This book was everything I came to love and expect from an Ottessa Moshfegh book. It will leave you rereading sentences to confirm the absurdity of what you just read (but in the best way possible). She doesn’t shy away from things, and I love the authenticity of her writing.

Ottessa Moshfegh’s newest novel, “Lapvona,” is a shocking leap for the author, but not wholly unexpected. Perhaps her most explicit venture into the surreal, Moshfegh dives straight into a medieval fantasy world where religion reigns supreme and horse eyes are a sufficient cure for blindness. The novel’s content is gritty and grotesque — it’s definitely hard to stomach in large doses — but Moshfegh’s accessible writing style makes it difficult to not suck the entire book up in one sitting.

“Lapvona” is both the name of the book and the setting of the novel. Its narration follows Marek, the 13-year-old son of a shepherd named Jude. Suffering from Jude’s physical and verbal abuse, the only solace Marek finds is with Ina, a blind woman who has nursed nearly every villager and is known through the town to have unique abilities to communicate with birds and other natural creatures. The people of Lapvona are deeply religious and their lives revolve around the church, which is led by the corrupt Father Barnabas. Marek enjoys the safety that his religion and subordinacy in a religious hierarchy provide. Lording over Lapvona from atop his castle is Villam, a casually cruel and uncaring king who exploits citizens while living in over-the-top opulence. After an unfortunate mistake puts Marek closer than he’s ever been to King Villam, the story unfolds as famine grips the people of Lapvona and Marek has to deal with the consequences of his own actions.

Marek has physical ailments that are a frequent target of mocking and abuse from his father and the villagers, as well as self-loathing. He is described to have “grown crookedly” with a misshapen head and a twisted spine that causes his arm to be permanently bent across his body. The novel constantly reiterates that Marek is “damaged,” not sound in mind or body, and the other characters’ perspectives share how disgusting they find him.

It can be argued that the description of Marek is merely part of the fantasy of “Lapvona,” but his character being completely pathetic, useless and delusional seems slightly out of touch. Though his primary issues remain purely mental, Marek’s physical disabilities seem as if they were written just to highlight the cruelty of the other characters who treat him poorly. Moshfegh isn’t a stranger to highlighting aspects of the physical human condition; in fact, it’s a theme in many of her other novels. I don’t know if depicting a disabled character in such a negative light feels productive to readers who may struggle with physical disabilities as Marek does. I do know, however, that “Lapvona” already exists in a fantasy world, and Moshfegh could have used this genre to her advantage to come up with a more creative way for Marek’s character to struggle physically.

Outside of Marek’s physical ailments, it’s hard to underscore just how painfully pathetic he is throughout the novel. He lacks intelligence and knowledge of social cues, which frequently makes him the butt of most jokes. He has unwavering faith in religion and God, and most of his suffering he enjoys because he believes it makes him more pious. For example, when Marek trips over a tree bringing water back to his cottage and cuts his chin, he takes a rock and further cuts up his face to get a harder beating when he returns home. “Pain was good, Marek felt,” Moshfegh writes. “It brought him closer to his father’s love and pity.”

Depictions of violence like the example above are plentiful throughout “Lapvona.” The novel is unexpectedly gruesome and graphic, going from some small moments of tenderness to stomach-turning portrayals of depravity. To be honest, I’m not even sure if tenderness is the right word or if the rest of the book is so dark that the moments that aren’t horrible come across as tender.

I don’t consider myself to be particularly squeamish when it comes to depictions of violence, but after the two sessions of reading it took me to finish “Lapvona,” I felt a pit of disgust in my stomach. Moshfegh’s unwavering commitment to exploring even the most grotesque subjects felt somewhat irrelevant to the story and, at times, for shock value alone. The scenes with cannibalism, rape and murder definitely illustrated the depraved potential of human beings, but I’m not sure the scenes had to be that descriptive to get her point across — it’s possible to make similar points about the extremes of the human condition without getting so gruesome. One of the many reasons I enjoy Moshfegh’s writing is her ability to set a scene without flowery language, but her unflinching word choice made me cringe even harder at the most grotesque moments.

This novel is uncomfortable to read, not just because of these gruesome depictions but because Moshfegh’s world looks so eerily similar to our pandemic world. With a ruler who steals from the labor and harvest of the citizens during the famine to fund his lavish lifestyle, the power structure of Lapvona is not all too different from the increasing wealth inequality in our own county that has only widened as a result of the pandemic. Rather than focus their attention on the corrupt king, the characters of “Lapvona” either fight amongst themselves or attribute all of their suffering to God. It’s not until after the famine that the villagers finally decenter religion in their lives, allowing them more freedom but increased selfishness as they’ve lost their faith and kindness towards others. Ina says to a townsperson in one of the closing scenes in the story, “If you don’t let God into your heart, you’ll die. That’s what kills people. Not time or disease.”

Moshfegh uses the backdrop of famine in “Lapvona” to highlight the lengths to which humans are willing to go to survive and the tendency for those in power to exploit the less fortunate without feeling remorse. It’s a different direction for Moshfegh, not necessarily because of the increase in violence — her other books definitely have their fair share — but because “Lapvona” represents a shift from novels focusing on personal battles to more of a wider social commentary.

With the exception of “Homesick for Another World,” Moshfegh’s collection of short stories, the author’s work has used a female main character in all of her most lauded novels. “Eileen,” “My Year of Rest and Relaxation” and “Death in Her Hands” all center on women at their most isolated and lonesome. This is partially what has allowed her work to resonate so deeply with young adult women such as myself — it fits into the subgenre of “Good for Her” media. It’s not that the reader is left with an overwhelming feeling of joy that the unnamed protagonist in “My Year of Rest and Relaxation” actually succeeds at sleeping for an entire year, but it fits in the subgenre of women going to unspeakable and sometimes violent lengths purely to fulfill their own desires. The haunting eyes of Amy Dunne in the closing scene of “Gone Girl’ and Dani’s eerie half-smile-half-grimace in the final shot of “Midsommar” aren’t that different from the emotions that persist far after the ending of “My Year of Rest and Relaxation.”

“Lapvona” is unique for Moshfegh in terms of the amount of male perspective that the book uses. Primarily, the story is told through Marek and Jude’s experiences and thoughts, but there are pieces scattered throughout that focus on Ina or the king’s female servant Lispeth. The female characters are on the periphery, but Moshfegh still explores their wants and motivations with the same depth as her past protagonists with the different perspectives the story uses. Rather than just noting that Jude abused Marek’s mother Agatha, “Lapvona” shifts between the thoughts of Jude and Agatha — the abuser and the abused — to share both of their motivations. The shifting perspectives allow readers to examine the multifaceted nature of the characters.

The pure violence of this book makes it extremely difficult for me to recommend. I’m not sure this book will have any of the fanfare and relatability that TikTok has bestowed upon “My Year of Rest and Relaxation.” That’s not to say it’s not worth the read — it definitely is — but I wouldn’t recommend anyone put themselves through the darkness of this novel without sufficiently preparing themselves for the ride to come — perhaps by keeping your comfort book on deck to lighten the mood at the conclusion of “Lapvona.”

The meditation on religion is interesting and somewhat nuanced, but I feel like the novel could do with a few portrayals of peaceful or joyous ecstasy and the eroticism of the divine. Most of the focus on religion was as a force for evil and lingered on its preoccupation with suffering and sad passions. That’s fine, but in a book so preoccupied with suffering and bleakness, a few more reprieves would have made the overall reading experience much more compelling and made the theme of faith much more developed and well-rounded. It would have increased the depth of the novel I feel and made it much more representative of medieval Christianity.

This book was graphic and unsettling, living up to Moshfegh’s reputation, but I found its characters and story absolutely fascinating. The characters were unlike any I have ever read, and the bits of fantasy tucked in were unexpected but really added to the story. This book is unlike any other I have read and has stuck with me weeks after reading it. Our library patrons will enjoy this one.

This is a wholly original book, unlike any other historical fiction or horror novel I've read. I have no idea how to summarize it. It was gross and disturbing, but also interesting and captivating. The point was made, the work is unique, the whole thing is hard to get through because it is so nasty. I am glad I read it, but I'll never pick it up again.

If you have read Moshfegh before and you know what you're getting into, pick this one up. If you haven't, go take out Eileen or My Year of Rest and Relaxation first.

I'm the wrong audience for Moshfegh, I think. I vehemently disliked My Year of Rest and Relaxation, and Lapvona didn't improve my opinion of her style. She's smart and has a dark side (both which I would normally go for), but I find her lack of wit in this one entirely off-putting. I won't be picking up any future books from her.

Ottessa Moshfegh, the author of My Years of Rest and Relaxation, invites the reader to Lapvona, a fictional medieval village dominated by animalistic human nature and primitiveness, even though it appears to be living within the framework of divine protection and civilization. Marek, a delusional young man abused by his shepherd father, and Ina, a blind midwife who has nursed village children for decades, make a decision that changes the fate of the village amidst the whirlwinds and devastation of an incomprehensible life. As Lapvona changes from spring through harsh summers and autumn winter back to spring, the reader will see the vile characters Moshfegh has envisioned from our time to uncanny magnificence, as well as plagues, tricks, and murders. Through the actions of the characters who constantly talk about God and justify their sins, it is a novel that makes you think once again about why God, the creator, and savior, must exist, not a man-made God who does not have power in the world. I would recommend it to readers and groups who have been exposed to Moshfegh's other novels or are discussing literary fiction.

Moshfegh can do no wrong in my opinion. This book is a must read for fans of the movie The Witch. I found it hard to put down and loved it for the Halloween season coming up. The perfect book for fall weather I will recommend it to my readers if they're in search of a great atmospheric book.

This was an interesting read. I remember that BookTok was talking about one book only- Lapvona.
Set in a fictional medieval village, Lapvona, the book explores human depravity and corruption at all levels. Familial, religious, and within power structures. How evil and sinister can one be to their family and neighbors, provoked or unprovoked?
This book is grotesque and upsetting, just how you want it to be. The language is not flowery or overly descriptive, which is a godsend considering the situations that unfold in this story.
The bottom line is that all humans have the capacity for truly grievous acts.

Moshfegh's prose did not disappoint once again. My eyes were glued to the page to find out what insane thing happened next. I do feel as if the ending could have been a little more fleshed out, but it didn't stop me from enjoying the ride.

I'm an Ottessa Moshfegh apologist, though I recognize her writing style isn't for everyone. This one was different from Moshfegh's previous works -- much, much darker, but similarly hypnotizing. Look up trigger warnings before reading this one.

This felt like quite a severe departure from Moshfegh’s previous work and while it did not click with me personally, I am interested to see how the trajectory of her work continues to develop. This book was deeply absurd and disturbing but I was certainly compelled to keep reading to see what depraved places the author would take me to.

Lapvona is a powerhouse novel that will keep you gasping for more page after page. Moshfegh has reached perfection with this medieval tragedy.

This book was a very hard one to read. Lots of trigger warnings such as animal cruelty, cannibalism, sadism...and others. To read this book, it may be helpful to know these things ahead of time. As someone who has read Eileen, My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Homesick for Another World, and Death in her Hands - this was far darker and difficult to read through and had to read it in pieces. But Moshfegh carried me through with her beautiful prose.

LOL THIS IS SO GROSS. I will read anything Ottessa writes. Brothers Grimm but make it filthy, greasy, grimy. 4 stars.

Typical Ottessah. Smart, exciting, weird, and unlike anything else you’ve ever read. Lapvona follows the life of Marek, a 13-year-old peasant boy who lives in a cruel world of sadism , cannibalism and self-flagellation.

Lapvona welcomes you to take a coup d'œil at a fictitious pseudo fiefdom as it experiences calamity and desolation. As expected with a Moshfegh novel, there is an entourage of abominable and unsavory characters, who bring out the worst in each other. We see how a childish ruler navigates his kingdom and how it impacts various other personalities throughout the village such as: the shepherd, the village midwife, and the a priest. Lapvona is allegorical depravity at its finest.

I went into this mostly blind and was so glad I did. It wasn't like Moshfegh's other books for me but yet it still gave me the same vibes. I loved it. It was disturbing at times yet it didn't feel like an exaggerated attempt at shock value. Moshfegh's writing style is again top notch and there is so much written between the lines with this one. While I can't say that I would recommend it to everyone, I would recommend it!

Was gifted a copy of this by Penguin Press in exchange for my honest review <3

I really love Ostessa Moshfegh but this novel didn't work for me as well as some of her other novels. I didn't find myself wrapped up in the story/characters or care where it was headed. Fans of McGlue will probably enjoy this one.

Lapvona is very little plot, all creepy-vibes. Like with all of Moshfeghs work, readers will either love it or hate it. Although Lapvona is a departure from her normal subject, her “voice” is consistent. While I know this book will be polarizing, I think the millennials who are enjoy Moshfeghs work will eat this up!

I really could not get into this book and thus did not finish. Maybe I'll try again later and I do appreciate the galley!