I will not deny that Otessa Moshfegh is a talented stylist capable of keen insight into a character's motivation. But Lapvona is proof that alone is not enough to sustain a novel.
In a fictional Medevial village Marek is the deformed son of incestuous rape, raised by an abusive stepfather to believe his mother has died. The teenager commits a crime that, incredibly, elevates him to royal status, and in the aftermath the difficult life of the village begins to sour all the more.
It sounds almost like a story when I summarize it. It is not. It is a meandering, pointless snippet from the life of a thinly developed protagonist who, in turn, is surrounded by equally ill developed characters. These people exist in print only to allow the author to showcase rape, cannibalism, sexual abuse, and degradation.
It's not literary horror. What it WAS is a waste of my time.
Pass.
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