Book Review II: The Rabbit Hutch, by Tess Gunty
Icelandic sheep-manure-smoked IPA
It would be easy to sit here and shit all over this book. It would be so easy. I could write about how it felt poorly constructed; about the eye rolling moments when the author showed how little she knows about taking care of an infant; about the sex scenes written like something out of Penthouse; about the attempt at a joke about craft beer that landed just about as flat as some of the book’s supporting characters (I’m looking at you, Todd.) I could write about how the primary plot line was just a hacky spin on the “older man bangs young student” trope; about how the ending felt tacked on; about the six pages worth of acknowledgements. And on and on. That would be easy. I am not going to do that. That’s the chickenshit way to write a book review. Writing a mean spirited review is fun and easy, but writing a thoughtful review that sees the positives in a book that you were a little unsure about? That’s probably much more difficult, and a little more worthwhile.
Despite the above, there was a lot to like about this book. It was obviously written by a first time novelist looking to solidify her voice, but there is definitely a strong voice there just under the surface. There were moments when the brilliance of the storytelling really came through despite a lot of wading through expository explanations of the plot. And the separate stories that connect and lead us to the final scene (well, they don’t all connect) really pull the reader in. For 300+ pages you honestly feel like you live at this run down apartment building in a run down city in a run down state. It’s July and hot and your unit doesn’t have air conditioning. And it’s going to storm later. You are there and Ms. Gunty keeps you there and makes it home.
It was also helpful for me, personally, that I feel like I have had people in my life who were quite similar to the main character, Blandine. I think the author was making the assumption that all her readers have. It’s a risky assumption, but considering the plaudits — including a National Book Award — I think she pulled it off.
I don’t know. I guess I liked it. I read it very quickly. And I never dreaded having to pick it up. Also, as an odd side benefit, this rather pedestrian novel helped clarify what a tremendous novel Checkout 19 is in comparison. Not to say that The Rabbit Hutch is a bad novel, it’s just an okay novel, written by an author finding her feet; while Checkout 19 is a wonderful novel that pushes boundaries and avoids cliche and feels in so many ways timeless. But that review has already been written.
It’s a fine book, I guess, The Rabbit Hutch. Buy the mass market paperback. Read it on a beach.
*
Next up: A Month in the Country by J.L. Carr. It’s early days but this I think is going to be one helluva book.