![]() She is, as her best friend Reva says, “a cold fish”. ![]() ![]() Thin, blonde and blessed with family money, she has no need to curry favour. To begin with her narrator is markedly unsympathetic. Moshfegh confounds her readers’ expectations in more fundamental ways. In due course, perhaps inevitably, an artist appears who wishes to curate and document her big sleep. When she leaves to dedicate herself to sleeping she lays a turd in the middle of the exhibition space in farewell.īut that’s not the end of her adventures with art. By virtue of her looks and wardrobe the narrator works in an intimidatingly hip Manhattan gallery, despite judging the works on display “canned counter-culture crap”. Indeed, the art world itself intrudes repeatedly into the narrative. It is as if the novel is a piece of performance art in which a series of ideas are tried out to see if they will work. Moshfegh’s approach is playful throughout. ![]()
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