What in the world is “Bunny” by Mona Awad?
Week #4: reading a book by a female author every week of 2024
This book was… a mess — a dark, twisted, weird sort of mess. Think “Heathers” meets “Alice in Wonderland” with a pinch of “Mean Girls” — it’s that level of surreal, darkly comedic, and utterly weird. But I liked it?
The novel’s protagonist, Samantha Mackey, finds herself in a surreal academic setting at Warren University, where she’s an outlier among her peers, particularly the clique known as the Bunnies. These women, with their peculiar rituals and saccharine relationships, epitomize a kind of exclusivity and pretension that’s reminiscent of the cliques we often see in high school movies. Exactly like high school movies, actually. In fact, the entire novel reads like coming of age fiction, and only sometimes are we reminded by Samantha’s whining about her unfinished thesis that she is in fact a graduate student, as well as the Bunnies.
“We call them Bunnies because that is what they call each other… Seriously. That is what they call each other.”
The “Bunnies,” as they call themselves, are a clique of wealthy, pretentious girls in her MFA program who are inexplicably drawn to Samantha, inviting her into their bizarre world of ritualistic gatherings, sinister sweetness, and, well, some really weird stuff involving actual bunnies. And then it just gets weirder and weirder, and by the end of the book, you’re wondering what is real and what was one of Samantha’s lies, as she drowns you in layers upon layers of adjectives and elaborate descriptions of absolutely everything.
“Exactly. This is about the Body. Performing the Body. The Body performing in all its nuanced viscerality.”
But the most compelling thing about “Bunny” is the writing. The Bunnies’ rituals and the overall atmosphere of the book have a Lynchian feel to them, with a dash of Wes Anderson’s aesthetic. The prose is lush, dripping with a grotesque beauty that’s as compelling as it is disturbing. Awad does a brilliant job writing from the perspective of Samantha. Samantha is a writer, but despite constantly hearing praise about her writing from everyone she meets (because, of course, she does), we never actually get the chance to see any of her writing. So, the novel feels like it’s written not only from her perspective but as if it were written by her. The improper capitalization, lack of punctuation, constant repetitions, and words and even entire sentences that are inserted almost at random make the writing feel hurried, in the moment, but at the same time disorienting and dizzying. But there is more to this book than just writing.
Samantha, or The Queen of Her Own Pity Party, is probably the least likable main character I’ve ever come across. Her inner voice, or stream of consciousness if you prefer, is so distracting at times as she whines about her family, being poor, shyness, lack of friends, lack of inspiration for writing, being misunderstood, etc. And despite this constant sounding off about her life, Samantha is mostly silent. I feel like the entire plot of the book would have been resolved if Samantha just… spoke a little more. Since 90% of what she actually ends up saying out loud when she’s not drowning in her own thoughts are blatant lies. She lies, lies, and lies to other people until she herself cannot tell what is real and what’s not.
“Why do you lie so much? And about the weirdest little things? my mother always asked me.
I don’t know, I always said. But I did know. It was very simple. Because it was a better story.”
And her relationship with the Bunnies is even more problematic. She hates them at first, giving them mean nicknames, tearing apart everything from the way they dress and write to the way they walk, smile, and hug each other. Samantha hates them so much, she makes a point to sit on the opposite corner of the classroom (oh, no, not the main character going against the popular girls). And then, you turn the page, and she is hugging them, going to their lavish parties, and taking baths with them. And a few pages later, she hates them again, but now she hates them more. More so, that she sends one of her creations with an ax to murder them. Subconsciously, of course.
“That it’s a piece of pretentious shit. That is says nothing, gives nothing. That I don’t understand it, that probably no one does and no one ever will. That not being understood is a privilege I can’t afford. That I can’t believe this woman got paid to come here. That I think she should apologize to trees. Spend a whole day on her knees in the forest, looking up at the trembling aspens and oaks and whatever other trees paper is made of with tears in her languid eyes and say, I’m fucking sorry. I’m sorry that I think I’m so goddamned interesting when it is clear that I am not interesting. Here’s what I am: I’m a boring tree murderess.”
And the Bunnies, of course, hate Samantha back. Or love her? They seem to smile at her (and at each other) while sugarcoating every judgment with a suggestion, or a smile, or an “I love you” at the end. We never find out if they actually liked Samantha (or each other) at any point in the book. The constant oscillation between kindness and subtle hostility keeps Samantha, and by extension, the readers, in a state of perpetual confusion about the true dynamics within the group.
“Beyond the door I imagine, no, I know, they are whispering about me. That Eleanor has told them things. I don’t know what things, but I imagine her leaning forward from her thronelike armchair, them huddled all around. Ready to swallow whatever vile lie or half-truth she feeds them about me like so much cheap candy. Practically panting with the desire to regurgitate little nuggets that validate her claims.”
“Bunny” is just as twisted, odd, and unpredictable as Samantha’s mind. And the fact that Awad guides the reader through the world of “Bunny” does not provide any more clarity or order to whatever is happening in the book. The narration is not isolated from the world of the book — it feels like if someone just left it in the attic of Ava’s apartment along with the rest of Samantha’s notebooks, it would not feel out of place.
But aside from being an odd book to say the least, it’s humorous. Yes, the humor is dark and often laced with a sense of foreboding, but it provides a great counterbalance to the book’s more unsettling elements. The absurdity of the Bunnies’ rituals, the over-the-top adoration they have for each other, and even Samantha’s biting observations about her surroundings — all serve to inject a dose of dark humor into the narrative, which gives the reader a break to try to piece together the mystery and madness of “Bunny.”
It’s a satirical take on MFA culture, poking fun at the sometimes pretentious world of academia and the absurdities that often accompany artistic creation. “You can be anything,” the Bunnies tell Samantha. “Just as long as you’re not nothing.”
It’s a book that refuses to be pigeonholed, blending elements of horror, comedy, and surrealism to create something entirely unique. It’s a wild, weird, and utterly wonderful mess of a book, and perhaps that’s what makes it so irresistibly intriguing.
Just wrapped up another intriguing read! Next week, I’ll be covering “The Idiot” by Elif Batuman, a book that’s been on my reading list for quite some time. Thanks for following along, and as always, I’ll catch you next week 🐇!
