishing for providing a free ARC in exchange for an honest review.