“We live at the intersection of causality and chance.” — from Rabbit Moon
“Chance is a word devoid of sense; nothing can exist without a cause.” — Voltaire (used as epigram to the novel)
“It could happen anywhere,” Rabbit Moon begins, “but it happens in Shanghai, miracle city of modern China, on a Sunday morning just before dawn.” The street is silent. The surrounding buildings are “fantastically shaped — a perfume bottle, a hypodermic needle… the streetlamp wear Mickey Mouse ears.”
An attractive young red-haired woman stands at a street corner at night, listening to music through earbuds, tapping a message to her little sister on her phone: “Disaster night! Kill me now.” Her back to the street, distracted, she doesn’t see the car racing towards her, driven by an intoxicated nineteen year old. The awful impact throws her almost nine feet. The car speeds off, the driver oblivious to what he just did. Moments later, a street sweeper comes upon the scene, calls the police, slips the woman’s phone into his pocket, and leaves.
A tragedy: being in the wrong place, wrong time. But as Voltaire observed, “Nothing can exist without cause.” Who is this young woman? What sequence of events, what string of choices made by her and others, brought her to this particular corner at this particular hour?
Her name is Lindsey Litvak. She was born and raised in well-to-do Newton, Massachusetts. A good student. More than just attractive. “Fatally, ruinously beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes a girl a target.” (That’s what her mother believes.) She attended college for a while but wanted a break. Or needed one. So she and her boyfriend went to China to teach English. It didn’t work out so she left. As far as her family knows at the time of the accident, Lindsey’s still in China. But there are many secrets she’s kept from her family, most notably how she is supporting herself in the "miracle city."
Lindsey’s parents, Aaron and Claire, are no longer married. When they are notified of their daughter’s situation they travel — separately — to Shanghai. It is the first time they’ve been together since the divorce. Their forced interaction brings up a lot of anger and grievance. Claire, for example: “Childbirth had wrecked her,” she thinks, “not the labor itself but its aftermath. For a year she lived in a state of mental paralysis, a sadness so crippling that taking a shower felt like work.” Her marriage too was a weight too heavy to be borne. It made her “a passenger in her own life.” Her husband was cold, self-absorbed. “If Lindsey had burst into flame at the dinner table, he might not have noticed.”
As for Aaron, his resentment also takes an incendiary shape: “When disaster strikes,” he thinks, “Claire can always be counted on to lose her shit, her anguish eclipsing the original crisis in its demands for attention and care. If the house burst into flames, Claire’s distress would demand the firefighters’ full attention. It would be unforgivable, an act of monstrous insensitivity, to put out the fire first.” He should have known better, should have seen the signs earlier. "He spent twenty years of his life trying to make her happy, but in the end it couldn't be done. Aaron understands this on a cellular level, having been raised by such a woman."
Lindsey’s young sister, eleven year old Grace, is the one person in her family with whom Lindsey feels completely and lovingly connected. So much so that she sends texts to her everyday from the other side of the world. Grace was adopted as a baby from China. In fact, Lindsey accompanied her mother, an act she comes to bitterly regret ("Claire Litvak, the white her," she thinks.) When we meet Grace she is miserable at a “spartan” summer camp in New Hampshire where there is a heat wave but the cabins have no air conditioning. And the campers have had their phones taken away because one of them was discovered to be sexting.
“Rabbit Moon” traces the pasts and interactions of this damaged group of individuals — and a handful of others, among them a young man named Johnny Du whom Lindsey befriends in Shanghai. At family get-togethers he is the only unmarried person. He’s a hairstylist and he’s gay. He fabricates a fake girlfriend, a fake job: “an underpaid diaosi who sells mobile phone contracts, a job of such low status that no one would lie about doing it. His story thus has the ring of truth.” A difficult set of lies to maintain over time, to be sure, but in his family, “truth is selective.”
Haigh jumps back and forth across time to reveal who these people are (at the “cellular” level). Lindsey as a child and a young woman, seeking things her parents don’t — or can’t — give, and then looking for them elsewhere. Thinking again and again about how her “mother’s love was a boulder on her back.” Claire, feeding her anger at all the things she never did, the woman she never became. In Shanghai she will glance at her ex-husband and think, “What an asshole I married. The realization brings her no satisfaction, no pleasure. If she married this asshole, what does that make her?” She despises Aaron for his “incapacity for wonder,” yet when she comes across a man doing water calligraphy on a sidewalk in Shanghai she is repelled: The water evaporates quickly in the summer heat. By the time the man finishes drawing a character, the previous one has already begun to disappear. To Claire this is unthinkable. In her mind, every word she’s ever written is precious—each sentence produced under a cloud of anxiety, the lurking dread that it will be her last.
About the title: The myth of a Rabbit Moon is found in a great many cultures around the world. (If you Google the phrase you’ll see photos showing how certain times of the lunar cycle shadows on the moon take on a shape suggestive of a rabbit.) Here Haigh follows Asian tradition and ties it to a the Mid-Autumn Festival: …because holidays must, it comes with a story. Long ago, on the night of the full moon, four animals encountered a starving man, never suspecting that he was the prince Śakra in disguise. When the man begged for something to eat, the monkey gave him fruit; the otter, fish. The jackal offered a lizard and a pot of milk curd. Having nothing else to give, the rabbit sacrificed its own body, leaping into a fire the man had built. Moved by the rabbit’s great sacrifice, the prince drew its outline on the face of the moon. How is the legend is tied to the book? Something to ponder. Along with another significant image that recurs the Rabbit Moon: the Red Thread (sometimes called the Red Thread of Destiny).
Jennifer Haigh seems to get better and better with each book. I found “Rabbit Moon” captivating in every respect. The characters are vivid, fully realized — sympathetic in some respects, repugnant in others. In other words, human. The ways in which they think of each other and themselves feel real and just as complicated and messy as life. The story honestly engages both heart and mind. A very solid 5.
My thanks to Little, Brown and Edelweis+ for providing a digital ARC in return for an honest review.