The theme of hybridity takes over the story. Samantha, the Bunnies, and the other characters and places combine different parts. The story’s structure is hybrid itself; Mona Awad mixes different elements—emails, texts, emojis, notebooks, music, experimental prose pieces, etc.—to propel the narrative. Without the dominance of hybridity, the story loses its mystery and magical realism. What makes the book puzzling and fantastical is its moving parts. Awad confronts the reader with a rush of sights, sounds, and cultural references, and the reader has to try to fit the components together.
Samantha is a hybrid with a combination of voices in her head. She lacks a solid sense of self, building an identity out of others’ desires and expectations instead. At Cheapo’s, she talks to Ava, reasoning, “Because even if she’s not here, I might as well talk to her all the same” (196). She also continually hears the Bunnies. They become a part of her—both in her head and in the material world. At the Smut Salon, referring to rumors about her and the Lion, Samantha tells them, “We never fucked, if that’s what you’re thinking” (44). The Bunnies don’t say anything about the Lion. Part of Samantha’s challenge is managing her hybridity. It’s not bad to consist of sundry elements, but the chorus of voices and her two creations—Ava and Max—prevent a hybrid identity that’s sustainable. Samantha has to confront reality. To do so, she has to get her components in order.
The Bunnies are also hybrids. They’re young women, but they identify as a group of rabbits. Their tight bond makes them a part of each other. They call each other “Bunny,” as if each Bunny contains pieces of the others. The Bunnies represent the motif of cuteness, sex, and violence. They bring these distinct concepts together. They’re twee, yet they’re open about their sexual desires and have little reservations about beheading a failed Draft. Samantha’s descriptions of the Bunnies reinforce their hybridity. They’re a collection of colors, clothes, and affectations, each with their unique twist on the Bunny identity. She describes Vignette, “Her dainty dress countered by combat boots, unbrushed hair, a half-open mouth that never closes. Her cloudy gray eyes full of fuck you. Writes for shock value” (35). Ava sees the Bunnies’ hybridity as negative. She looks at them “like they’re a four-headed beast” (12) and compares them to Twinkies—“fake-sweet, squidgy, unsurprising packaging” (26). For Ava, the Bunnies’ hybridity is toxic.
The hybrid identity extends to the school and faculty. Fosco is a workshop leader and a villain. Her names carry different meanings; Count Fosco is the villain in Wilkie Collins’s novel The Woman in White, but that text also has a Countess Fosco who is broken and obedient to her husband. This could allude to the Bunnies’ insistence that her husband is a predator. Ursula is likewise the villain in The Little Mermaid who preys on poor unfortunate souls, but in a book full of literary references, the name could reference feminist science fiction author Ursula Le Guin. While Fosco’s feminism is often academic and pretentious, she calls out the Bunnies when their stories center on male protagonists. The workshop is a hybrid space—a classroom, a cave, a womb, a performance art space, and, for the meeting with Bunny Fosco and Bunny Lion, a haunted house. The Lion is a hybrid—a supportive thesis adviser and a red herring villain; while lions are predators, they also symbolize bravery and valor. Male lions are also not the main hunters; they guard the cubs while female lions do the hunting. Even Jonah becomes a hybrid due to an ill-suited nickname, “Psycho Jonah,” which contrasts with his gentle nature. The Drafts are also called Hybrids, and they reflect the hybridity of their creators. In Bunny, hybridity is everywhere.
Awad uses italics to represent the dialogues that happen elsewhere or in Samantha’s head, and italics permeate the story as Samantha hears and engages with sundry voices. Hybridity aside, the theme showcases Samantha’s awareness and memory. She’s conscious of the Bunnies’ words and can recall conversations from the past, like how her mom told her worried teacher, “Oh, please. Samantha’s scared of her own shadow. She just has a vivid imagination” (70). Although these voices make her rather unsteady, they also make her a smart, attentive writer. She’s continually thinking and listening. As a single theme, the flow of voices represents her engagement with the world. As Samantha’s world is unpleasant—she refers to Warren as “the mouth of hell” (8)—the voices often reflect her disturbing reality.
The constant voices don’t make it easy for Samantha to trust her voice. In the scary thesis committee meeting, Samantha’s voice tells her to “[f]ucking run” (275), but she stays. She listens to Ava’s voice and the voice of the Bunnies, but she marginalizes her own voice. She’s too busy providing agency for others to give herself agency. About the character in her thesis, Bunny Lion asks, “When is she going to be empowered, Samantha? Hmm? Exercise agency? When is she going to assume responsibility for all the shit she’s stirred up?” (278). With the theme of constant voices, the issue isn’t reality but self-care. She has to give her voice the same power as the other voices. If she keeps suppressing her voice, she’ll be in danger—she’s in a precarious situation because she didn’t follow her voice and flee the menacing meeting.
The book references the 20th-century English writer Virginia Woolf multiple times. Speaking for all the Bunnies, Samantha says, “We were so the daughters of Woolf, you should have seen us” (123). The theme of constant voices turns the Virginia Woolf references into more than ironic or flippant moments. The theme shows how Samantha embraces Woolf and her stream-of-consciousness style. Woolf wrote novels, stories, and essays that took readers into the minds of her characters and speakers. In the novel Mrs. Dalloway (1925), the reader enters Clarissa Dalloway’s headspace as she prepares to host a party. Samantha also gives the reader an all-access pass to her mind—its chaotic nonlinearity, her problematic language, and the constant stream of voices.
The story blurs the boundaries between reality, fantasy, and art. The Drafts represent a fantasy. The Bunnies conjure them from their desires and their need for men to keep them company and dote on them. The Drafts also represent art. The Bunnies create them like they create their stories, and the Drafts are often as fragmented and puzzling as the four Bunnies’ writings. The Bunnies’ writing and the Drafts, though made up, are a part of their reality. While many of the Drafts self-destruct, many take on lives of their own. One works at the mini cafe, and Samantha sees another Draft catering Fosco’s Christmas dinner, crossing the boundary between fantasy and reality.
About the Drafts, one Bunny exclaims, “We think of it as art meets life, Bunny. We’re putting art into the world. It’s like a living interactive installation” (127). In other words, the Bunnies—Samantha included—project their fantasies onto the rabbits (in Samantha’s case, a swan and a deer) and create people, works of art, that then populate their reality. The Bunnies make it seem like they can distinguish reality from fantasy from art. After they kill Ava, they lecture Samantha about the boundaries, “A true artist knows the difference. I remember learning that that’s actually the difference between an actual artist and, like, an insane person, you know?” (295). Yet when the Bunnies spot Max outside, they rush after him like he’s a real man.
The Bunnies don’t have a solid grasp on the theme. Art is a fantasy, but art occurs in reality, and fantasies impact a person’s reality. Their dreams, wishes, and desires can change their reality. As with the theme of constant voices, this theme involves Virginia Woolf. She was a modernist, and modernists rejected the idea of universal reality. For them, reality was a subjective phenomenon—a product of a person’s experiences and personality. Thus, Mrs. Dalloway can have her reality, Samantha can have her reality, the Bunnies can have their reality, and the janitor, who tells Samantha to face the real world, can have his reality. None of them is any less real or more fantastical than another.
While Samantha detaches herself from Ava, she arguably holds onto her artful, fantastical reality. She ditches the graduation party to “[s]it on the roof and celebrate with the raccoon priests” (307). For some people, such a scene may appear far-fetched, but raccoon priests are a part of Samantha’s particular reality. The book’s ending asserts the importance of owning one’s truth; Samantha loses her identity when she tries to adopt the Bunnies’ reality. In the end, she finally stands on her own and is rewarded with real human connection and the prospect of a future as a writer.
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By Mona Awad