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"Jon Swift + Witches of Eastwick + Kelly 'Get In Trouble' Link + Mean Girls + Creative Writing Degree Hell! No punches pulled, no hilarities dodged, no meme unmangled! O Bunny you are sooo genius!" —Margaret Atwood, via Twitter
"A wild, audacious and ultimately unforgettable novel." —Michael Schaub, Los Angeles Times
"Awad is a stone-cold genius." —Ann Bauer, The Washington Post
The Vegetarian meets Heathers in this darkly funny, seductively strange novel from the acclaimed author of 13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl and Rouge
"We were just these innocent girls in the night trying to make something beautiful. We nearly died. We very nearly did, didn't we?"
Samantha Heather Mackey couldn't be more of an outsider in her small, highly selective MFA program at New England's Warren University. A scholarship student who prefers the company of her dark imagination to that of most people, she is utterly repelled by the rest of her fiction writing cohort--a clique of unbearably twee rich girls who call each other "Bunny," and seem to move and speak as one.
But everything changes when Samantha receives an invitation to the Bunnies' fabled "Smut Salon," and finds herself inexplicably drawn to their front door--ditching her only friend, Ava, in the process. As Samantha plunges deeper and deeper into the Bunnies' sinister yet saccharine world, beginning to take part in the ritualistic off-campus "Workshop" where they conjure their monstrous creations, the edges of reality begin to blur. Soon, her friendships with Ava and the Bunnies will be brought into deadly collision.
The spellbinding new novel from one of our most fearless chroniclers of the female experience, Bunny is a down-the-rabbit-hole tale of loneliness and belonging, friendship and desire, and the fantastic and terrible power of the imagination.
Named a Best Book of 2019 by TIME, Vogue, Electric Literature, and The New York Public Library
- Print length336 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherPenguin Books
- Publication dateJune 9, 2020
- Dimensions5.5 x 0.7 x 8.2 inches
- ISBN-100525559752
- ISBN-13978-0525559757
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Editorial Reviews
Review
"Awad has proved herself one of the most innovative and original authors out there, and Bunny is a wild, audacious and ultimately unforgettable novel." —Los Angeles Times
"A work of toothsome and fanged intelligence....wickedly hilarious." —The New Yorker
"Deliciously evil . . . Awad is a stone-cold genius." —The Washington Post
"Very funny and very sharp . . . An extremely readable page-turner." —NPR's "Weekend Edition"
"A dark, dazzling fairy tale . . . A touching story of true-versus-faux friendship that many women will relate to is at the heart of this novel, but fans of the occult will find plenty to love about the Bunnies' sci-fi-adjacent ritual experimentation. As if grad school needed to get any scarier." —Vogue, "The Best Novels of 2019"
"[One of] the most cerebral and compulsively readable books of the season . . . This compelling novel about a mysterious grad school clique draws a bit of inspiration from Mean Girls or Heathers...before long, the novel takes a turn into the surreal, applying the logic of a horror movie to its incisive exploration of cruelty between young women." —Vanity Fair
"A spiritual cousin to Stephen King’s Carrie . . . Bunny is a kind of pastel-toned goth lit, an examination of what happens when 'soft' femininity meets the tougher kind—but one that also recognizes how blurry the distinction can be." —TIME
"Wacky and delicious." —Lauren Groff, via Twitter
"With visuals so vivid, and a plot so weird and gripping that it’s already been snapped up to be made into a TV series, Bunny is a summer book, an escapist comedy, a beach read that you’ll want to pass around. But that’s only partly because it’s rollickingly, laugh-out-loud funny. What makes it memorable, and powerful, is the coupling of its go-for-broke sendup with an immense compassion . . . For all its dagger-sharpness, Bunny has a tenderly accommodating heart." —The Boston Globe
"It’s creepy and it’s kooky, mysterious and spooky, and you will not be able to put it down." —The Washington Post
"A surreal, darkly funny take on art, power, and female friendships." —Entertainment Weekly
"Exquisitely precise [and] funny as hell.'" —The Boston Globe
"Like one of those razors marketed to women: you know, pink but still GD dangerous." —Elle
"To call this a dark comedy undersells the richness of its message, and to say it’s a satire misses its realism. Bunny is so sharp it will leave you bloody." —Vulture
"The weirdest novel you'll read this year . . . in the best way possible…With hints of Heathers and Mean Girls, I read Bunny in one night and was genuinely bummed when it was over." —Mehera Bonner, Cosmopolitan
"[A] dizzying tale of misandry, class anxiety, and psychological torment . . . Fans of sinister girl gangs, take heart!" —Harper’s Bazaar
"A dark, twisted novel that sharply interrogates women's relationships to one another and to art, academia, and class—it's the kind of book that leaves a taste in your mouth, the taste of blood. Who knew that would taste so good?" —Nylon
"Mona Awad’s prose is dangerous. She crafts beautiful meals laced with poison." —The Paris Review
"Mona Awad lets femininity bare its fangs." —The Toronto Star
"With notes of Scream Queens and Heathers, Bunny takes readers into a twisted, terrifying cabal." —Newsweek
"[Bunny] quickly ascends to a Heathers level of camp without losing its grip on emotional reality . . . the struggle, shame, and frustration of making art rings true . . . enjoyable, insightful [and] compulsively readable." —Ploughshares
"Strange, gothic and viciously entertaining." —The Irish Times
"Awad’s genius lies in her ability to take a familiar setup and turn it on its head—and then shake it and throw it off a cliff. That’s how twisted Bunny gets." —Purewow
"Tall, dark and culty." —TheSkimm
"If you’ve ever been the odd one out, read Bunny." —Refinery29
"The Vegetarian meets Carrie meets Mean Girls in this deliciously dark tale about toxic female friendships, academia and class." —BookRiot, "7 of the Buzziest Beach Reads of the Year"
"[A] riotous, pitch-black novel . . . [Awad's] sheer panache powers you through the hilarious, hallucinogenic freakery." —The Daily Mail
"Gripping [and] unique." —InStyle
"The Secret History meets Heathers with a dash of Mean Girls. You’re gonna love it." —HelloGiggles
"[A] clever, contemplative, truly absurd campus novel that manages to strike to the truth of things with a hot blade of magic.” —LitHub
"Awad’s prose is compulsively readable, and Samantha’s voice sticks in one’s head....With this book, no axe or spell is needed: whatever ritual Awad did, Bunny came out just right." —Ploughshares
"[Awad] has a wicked sense of humor . . . The energy in her writing is truly infectious, and it’s a lot of fun to go with her down the rabbit hole." —Washington Independent Review of Books
"Bunny is the lovechild of Otessa Moshfegh’s Eileen and Donna Tartt’s The Secret History after a chance meeting at a midnight showing of Heathers . . . Dark but hilarious, quirky yet insightful, and at times just flat out weird, Bunny is the perfect anti-beach read for those of us who spend summer dreading the outside, opting to stay in burning scented candles with our curtains drawn and our white noise machine set to 'thunder storm.'" —Napa Valley Register
"[A] riveting and often funny tale about the dark side of female seduction." —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
"Gripping [and] frenetically readable . . . In this exploration of how women’s repressed rage and desires can manifest, Awad weaponizes cuteness in a ferocious and dynamic way . . . [She] artfully demonstrates what it’s like to attempt to be creative while drowning in the alienating and garish malaise that is being alive in our current cultural moment." —Quill & Quire
"Social acceptance, female friendship, the coming-of-age process . . . it's all ripe for the discussion here." —Bustle
"Astonishingly self-assured . . . Awad’s writing is somehow both gorgeous and gritty as she explores creativity, art and the universal desire to belong." —BookPage
"Full of Fight Club-level plot twists and sharp, biting humor; the novel is the perfect summer-to-fall transition read. Pro-tip: Convince a friend to do a buddy read because you’ll want someone to discuss it with after." —Girls Night In (Book Club Pick)
"A viciously funny bloodbath . . . Awad gleefully pumps up the novel's nightmarish quality until the boundary between perception and reality has all but dissolved completely. It's clear that Awad is having fun here—the proof is in the gore—and her delight is contagious . . . Wickedly sharp . . . A near-perfect realization of a singular vision." —Kirkus, STARRED REVIEW
"Outstanding . . . highly addictive, darkly comedic . . . Awad will have readers racing to find out how it all ends—and they won’t be disappointed once the story reaches its wild finale. This is an enchanting and stunningly bizarre novel." —Publishers Weekly, STARRED REVIEW
"Sharp and utterly bonkers; think Heathers gone to grad school." —Booklist
"[A] dark story that defies categorization." —Library Journal
"Mona Awad’s precision is only matched by her wit as she mounts one of the most pristine, delightful attacks on popular girls since Clueless. Bunny made me cackle and nod in terrified recognition. You will be glued to your cashmere blanket." —Lena Dunham, author of Not That Kind of Girl
"The Secret History meets Jennifer’s Body. This brilliant, sharp, weird book skewers the heightened rhetoric of obsessive female friendship in a way I don't think I've ever seen before. I loved it and I couldn't put it down." —Kristen Roupenian, author of "Cat Person" and You Know You Want This
"Hilarious and subversive, magical and knife-sharp. This novel—a send-up of academia, an astute exploration of class in creative circles, and an ode to the uncanny power of art—confirms Mona Awad as one of our great chroniclers of what it means to be alive right now. Bunny is a stunner." —Laura van den Berg, author of The Third Hotel
"It is not an exaggeration to say that I devoured Bunny—teeth, fur, claws and all. Mona Awad has written a truly delectable novel that is equal parts wit, fancy, and wickedness. Unafraid to challenge some sacrosanct notions about women artists, female friendship, and writing, her book is a compulsively readable testament to the sheer creative force of loneliness and longing." —Sarah Shun-lien Bynum, author of Miss Hempel Chronicles
"If you’ve ever entertained dark fantasies about what really goes on at an exclusive MFA program, Bunny will fulfill your wildest dreams . . . The novel twists from familiar campus realism to a dark fairytale, all the while traversing the emotional highs and lows of the writing process." —Electric Literature
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
We call them Bunnies because that is what they call each other. Seriously. Bunny.
Example:
Hi, Bunny!
Hi, Bunny!
What did you do last night, Bunny?
I hung out with you, Bunny. Remember, Bunny?
That’s right, Bunny, you hung out with me and it was the best time I ever had.
Bunny, I love you. I love you, Bunny.
And then they hug each other so hard I think their chests are going to implode. I would even secretly hope for it from where I sat, stood, leaned, in the opposite corner of the lecture hall, department lounge, auditorium, bearing witness to four grown women—my academic peers—cooingly strangle each other hello. Or good‑bye. Or just because you’re so amazing, Bunny. How fiercely they gripped each other’s pink‑and‑white bodies, forming a hot little circle of such rib‑crushing love and understanding it took my breath away. And then the nuzzling of ski‑jump noses, peach fuzzy cheeks. Temples pressed against temples in a way that made me think of the labial rubbing of the bonobo or the telepathy of beautiful, murderous children in horror films. All eight of their eyes shut tight as if this collective asphyxiation were a kind of religious bliss. All four of their glossy mouths making squealing sounds of monstrous love that hurt my face.
I love you, Bunny.
I quietly prayed for the hug implosion all year last year. That their ardent squeezing might cause the flesh to ooze from the sleeves, neckholes, and A‑line hems of their cupcake dresses like so much inane frosting. That they would get tangled in each other’s Game of Thrones hair, choked by the ornate braids they were forever braiding into each other’s heart‑shaped lit‑ tle heads. That they would choke on each other’s blandly grassy perfume.
Never happened. Not once.
They always came apart from these embraces intact and unwounded despite the ill will that poured forth from my staring eyes like so much comic‑ book‑villain venom. Smiling at one another. Swinging clasped hands. Skins aglow with affection and belonging as though they’d just been hydrated by the purest of mountain streams.
Bunny, I love you.
Completely immune to the disdain of their fellow graduate student. Me. Samantha Heather Mackey. Who is not a Bunny. Who will never be a Bunny.
I pour myself and Ava more free champagne in the far corner of the tented green, where I lean against a white Doric pillar bedecked with billowing tulle. September. Warren University. The Narrative Arts department’s annual welcome back Demitasse, because this school is too Ivy and New England to call a party a party. Behold the tigerlily‑heavy centepieces. Behold the Christmas‑lit white gauze floating everywhere like so many ghosts. Behold the pewter trays of salmon pinwheels, duck‑liver crostini topped with little sugared orchids. Behold the white people in black discussing grants they earned to translate poets no one reads from the French. Behold the lavish tent under which the overeducated mingle, well versed in every art but the one of conversation. Smilingly oblivious to the fact that they are in the mouth of hell. Or as Ava and I call it, the Lair of Cthulhu. Cthulhu is a giant squid monster invented by a horror writer who went insane and died here. And you know what, it makes sense. Because you can feel it when you’re walking down the streets beyond the Warren Bubble that this town is a wrong town. Something not quite right about the houses, the trees, the light. Bring this up and most people just look at you. But not Ava. Ava says, My god, yes. The town, the houses, the trees, the light— it’s all fucked.
I stand here, I sway here, full of tepid sparkling and animal livers and whatever hard alcohol Ava keeps pouring from her Drink Me flask into my plastic cup. “What’s in this again?” I ask.
“Just drink it,” she says.
I observe from behind borrowed sunglasses as the women whom I must call my colleagues reunite after a summer spent apart in various trying locales such as remote tropical islands, the south of France, the Hamptons. I watch their fervent little bodies lunge for each other in something like rapture. Nails the color of natural poisons digging into each other’s forearms with the force of what I keep telling myself is feigned, surely feigned, affec‑ tion. Shiny lips parting to call each other by their communal pet name.
“Jesus, are they for real?” Ava whispers in my ear now. She has never seen them up close. Didn’t believe me when I first told her about them last year. Said, There is no way grown women act like that. You’re making this up, Smackie. Over the summer, I started to think I had too. It is a relief in some ways to see them now, if only to confirm I am not insane.
“Yes,” I say. “Too real.”
I watch her survey them through her fishnet veil, her David Bowie eyes filled with horror and boredom, her mouth an unimpressed red line.
“Can we go now?”
“I can’t leave yet,” I say, my eyes still on them. They’ve pulled apart from one another at last, their twee dresses not even rumpled. Their shiny heads of hair not even disturbed. Their skins glowing with health insurance as they all crouch down in unison to collectively coo at a professor’s ever jumping shih tzu.
“Why?”
“I told you, I have to make an appearance.”
Ava looks at me, slipping drunkenly down the pillar. I have said hello to no one. Not the poets who are their own fresh, grunty hell. Not the new incoming fiction writers who are laughing awkwardly by the shrimp tower. Not even Benjamin, the friendly administrator to whom I usually cling at these sorts of functions, helping him dollop quivering offal onto dried bits of toast. Not my Workshop leader from last spring, Fosco, or any other member of the esteemed faculty. And how was your summer, Sarah? And how’s the thesis coming, Sasha? Asked with polite indifference. Getting my name wrong always. Whatever response I offer—an earnest confession of my own imminent failure, a bald‑faced lie that sets my face aflame—will elicit the same knowing nod, the same world‑weary smile, a delivery of platitudes about the Process being elusive, the Work being a difficult mistress. Trust, Sasha. Patience, Sarah. Sometimes you have to walk away, Serena. Sometimes, Stephanie, you have to seize the bull by the horns. This will be followed by the recounting of a similar creative crisis/breakthrough they experienced while on a now‑defunct residency in remote Greece, Brittany, Estonia. During which I will nod and dig my fingernails into my upper‑arm flesh.
And obviously I haven’t talked to the Lion. Even though he’s here, of course. Somewhere. I saw him earlier out of the corner of my eye, more maned and tattooed than ever, pouring himself a glass of red wine at the open bar. Though he didn’t look up, I felt him see me. And then I felt him see me see him see me and keep pouring. I haven’t seen him since then so much as sensed him in my nape hair. When we first arrived, Ava felt he must be nearby because look, the sky just darkened out of nowhere.
This evening, all I have done in terms of socializing is half smile at the one the Bunnies call Psycho Jonah, my social equivalent among the poets, who is standing alone by the punch, smiling beatifically in his own antidepressant‑fueled fever dream.
Ava sighs and lights a cigarette with one of the many tea lights that dot our table. She looks back at the Bunnies, who are now stroking each other’s arms with their small, small hands. “I miss you, Bunny,” they say to each other in their fake little girl voices, even though they are standing right fucking next to each other, and I can taste the hate in their hearts like iron on my tongue.
“I miss you, Bunny. This summer was so hard without you. I barely wrote a word, I was so, so sad. Let’s never ever part again, please?”
Ava laughs out loud at this. Actually laughs. Throws her feathery head
back. Doesn’t bother to cover her mouth with her gloved hand. It’s a delicious, raucous sound. Ringing in the air like the evening’s missing music.
“Shhhhh,” I hiss at her. But it’s already done.
The laughter causes the one I call the Duchess to turn her head of long, silver faery‑witch locks in our direction. She looks at us. First at Ava. Then at me. Then at Ava again. She is surprised, perhaps, to see that for once I’m not alone, that I have a friend. Ava meets her look with wide‑open eyes the way I do in my dream stares. Ava’s gaze is formidable and European. She continues to smoke and sip my champagne without breaking eye contact. She once told me about a staring contest she had with a gypsy she met on a metro in Paris. The woman was staring at her, so Ava stared back—the two of them aiming their gazes at each other like guns—all the way across the City of Lights. Just looking at each other from opposite shores of the rattling train. Eventually Ava took off her earrings, still not taking her eyes off the woman. Why? Because her assumption at that point, of course, was that the two of them would fight to the death. But when the train pulled into the last stop on the line, the woman just stood to exit, and when she did so, she even held back the sliding doors politely, so Ava could go first.
What’s the lesson here, Smackie? Don’t jump to conclusions?
Never lower your gaze first.
The Duchess, in turning toward us, causes a ripple effect of turning among the other Bunnies. First Cupcake looks over. Then Creepy Doll with her tiger eyes. Then Vignette with her lovely Victorian skull face, her stoner mouth wide open. They each look at Ava, then at me, in turn, scanning down from our heads to our feet, their eyes taking us in like little mouths sipping strange drinks. As they do, their noses twitch, their eight eyes do not blink, but stare and stare. Then they look back at the Duchess and lean in to each other, their lip‑glossed mouths forming whispery words.
Ava squeezes my arm, hard.
The Duchess turns and arches an eyebrow at us. She raises a hand up. Is there an invisible gun in it? No. It’s an empty, open hand. With which she then waves. At me. With something like a smile on her face. Hi, her mouth says.
My hand shoots up of its own accord before I can even stop myself. I’m waving and waving and waving. Hi, I’m saying with my mouth, even though no sound comes out.
Then the rest of the Bunnies hold up a hand and wave too.
We’re all waving at one another from across the great shores of the tented green.
Except Ava. She continues to smoke and stare at them like they’re a four‑headed beast. When at last I lower my hand, I turn to her. She’s look‑ ing at me like I’m something worse than a stranger.
Product details
- Publisher : Penguin Books; Reprint edition (June 9, 2020)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 336 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0525559752
- ISBN-13 : 978-0525559757
- Item Weight : 8.8 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.5 x 0.7 x 8.2 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #722 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1 in Dark Humor
- #2 in Self-Help & Psychology Humor
- #84 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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Top reviews
Top reviews from the United States
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The first half of the book was everything I hoped for. Sarcastic, funny and so, so smart. Mona Awad is an extremely gifted writer.
I highlighted so many memorable passages. When the main character Samantha is observing her all-female creative writing cohort: "Their cheeks are plump and pink and shining like they've been eating too much sugar, but actually it's Gossip Glow, the flushed look that comes from throwing another woman under the bus.”
Ms. Awad delightfully skewers graduate fiction programs and I loved that part of the book. I also loved the wordplay on the name of the college: Warren. Samantha struggles mightily to get along with not only her pretentious professor, but also the other members of the highly-coveted creative writing program. ("My smile is fixed on my face, nailed there, though it jerks under the pins.")
When I reached the halfway mark, I thought to myself, oh okay, now I see where all the 1 and 2-star ratings came from. The story just gets WEIRD. But push though. I promise the payoff is worth it!
This book is reminiscent of 'Mean Girls' but on acid. I couldn’t even get angry at what seemed to be cruelty to animals because I think (?) some was fantasy. I was frustrated at Samantha being such a docile participant in the “Bunny” clique, but she really pulled it together in the end.
“I’ve never really not written, never not had another world of my own making to escape to, never known how to be in this world without most of my soul dreaming up and living in another. Until I came here.”
I really loved the conclusion and felt like it tied the whole story together. Overall I recommend this very inventive and strange book!
Well this was a bizarre book. It's funny, disorienting and a bit wild. There's dark academia, magical realism and horror. Naturally I loved it. I must say I had to think about the storyline for a few days after finishing. There's ways to interpret it I guess and I have my own theories. The writing is clever and everything has its place and meaning, even if it doesn't seem like that at first.You can read it as a crazy story without even analyzing the meaning and still get a kick out of it. I really don't know how to further review it without spoilers hmm.
⛔ SPOILERS AHEAD! ⛔
Was it even real? The whole of it, the making people out of bunnies part, the weird cult she was drawn into? Because, as we learned, Samantha had the ability to turn other animals into human beings, the other girls only could use rabbits. Her best friend, Ava, was unknowingly summoned alive from a swan. When Samantha started engaging more with the Bunny cult, Ava disappeared. And what happened during that time? She was given some sort of pills. It was never specified what kind of pills they were. She could have been a psych patient for all we know. And Max, who she also "made", took revenge on the bunnies. Ava and Max were like the opposite sides of Samantha's personality that were fighting her inner fights in the "real world". But it doesn't totally add up since she did witness making people out of rabbits during that time. Or was it all a psychotic episode? Or could we look at it as an outsider's view of the "normal" that seems incomprehensible to her? Such a weird story.
Reviewed in the United States on December 1, 2022
Well this was a bizarre book. It's funny, disorienting and a bit wild. There's dark academia, magical realism and horror. Naturally I loved it. I must say I had to think about the storyline for a few days after finishing. There's ways to interpret it I guess and I have my own theories. The writing is clever and everything has its place and meaning, even if it doesn't seem like that at first.You can read it as a crazy story without even analyzing the meaning and still get a kick out of it. I really don't know how to further review it without spoilers hmm.
⛔ SPOILERS AHEAD! ⛔
Was it even real? The whole of it, the making people out of bunnies part, the weird cult she was drawn into? Because, as we learned, Samantha had the ability to turn other animals into human beings, the other girls only could use rabbits. Her best friend, Ava, was unknowingly summoned alive from a swan. When Samantha started engaging more with the Bunny cult, Ava disappeared. And what happened during that time? She was given some sort of pills. It was never specified what kind of pills they were. She could have been a psych patient for all we know. And Max, who she also "made", took revenge on the bunnies. Ava and Max were like the opposite sides of Samantha's personality that were fighting her inner fights in the "real world". But it doesn't totally add up since she did witness making people out of rabbits during that time. Or was it all a psychotic episode? Or could we look at it as an outsider's view of the "normal" that seems incomprehensible to her? Such a weird story.
Top reviews from other countries
This book is a satire about female friendship and definitely is a attack on the preppy, rich school girls which is honestly so funny, along with which it's a creepy, cult fiction.
The imagery is very distinct. Like imagine if you combine Barbie with Final Destination. It's gore but with bright, rainbow kind background. The paradox in this book is amazing.
The narrator- Samantha, on the other hand seems unreliable when it comes to explaining everything. Our main character here is one delusional, sociopathic person or more like just an angry, lonely teen of the female species. At first the way she decribes the "Bunnies" as individual and a group, she seems angry and like she hates them. Later we know her point of view on them was just because of jealousy and her relationship with Ava that also affected it.
With the start of part 2 we see the narrator has officially become a Bunny herself. Which makes the book more creepier. The cultness (if that's even a word) enhances 10 fold because the narrator has lost all sense of identity. It's like all of the "bunnies" are together just one entity.
By the end of part 2 I thought I knew what was going on but honestly part 3 changes everything about this book. A whole other thing comes to light and we actually get to know what is up with all these weirdos.
But I would say I was disappointed by the ending. That could've been better. Overall a very unique and gross but funny story.
Reviewed in India on March 30, 2023
This book is a satire about female friendship and definitely is a attack on the preppy, rich school girls which is honestly so funny, along with which it's a creepy, cult fiction.
The imagery is very distinct. Like imagine if you combine Barbie with Final Destination. It's gore but with bright, rainbow kind background. The paradox in this book is amazing.
The narrator- Samantha, on the other hand seems unreliable when it comes to explaining everything. Our main character here is one delusional, sociopathic person or more like just an angry, lonely teen of the female species. At first the way she decribes the "Bunnies" as individual and a group, she seems angry and like she hates them. Later we know her point of view on them was just because of jealousy and her relationship with Ava that also affected it.
With the start of part 2 we see the narrator has officially become a Bunny herself. Which makes the book more creepier. The cultness (if that's even a word) enhances 10 fold because the narrator has lost all sense of identity. It's like all of the "bunnies" are together just one entity.
By the end of part 2 I thought I knew what was going on but honestly part 3 changes everything about this book. A whole other thing comes to light and we actually get to know what is up with all these weirdos.
But I would say I was disappointed by the ending. That could've been better. Overall a very unique and gross but funny story.
It was a completely unexpected ride for me and the writing style is just so beautiful. I enjoyed every second of it. It might be one of my favourites I've read this year.
I don't want to spoil that much about it as I feel like it's more interesting if you go into it knowing very little like I did.
It is gory and has adult themes so I wouldn't recommend if you dislike either of those. If you do though, please please give this a read - that said, I'd understand why it's not for everyone
I’m a bit all over the place with this book. I’d call it a ‘yo-yo read’. It’s sickly sweet, ugly pretty, cutely foul and oddly addictive. I was up and down throughout, with awkward ‘do I even like this’ moments. On numerous occasions I was indeed loving it in all its twisted hilarity.
Samantha Heather Mackey is an outsider in her small, highly selective MFA program at Warren University. In fact, she is utterly repelled by the rest of her fiction writing cohort – a clique of unbearably twee rich girls who call each other ‘Bunny’.
But then the Bunnies issue her with an invitation and Samantha finds herself inexplicably drawn to their front door, across the threshold, and down their rabbit hole.
Bunny was an unusual choice for me as it’s got Young Adult/Fantasy genre written all over it – not my usual choice. But this book feels like it not only blends genres, but bends them too. Into very uncomfortable positions.
It’s as funny as hell in places and has a fair few horrific scenes. On Goodreads someone described it as ‘one of the most demented books I’ve ever read’. I dig a bit of weirdness in my books, so my FOMO got the better of me!
I’m a member of The Ladies of Horror Fiction Group on Goodreads and there was a choice of books for September to vote for. Bunny won, so I thought, oh why not, let’s do it! I’m glad I did, but I’m still not sure I even liked it much!
I’m in the UK and this is an American based book. I found certain things that I didn’t connect with. The education system in the USA is something I know nothing about. Also certain pop culture went over my head, so perhaps things were a bit lost on me.
The quirky characters were cracking, the humour was dark and dry, it was shockingly funny on countless occasions. It was written in such a way that is felt ‘chatty’ and flowed from page to brain* very easily.
*whilst mashing it up repeatedly.
The Sunday Independent quotes it as ‘Mean Girls with added menace’ and I completely agree.
At three quarters through I felt it was just playing with me. My feelings went from ‘this is weird’ to this is ‘REALLY VERY weird’. Then ‘it’s so hilarious but still weird.’ Then ‘uh-oh, I’m getting a bit bored of the repetitive bits in the middle here.’ And the final part was just ‘whaaat??? – I’m not sure I even ‘get it!’
Talk about rollercoaster! It’s like nothing I’ve read before ever. But I think I liked it.
Would I read it again? No. Would I recommend it? I would, yes. But it’s definitely not for everyone. Maybe it would sit better with an American reader, and certainly would be more appreciated by someone twenty years younger than myself.
Apparently the rights are sold to AMC for a possible TV-film adaptation. I think it would be better on screen, I’d watch it, but only because I’ve read it.
It comes across as a weird, fantastical teen/YA story, with elements of horror that is cleverly put together. I enjoyed the characters and their strange behaviours, the writing was extremely good but overall I’d say it is an above average ‘Bunny Tail’ deserving of 3/5 bunnies.
I’ll leave you with a couple of lines which made me pull a right dodgy face;
‘A pause so pregnant it delivers, consumes its own spawn, then grows big with child again.’
‘She looks at us all in her probing, intensely gynaecological way.’
Urgh! That’s just ‘orrible!!


















