An uneven but ultimately compelling re-entry into the Bunny-verse. Here, Mona Awad’s Bunny is the novel Sam aka Samantha published not long after leaving Warren University. Now Sam’s on a book tour that takes her back to Warren and into the clutches of the four original Bunnies. With Sam as their captive audience, the Bunnies intend to set the record straight and tell their side of the story. For them this will be a kind of writing back – akin to Jean Rhys responding to Jane Eyre. One that will feature their real names and their “true” selves, focused on what they believe actually happened during their time in Warren’s ultra-exclusive, Narrative Arts programme.
The opening sections switch from one Bunny to the next, as they take turns recounting their early experiences of Warren. Their additional context rapidly casts doubt on Sam’s account, for example Kyra aka Kira’s Japanese heritage makes Sam’s framing of her as “doll-like” instantly problematic. The Bunnies also reveal the existence of another key player known as Aerius, the first and most workable of their so-called drafts. All parts intact, Aerius is the only one of their characters who truly sprung to life. Like a creepily-collective Frankenstein, the Bunnies regard Aerius as their possession and plaything, subjecting him to brutal “revisions.” But Aerius’s emergence swiftly establishes him as the lead here, this novel’s Sam. Once each Bunny’s said their piece, Aerius’s voice takes over, albeit via the pages of a notebook.
Aerius’s story deliberately echoes aspects of Shelley’s Frankenstein, with nods to iconic spin-offs like Bride of Frankenstein. Desperate to break free of the scary, voracious Bunnies, he sets off on an odyssey through the city’s streets and forests. A journey that takes in a number of Bunny’s minor characters, like the trench-coated poets with their retro emo-goth aesthetic; and casts Jonah and Ursula in starring roles. But, like Frankenstein’s bewildered creature, Aerius is bubbling over with murderous impulses. Fixated on an apparent “mission” to seek out and kill Allan, the current leader of the Bunnies’ writing workshop. Allan’s a sardonic writer famed for off-beat, experimental horror – he reads like a skewed tribute to Awad’s former tutor Brian Evenson. He’s also consistently trashed the Bunnies’ attempts at workable fiction which is why he has to go. Unfortunately, newly-minted Aerius finds it impossible to distinguish between this Allan and any other Allan he might meet. A dilemma that gradually drives him into the realms of fever-dream slasher.
Aerius’s narrative’s interrupted by the re-emergence of an enraged, Bunny hive mind, underlining Awad’s fascination with exploring ways of telling, competing notions of what writing, what genres, are culturally valuable, and the myriad possible perspectives on seemingly-shared realities. From then on Awad shifts between the Bunnies and Aerius examining issues around authorship, reception and the ethics of basing work on living people. Aerius’s notebook entries are couched in a rather idiosyncratic style: nineteenth-century gothic pastiche meets text speak. After I got used to it, I thought it was surprisingly effective in conveying Aerius’s state of mind and the eccentric education he received from the Bunnies – large doses of Woolf mashed up with romcoms and a dash of Victorian literature.
I had mixed reactions to this overall. I found it far less fluid and immersive than Bunny. The interwoven voices, the numerous abrupt shifts in point of view, could be quite distancing and distracting. It’s also much too long. The opening sections, revolving around each individual Bunny, felt particularly stretched out, with some far stronger than other’s – Kyra’s was definitely the standout possibly because that’s when this finally started to take off for me. As with Bunny, I relished the various references from Grimms’ fairy tales to urban legends and even Kate Bush. There are numerous witty passages scattered throughout, some intriguing imagery and arresting plot developments: Ursula’s transformation was fascinating but she could be less sinister villainess, more Disney namesake. I was utterly gripped by the final third of the novel – by this time I was very much invested in Aerius, his anguished predicament and likely fate. But where Bunny borrowed from films like Heather, Mean Girls, and The Craft, deftly reshaping elements to produce a potential cult classic reminiscent of Shirley Jackson’s Hangsaman and We Have Always Lived in the Castle, this went the other way. It’s less ambiguous, more instantly consumable, with themes and messages that require little to no unpacking. But, as Awad underlines, this was written for Bunny’s diehard fans, and for a fan this is essentially a must-read. I’m just not sure what anyone else will make of it.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Simon & Schuster/Scribner UK for an ARC
Rating: 3/3.5