Robert Bunny, a toy bunny rabbit, observes the steady decline of a family he so desperately wants to be a part of.
His is the only voice of reason as he connects the crumbling mind of Deborah to her son Alex, whilst she tries to save him from the very worst of himself.
The Shape of Guilt charts a pattern of secrecy and trauma, one which culminates in a brutal and drastic action. Will Robert Bunny be able to save the ones he loves?
Lisa took seed in a forest in south-western Småland, Sweden, a corner of the world that she was more than happy to share with Astrid Lindgren, flatpack furniture and glassblower huts. She composed her first stories at the age of four, which she wrote in a black notebook, starting at the bottom of the page and writing up. Lisa also spent many hours reclining on a bean bag in the local library, where she first encountered The Lord of the Rings, Gulliver’s Travels, Robinson Crusoe, A Princess of Mars, The Dark is Rising, everything written by Maria Gripe and hundreds of other treasures.
During childhood summers, when she wasn’t swimming in the quiet lakes, Lisa would wander the forest – sometimes with her dog, Pia, but most often alone. This is where she grew to love nature: the moss-covered rocks (she knew they were really hunkering trolls turned to stone by the sun), the floating mists over the meadows (fickle females in white dresses, dancing to enchant you off the path), the gnarled and hollow trees (crooked witches, ready to grasp your shoulder as soon as you turn your back).
At ten Lisa wrote a poem about her cat, Misen, which was published by the local paper, and at 15 she won third prize in a short story competition. Her reading list grew, as did her diary, in which she did her best to enlarge the details of her life. But all that reading had shown her that the world was so much larger than her dark fairytale forest, and she longed for fewer trees and more people.
At 19 she set sail for England and washed up on the south coast. She studied Russian and Linguistics at Sussex University, then proceeded to an MA in Translation Studies at Surrey University. Between translating and raising three children with her bagpipe-playing husband, she snatched moments to write, before turbocharging her writing in the Creative Writing Programme at New Writing South.
Since then she has published stories and poems in anthologies and literary magazines, such as The Dawntreader, The Dark Mountain Project and The Forgotten and Fantastical 4. Once in a while she still flees back to the forest of her childhood where she strokes the moss on the sleeping trolls and lets the mists tempt her from the path.
Fransson weaves a tragic tale that leaves the reader feeling as helpless as poor Robert, a toy rabbit, so often did I desperately want to change the direction the book was taking but my voice had as much effect on Deborah as Robert’s did. The world setting is tiny, focus is mostly in a hospital ward after a suicide attempt as a family comes together, whilst dealing with a number of mental health issues through conversations with Robert we learn about the many dark times this family has faced.
Using short chapters Fransson is able to move events along quickly, almost like snapshots of evidence leading up to the grand finale, Robert’s child-like voice works well with this pace and you are very quickly caught up in events. Mental health is a heavy subject to deal with but Fransson handles it with care, we see it from many angles, from the thoughts and actions of the person struggling with their health, from how they see people handling them, some think they are doing/saying the right thing but it doesn’t help and from the point of view of those who see other’s health issues as a burden on themselves.
This is an amazing debut, I so easily got caught up in things and being under 100 pages it is an easy one to finish in one sitting. Highly recommended.
Read in 2 sittings. Intriguingly elusive, with a sense of foreboding. Theres a notion of impending doom which heightens the suspense and had me hooked and compelled me to read on from the start. A family’s torment beautifully and succinctly captured within snapshot chapters. Cleverly written with sensitivity and insight into the fractured mind. Loved it.
This is one hell of a debut. We're in the viewpoint of a toy bunny that seems to telepathically communicate with a mother and her (young?) adult son, while said son is in a coma following an attempt. It's an interesting way to absorb a story when the mental health of the characters is in turmoil, and I kept waiting for the punchline to be something along the lines of "the bunny is a metaphor" or "the bunny isn't really a conduit", etc. Something like that. However, what emerged through this story was some very heavy subject matter, which I thought the author handled with great sincerity, as well as artistry. I'm so impressed and will definitely be reading more from this author.
This is a difficult story but a book I wanted to read. The story charts a pattern of secrecy and trauma. It’s described as emotionally complex, disturbing, and beautifully weird. Everything I love about literature.
Wow, I’m going back in for a second read soon. A deftly woven, weird, brave, tight, tangled web of family dysfunction, damage and loss. This short novel is somehow vast, a tragedy, a horror and a love story. Reading the last page I felt I'd been ejected suddenly from the hallucinatory world of Our Mummy, Alex, and Robert Bunny. I could still feel Our Mummy's spiders, I was haunted by Robert Bunny's voice, I wept for Alex. Lisa Fransson has written about a taboo issue and done so with this true, startling other-wordly vision. At the same time she has captured the everyday mess of human relationships; the nitty gritty of suffering, the humour, the power struggles, the darkest places that souls can find themselves. One single hospital room is stuffed with secrets, memories, disorientating levels of reality and sanity, abuses of power, croissant crumbs, sinister family members, obliterating grief, and more; plus all is bathed in desperate, bloody, beautiful mother and son LOVE... To achieve all of this in so few pages is nothing short of masterful. (I would have read double the length also) The Shape of Guilt is a beautiful freak, a devastating experience; there is no right way up, do not expect to be babied, let go of your ego, your need to control, feel your way with your heart. Lisa Fransson is an immensely gifted and unique writer. I think she may have to exorcise Robert Bunny from my mind.
Lisa’s The Shape of Guilt is a fantastically well written book. Truly gripping and, at times, painful to the bones. Dark, yet with an undercurrent of love running through the entire book. All the emotions portrayed were felt deeply. Could not put this down, and read it in one sitting. Do read this amazing book! Well worth your time. Feelings are lingering long after putting it down.
The Shape of Guilt is extraordinary. It is told from the POV of a stuffed toy rabbit named after a dead child – which may sound too heavy or bizarre to potential readers. However, the format works surprisingly well and the reader is soon drawn in. Lisa Fransson’s use of language and imagery are both compelling and, in parts, very moving.