THE HARPY

“They were colleagues, then friends, and at first I suspected nothing. There were long emails, glimpses appearing on his phone, apparitions. The virgin blue of his notification light in the darkness.” Hunter’s second novel after a successful debut with similar mythical and maternal preoccupations (The End We Start From, 2017) is narrated by Lucy Stevenson, who receives a voicemail from the husband of a woman her husband, Jake, works with in academia informing her that the spouses are sleeping together. The other couple is about a decade older, which drives the knife even deeper. With no further ado or psychological development, Lucy goes right off her rocker, spurred by a lifelong obsession with the mythological figure of the harpy, a vengeful bird with a woman’s face, developed in brief, portentous interludes. “I asked my mother what a harpy was, and she told me: they punish men for the things they do.” This aspect of the book recalls the work of Angela Carter but lacks her black humor and stringency. Rather quickly, Lucy and Jake settle on a plan to even the score—she will hurt him three times. So she does. Then something happens at the end, but it’s not quite clear what. Hunter’s taut, intentional prose is strong on physical descriptions—“toddlers scooting fatly past me on balance bikes,” droopy daffodils resembling “grumpy children dressed by their mothers”—but she studs her narrative with philosophical assertions that are perplexing at best: “Marriage and motherhood are like death in this way, and others too: no one comes back unchanged.” “A children’s party, like a death, is never real until it is happening.”

Thanks for reading.
Please Share, Comment, Like the post And Follow, Subscribe CTS Store.

fromSource