Lapvona’s Lack of Misery
Otessa Moshfegh’s newest novel surprises with departure from the nasty female
Otessa Moshfegh is the modern “femcel” writer, appealing to the gross, the chronically online, the independent women. Her style, while catered towards a certain demographic, breaks the mold on her 2022 novel, Lapvona.
Like many, I was familiar with Moshfegh’s 2018 My Year of Rest and Relaxation, which quickly rose to be a pop culture staple with classic status on TikTok. And, like many such young women, I enjoyed it. I liked her distinct cynicism, her unapologetically uncompassionate narrator and what I saw as the reclaiming of a central character who is frankly filthy.
So I read another of her works–Eileen. To my delight, I was greeted with another miserably bitchy narrator.
After starting Lapvona, though, I was surprised by the sharp departure from what I had considered to be Moshfegh’s quintessential figure. Lapvona first, features a male main character, and unlike the author’s wholly contemporary past works, is set in medieval Eastern Europe.
The change in hallmark style marks this as one of her more ambitious novels. While I can’t guarantee readers will find the same disgusting comfort in crude women who detest themselves and the world around them, the novel maintains the author's delightfully repugnant writing.
The Los Angeles Times hails Moshfegh’s newest work–released at the end of this past June–as a grotesque fairytale.
With her established welcome to unhygienic, demoralized behavior, Lapvona’s medieval, rural backdrop allows Moshfegh to go all in—you will gawk; your hand will fly to your mouth as you try to decipher the rationale for such vulgar behavior; your eyes will bulge out of your head.
Given the nature of the book, I can’t say that the read will be altogether pleasant. Lapvona (like Moshfegh’s other works I have tackled) maintains a place in the special category of I-would-never-in-a-million-years-reccomend-it-to-my-mother. Still, for some (like myself) there is satisfaction in the obscene and offensive era of literature that Moshfegh has ushered into the popular reading scene with her recent works.
I don’t think Lapvona will achieve the same notoriety as My Year and Rest and Relaxation, nor do I think it can be as widely enjoyed–it isn’t nearly as relatable or digestible. It feels akin to trying to let a rock pass through your stomach and squirming entrails, or shoveling handfuls of dirt down your gullet as the citizens of Moshfegh's fictional province of Lapvona do.
Moshfegh is earning what one might expect–a cult following of devoted readers willing to dive into the disgustingly delicious sludge of her works.