I have pretty much read all of Ottessa Moshfegh's books to date and they are all amazing. My favourite so far has to be Death in Her Hands and Lapvona is closely taking over as being either on par with Death in Her Hands or better than it. Lapvona is different to Ottessa Mosfegh's usual writing requests seeing as this one is not set in her usual modern day, but in Medieval Europe instead and this one also does not have a main character that is a woman, instead it has Marek - a deformed young boy who is pretty ostracised by his community. All in all, I found this one extremely interesting because it shows us that Ottessa Moshfegh is expanding her horizons into new and exciting areas.
This book is about a town called Lapvona in Medieval Europe. In this town there is a young boy called Marek and his father Jude who work on the land. Marek is a strange little boy who is beaten by his father and sent to a woman called Ina in order to redeem himself. A god-fearing man, Jude tries to keep his son under control whilst he harbours increasingly dangerous secrets about the boy's mother who apparently died a long time ago. When Marek comes to his father to tell him another young boy has died after falling from a cliff, Jude must take the issue to the head of the town - Villiam, who tries to make a case for Marek in spite of the circumstances. A gorey, fleshy and often very disutrbing novel, these god-fearing people lie, manipulate and hack the storyline in order to find the most uncomfortable positions to put the reader in to show us that the minds of men are paranoid, disturbed and sociopathic.
There is a scene in this book that I don't think I will forget for a long time and that is when Ina and Jude are in Ina's house and Ina is basically shrivelling up because of the drought and there being no food or water to quench her and sustain her. Ina then asks Jude to bring her the dead man that is lying there by chopping him up and roasting his body on the fire. Jude and Ina then sit together and eat the dead man until hardly anything is left. Jude finishes the meal by eating the man's head and talks about making a pocket bag out of his skin in order to carry some meat home. The torso is the only thing that is left and, after the meal, Jude takes it home with him. I think I was probably most disturbed by that particular scene. It comes at a very strange time in the book too where basically people are blaming other people for the drought and obviously, Jude blames Marek. You find out that the god-fearing aspect of their lives is a ruse to hide behind when they mess things up or a justification for things that they do that are horribly unethical.
Apart from Agata's storyline reminding me of Titus Andronicus, I thought that this is probably Ottessa Moshfegh's most male-centric novel to date and I also believe that she is showing us something about the fleeting nature of man's resolution that, despite considering themselves to be god-fearing and good, they must outwardly approach that on to everyone else whilst doing nothing in order to actually show it. In the case of these men, the words mean more than their actions and Ottessa Moshfesgh shows us that the class divide may be the one thing that breaks the camel's back when it comes to whether we act or whether we don't.

Lapvona is a mediaeval fiefdom ruled over by Lord of the Manor Villiam and via some of the characters such as Jude the lamb herder, Marek his son and Ina a sort of wise woman, we are witness to a hostile, godless, cruel, vile stinking mess of a place. Violence is an every day occurrence so it’s a savage dark raw and brutal tale. In places it’s so graphically gross it’s hard to take and read and I’m certain it’s designed to deliberately be provocative and get a reaction. Strangely despite my revulsion I can’t stop reading it which is entirely down to the skill of the author.

Do I like the book? Absolutely not, it’s way too harsh and bleak to like however it’s a very good allegory between the mediaeval and modern world of those who too much have and those who have not. Villiam’s world is one of a selfish excess whilst the villeins starve and die. Nothing changes. It can also be a commentary on climatic problems as Lapvonians struggle in excess heat while Villiam doesn’t. There is a political slant as it demonstrates that some people will believe any old rubbish they are fed by those in power to which I’ll make no further comment! Through the various characters in Lapvonia we witness the seven deadly sins in action with the added bonus of ignorance.

Overall, it does make you think even if the way it’s presented at times revolts you but making some excellent points in a very unique way!

With thanks to NetGalley and especially to Random House UK Vintage, Jonathan Cape for the much appreciated arc in return for an honest review.

I found this quite different from other Ottessa Moshfegh titles that I have read, but having said that I really loved it. I think it is my favourite of her books that I have read. There is a nasty, grim line threaded through this book, but it is pitched perfectly. The characters were all intriguing and, in turns, disgusting, sympathetic, and sometimes witchy. Like a dark fairytale, reminiscent of Tale of Tales, I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys dark, twisted historical stories, with moments of real beauty and horror.

Lapvona is a novel about the balance of power, faith, and human connection in a rigid rural society, set in a fictional village. In Lapvona (somewhere probably medieval, possibly in eastern Europe), lives Marek and his father Jude, the shepherd; Ina, a blind midwife and wet nurse with supernatural powers of communication with nature; the lord Villiam who lives high on the hill; and Father Barnabas, who has traded religious for the power of being Villiam's right hand man. The village is controlled by Villiam's whims, but when Marek finds himself caught up in Villiam's world and Lapvona faces drought, the balance of the village changes in different ways.

From the summary, this isn't the sort of book I would usually pick up, as I'm not a fan of a medieval setting, but I was intrigued to see what Moshfegh would do, and drawn in by the stark cover. This is a complex book, feeling like a literary fable and also a tale of human darkness. It is split into seasons, with the point of view shifting between characters to give an overarching picture of Lapvona, whilst not focusing on too many characters that you get lost. I found it quite easily gripping at the start, despite the setting, and it quickly becomes dark, with characters devoid of sympathy for others and scenes I'm sure some people will find disgusting. This darkness makes it stand out, feeling like a controlled literary portrait of a feudal society and cutthroat decisions people make even when they could be nicer.

In terms of narrative, a few things happen, but it isn't really plot driven, and I did find the ending felt a bit like 'oh right, that happened' rather than a climax. This maybe suits the book, though I was wondering if there was going to be a like a big thing that happened at the end to tie it up (that's not to say that nothing happens at the end, as that isn't the case). This is a book that I found pretty good to read, but I'm not entirely sure why, and that weirdness is quite a good place to be (though doesn't make for the easiest review-writing).

On reflection, I like Lapvona more and more, thinking about its strange atmosphere and hints of supernatural, embracing the dark and the disgusting without trying to see if something big is going to happen to make it all make sense to me. Also, it does give me flashbacks to studying medieval literature, especially the darker ends of it. I've only read a couple of Moshfegh's previous book (liked one, didn't like the other) and I feel this one may also be divisive, but I think it did well to ensure I wasn't bored by something I usually wouldn't be enthralled by.

Having read most things Ottessa Moshfegh has written - and mostly adored them - I wasn’t surprised upon reading the blurb of Lapvona to find it was a somewhat odd concept for a contemporary novel. A departure in style and content from her previous work this novel’s setting - Lapvona (a fictional country probably roughly analogous with somewhere in Eastern Europe ) - and time period (feudal system suggests it could be 13/14th century) sets it apart from her other fiction, and also from almost anything else written recently. But she is such an extraordinary writer that it doesn’t really matter what she’s writing about, just that she’s putting words on paper. As always the feeling she leaves the reader with is simply ‘I cannot wait to see what she’ll do next.’

Another leap for the very creative author! I’ve never really write an author whose books all seem completely different. This book is yet another reinvention. I enjoy the characters and in particular the story. Highly recommend

To be 100% honest, I thought this was a bit of a disappointment. I had very high hopes--Moshfegh is one of my favourite writers. And it was exciting to see her trying something different--third person, set in medieval Europe, with a tone that feels reminiscent of a fable, or parable. But what is this novel trying to say?

Nothing in this book felt very consequential. The further that I read, the more I could feel my interest start to wane. There's no plot, which in principle is fine, but here it feels a bit plodding. One thing happens, then another thing, then another--it became hard for me to feel invested or to care. Frankly it all felt a bit random. It's divided into five sections, each dealing with a different season (Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring).

I feel like the novel is trying to say something... about human society? The lord character in the book is a right old bastard. <spoiler>By the novel's end, the main character Marek has assumed the lord's place. What's the message we're meant to take from this?</spoiler> Ina, the blind medicine woman, was the most interesting character for me, even though the scenes with her are some of the most squeamish.

The book is brutally dark, which is also fine. Cannibalism, rape, buttholes, a lot of nipple sucking... You don't read a Moshfegh novel and expect a cheery view of the world, or gentle safe hand-holding. My main problem with this is I kept trying to read between the lines, to read this as a parable, but whatever the book was trying to say just... didn't seem that interesting to me. Life is cruel, people are awful, society is divided into a ruthless class system... and I just felt like, so what?

Kudos to Moshfegh for trying something different, beyond her intensely interior first-person monologues. I don't know. I just felt very disappointed by this. I'd like to read more reviews of this book once it's published, in case there was something that I'd entirely missed.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publishers for an ARC.

This is a strange and thought-provoking novel. I have not been a big fan of her, but settings of this book was intriguing. It is not an easy read, it is brutal but does not dissapoint.

This book was rather strange, following several characters over the course of five seasons. Almost every character is unlikeable or abrasive in some way, without necessarily being annoying. Moshfegh does not shy away from festering wounds and ghastly smells, and this book felt like a long discussion on faith, community, and people, without being preachy. There were a few moments I was blindsided - two characters are introduced only to die within a page or two (G. R. R. Martin is that you?), and referring to a hot summer as an 'Indian summer' in a universe in which India doesn't exist did take me out of the prose somewhat but I'm perhaps being nitpicky.

Overall, though, whilst I can't say this book was 'enjoyable' (I mean there's rape, cannibalism, suicide etc), it was 'interesting'.

Ottessa Moshfegh’s latest offering abandons the trappings of the contemporary but preserves many of her usual themes, here her setting’s a fictional, Eastern European village, Lapvona, during some version of the Middle Ages - post the first wave of the Black Death but prior to feudalism’s demise. Lapvona seems to exist in a vacuum, cut off from its surroundings, it’s ruled over by the gluttonous, sadistic Villiam. Villiam retains his authority over Lapvona’s villagers partly through distance, locked away in his high castle except for rare, carefully-orchestrated, public appearances; and partly through fear aided by village priest Father Barnabas.

Moshfegh’s described Lapvona, “as a place I could go to look at the elements in every culture I know personally: power corrupts; capitalism hurts humanity and the earth; religion at its worst can be used to exploit and enslave people; people are prone to greed and delusion…no matter what time and place.” Unsurprising then that the novel has a strong allegorical flavour, the past as window on the present. Perhaps, fittingly, there’s something slightly Foucauldian in Moshfegh’s description of the way power operates within Lapvona’s bounds: the staged forms of violence used to subdue and discipline Villiam’s subjects. Her vision of medieval times also invokes numerous, recent, references to modern America’s new Dark Age, and the resurgence of the kinds of pre-rational claims popular with Republican politicans like Todd Akin.

Delusional belief systems are rife in Lapvona, from its compromised Christianity to superstition, folklore and witchcraft. Fantasies and mythologies that mask the harsh realities of the economic exploitation that governs the villagers’ everyday existence. Moshfegh’s story takes in multiple viewpoints and ways of interpreting the world but chief among them’s Marek’s, whose twisted piety and self-serving, personal morality’s central to the plot. Moshfegh’s characters are also swept up in a series of catastrophic events which echo key moments in medieval history from plague to the Great Famine, as well as conjuring obvious parallels with today’s pandemic and climate crisis.

Moshfegh’s use of imagery, her emphasis on the perverse, the obscene and the scatological, harks back to her earlier fiction but equally suggests links to medieval figures like Till Eulenspiegel; while Lapvona’s transformation into a barren, wasteland, after the rains suddenly cease, recalls elements of the Fisher King legend. It’s a bleak, claustrophobic piece which, rightly or wrongly, reminded me most of my experience of watching a number of Lars von Trier’s films. It’s similarly enigmatic and brutal, full of scenes of graphic violence from rape to cannibalism. It's cleverly constructed and, at least on the surface, complex, intriguing and intelligent enough to hold my attention but ultimately quite hollow and more than a little wearying.

Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Jonathan Cape for an arc

Hmm... I'm really not sure what to make of this book. I understand Moshfegh was writing this during lockdown so in some senses it's a Covid novel - but only in an oblique, weird way which, surely, is what we'd expect from Moshfegh. We can sense it, I think, in this being a retreat from a 'normal' realist world, as it has the feel of a fable or fairy tale: the vague setting and time, the broad brush characters and situations that feel heightened and not really allegorical but figurative more than naturalistic: the cruel father, the missing mother, the initially abused and put upon son, the witchy crone, the exploitative priest, the greedy and cruel Lord.

The vaguely medieval setting indicated by the fiefdom allows the book to lean on romances and poetry from the period: I was thinking of the moral concerns of the dream-vision of [book:Piers Plowman|6823552] mixed up with the gleeful gross-out scenes and social commentary from [book:The Canterbury Tales|2696] and the period's concerns with moral trials such as we find in romances like [book:Sir Gawain and the Green Knight|3050]. Even the way Marek's twisted body is made to reflect and stand in for his warped actions and uncertain moralities has a distinctly Middle English feel to it. There are clear engagements with structures of power and privilege, also of religion, especially Christianity with its values of sin and self-flagellation. And the differences between the institution of the church versus a sort of spiritual divinity.

Grotesqueries abound: a blind woman made to see again with a horse's eyes, cannibalism, various rapes and other bodily parts and fluids - this is a bit stomach-churning at times!

Other literary and cultural allusions are bound in, too: Cain and Abel but also Romulus and Remus; and the disquieting scenes between Marek and Ina made me think of the Rose of Sharon in [book:The Grapes of Wrath|4397], another text concerned with economic inequalities, communities and ethical behaviour (Steinbeck, too, in his own structural use of Cain and Abel in [book:East of Eden|883438]).

Perhaps oddly, this also made me think of [book:The Books of Jacob|41724950] - in some ways Tokarczuk's meticulous historicity and detailed scene settings couldn't be more different from the pencilled-in outlines here but both books explore issues of faith, religion, communities and power, and the creation of narratives to excuse, exploit or sustain. Each book has an important old woman in Ina and Yente, and a would-be messiah - and there's that disturbing image of sucking milk from a woman's breast.

So a kind of moral framework makes this quite distinct from Moshfegh's earlier work. There is still a sense of anarchism though more subdued here and an unexpectedness about the story. It is, as ever, eminently readable and that arresting cover is fantastic! But still, I'm not quite sure how I feel about this one...