An absolutely brilliant exercise in obfuscation reminiscent of Nobakov. Mona is basically a character that, were she a man—and she has, I’m sure intentionally, all of the hallmarks of that classic male author that is continually venerated for toxic qualities—would absolutely be more acceptable and relatable. Which is why she is a woman. Absolutely everything about her is made to provoke a negative reaction from the reader, when really it’s just the inclusion of the qualities people would attribute a person as a “ real character” in reality.

There’s an unwillingness to dwell to much or too deeply in the personal. A number of vices on an endless chain of self medicating and maneuvering. But she’s also incredibly intelligent and is an active participant in the thing she hates most: the literary “scene” as it has now become. Because there’s absolutely an elephant in the room: America. Never really acknowledged, but always present, as she rails against ideas orbiting what we’d call identity politics.

I don’t think Americans realize just how much of their culture they export. As a Canadian it is just constant. We see more news about America than Canada on social media now. They’re The Show, and that’s completely intentional. Some literature interrogate aspects of this, most self evident in the onslaught of death of the American dream narratives. Where immigrants buy into the idea of America only to enter the churn. The literary scene is no different. It’s not immune to internalizing culture purportedly to be avant garde and progressive, but is merely the newest exercise in exclusion and policing the culture of literally every single other country.

Mona is the anthesis of this even as she plays into it out of necessity. The choices are to be in the game, hustling and engaging in performativism… or not published not known not eating. Simultaneously, the self medicating is in tandem with the social critique that I felt was on point and effective satire. Sure, it offends western culture. But it ought to. We have little to no control over our own narratives with social media and the rules of American civility fetishism and the way in which The Conversation must take place.

It all comes to a head in a beautiful confluence of themes and notions bombarding the reader while it effectively points out that we generally all spend our time in a performative dance, completely, willfully, subscribed to Missing The Point.