Today’s Topic: Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh
From the Top: Over 79,000 words, Lapvona is one of those books that lingers long after the first read, though readers will not be entirely sure if the sensation is awe, unease, or a bit of both. Moshfegh weaves a story that is as grotesque as it is mesmerizing, taking her audience to a medieval village where every turn of the page feels like walking into a shadowy hall of mirrors. Themes of power, suffering, faith are presented in a way that is raw and relentless.
The village of Lapvona is a place of satirical extremes—feast or famine, loyalty or betrayal, divine faith or godless greed. It’s filthy, racked with characters who are both repellant and deeply relatable.
My Quip: Loss of enchantment, dramatic irony, and each character’s visceral experience makes Moshfegh’s work something rare–a dark fairy tale, stripped of the whimsy that often sugarcoats the fantasy genre. It’s an experience that revels in the grotesque and holds no punches. The themes here are medieval in every sense—brutality, survival, and divine cruelty—but they are pointedly modern in their commentary. Fairy tales of old often carry a moral, a shred of light at the end of the darkness. Lapvona? It snuffs out the light entirely, leaving you with only the bleak realities of power, faith, and human fragility. The tragedy and comedy of this book lies in how it warps expectations of a fairy tale. There’s no magic to save the day, no lessons neatly tied up. The people of Lapvona are pawns in a game they barely understand, subject to the whims of a lord whose cruelty is simply mindless and without any particular malice. The natural world, usually a source of wonder in traditional tales, is indifferent at best. Moshfegh leans into the grotesque, forcing the reader to confront the unfiltered aspects of life in a way that feels deeply time-specific yet eerily timeless. Hunger gnaws at every page, both literal and figurative, and the descriptions of decay, violence, and suffering strip away any veneer of romance. A masterclass in dramatic irony, Lapvona highlights the abuse of power in religion, specifically, as the villagers cling to faith as their salvation, even while it’s weaponized against them. The physicality of the book—the smells, the textures, the starvation—is palpable; readers can taste the rot. This is not a story to read passively at lunch or before bed; it’s one to endure.
That all being said, Lapvona does have redeemable qualities. Besides the knockout word-smithing, magic is not completely dead. Readers will be surprised to see how the supernatural takes moments to turn fate–especially when it's least expected. For lovers of the fantasy and fairytale experience, there are little treats scattered here and there to keep them going.
Tie it Off: For those who crave the grotesque and the grim, Lapvona delivers an experience that feels less like reading a book and more like peering into a world that is uncomfortably close to the modern experience. It’s not a tale for those looking to escape, but for those who want to confront the raw and the real. Consider it the anti-fairy tale, pop a Xanny, and read at your own risk.
*I do not condone the use of drugs. Any mention of inappropriate usage of substances is for artistic purposes only.