Everyone has heard about the body horror in Lapvona: cannibalism, cunnilingus performed on a 100 year old, eating grapes popped out of one's ass, vomiting out toenails. It makes it very hard to recommend to anyone. But somehow Moshfegh manages to deliver a treatise about class, gender, power, religion and bodies, using a laconic register that is frankly refreshingly rare in the "historical novel" -- in quotes because it's not historical at all, in fact it seems to take on the guise of fantasy or magical realism at times.
Lapvona is a made-up medieval town that seems to exist in late 14th or 15th century Europe. There are the peasant serfs, who the narrator describes as "stupid" and the manor, in which dwell Lord Villiam, who is also "stupid". The key tension in the novel is between the peasants who provide the labour power and lords and Church who steal the products of their labour. There are points at which hopeful glints of class consciousness appear, but the narrator is quick to remind us that this is *the* stupidest, most inert proletariat in history.
What's unique about Lapvona is the ridiculous lengths to which Moshfegh pushes the poor characters. In one scene, Marek's father chews flies for sustenance during a drought in the village, quickly juxtaposed by Villiam feasting on veal, pheasant and so on, then instructing Marek to feed his servant girl a shit-crusted grape straight from his anus. I had to put the book down and go out for a quick smoke at this point. This, disturbingly, reminded me of My Year's protagonist defecating in an art gallery: Moshfegh is clearly a fan of scatological humour.
In another scene, the cartoonishly evil Lord Villiam instructs his servants to roll him a red carpet out of bed and dance for him to cheer him up. At the same time, the villagers resort to eating each other. Every character in Lapvona is so miserable and hateful that the reader starts to wonder why they don't simply kill themselves. I'm thinking of Hanya Yanagihara's A Little Life. But unlike Yanagihara, Moshfegh plays it for comedy, which intentionally draws attention to its constructed nature. That's not to say that the comedy obscures the allegory, because Lapvona is very cleverly written, opening itself to a multitude of readings, Marxist, feminist, theological and so on.
Also interesting is the depiction of the Church. There is a typical corrupt priest, who is in on the Lord's wicked schemes of hiring bandit raids whenever a peasant uprising is coming. One wishes that a Jan Hus will arrive, but this is a novel about characters suffering as much as possible. Indeed, the Father insists upon their suffering: through suffering, salvation, grace and heaven.
In conclusion, I found this novel quite amazing. If Moshfegh didn't write the violent, stomach-churning transgressive acts, we might have even seen Lapvona taught as a companion piece to Animal Farm in secondary school school. But she did, and that's why Moshfegh is so good.