Jenny Hval

A lyrical debut novel from a musician and artist renowned for her sharp sexual and political imagery Jo is in a strange new country for university and having a more peculiar time than most. In a house with no walls, shared with a woman who has no boundaries, she finds her strange home coming to life in unimaginable ways. Jo’s sensitivity and all her senses become increasingly heightened and fraught, as the lines between bodies and plants, dreaming and wakefulness, blur and mesh. This debut novel from critically acclaimed artist and musician Jenny Hval presents a heady and hyper-sensual portrayal of sexual awakening and queer desire.

A Novel

Paradise Rot

Sasha Maiboroda

I bend over this white sheet and pull her out, the one who is left in the brewery, pick her up from the bottom: Arms, swollen fingers, broken skull, burst lungs. Her face is white, covered in lime, algae skeletons, beer froth, and sea foam. I stroke her head, smooth and bare and shining: a glistening doorknob without a door.

is this the part where it is "paradise rot"?

(also i don't know how long she had been reading moon lips but i think she's rereading it at this point)

“She no longer thought the insects were gross. She let an ant crawl over her hand in peace while reading Moon Lips, and she didn’t move when one of the white spiders crawled over the hollow of her neck.”

“We are wine, we are cheese, we are crackers.”

“Every evening she took a bite of an apple as she came home, and left it on the kitchen table or the bench. Sometimes I sat and watched the apple; how the juices dribbled from the bite marks. I wondered what was apple juice and what was her spit, and thought about licking the place where she’d bit to see if I could tell the difference.”

“I studied how people would, instinctively, pull the handle to make the doors open at just the right time. I had tried to absorb the technique before it was my turn to get off, so that no one would realise this was my first time on this train.”

Bizarre peculiar weird idk like I was so confused and then I wasn’t and it was strange 

Angeleeka

1. Find a roommate that lives in a shady place with no walls.

3. Watch mushrooms grow in your moulded bathroom.

4. Rot away in Paradise Rot with said roommate.

figments of one's sanity

To-do list: 

1. Find a roommate that lives in a shady place with no walls.

2. Bring home decaying apples.

3. Watch mushrooms grow in your moulded bathroom.

4. Rot away in Paradise Rot with said roommate.

Jo is in a strange new country for university and having a more peculiar time than most. In a house with no walls, shared with a woman who has no boundaries, she finds her strange home coming to life in unimaginable ways. Jo’s sensitivity and all her senses become increasingly heightened and fraught, as the lines between bodies and plants, dreaming and wakefulness, blur and mesh. This debut novel from critically acclaimed artist and musician Jenny Hval presents a heady and hyper-sensual portrayal of sexual awakening and queer desire.

The Return to the Body. It didn't feel like a novel, it felt like an odd pop song. And I mean it as a compliment. It also highlights my favourite thing about words. The book itself had such an intense book smell which made so much sense.

Dora Tominic

Disclaimer: this is not a review.

The Return to the Body. It didn't feel like a novel, it felt like an odd pop song. And I mean it as a compliment. It also highlights my favourite thing about words. The book itself had such an intense book smell which made so much sense.

Yeah, that could roughly summarise the UK uni experience, I guess.

"Paradise Rot" has a very interesting way of describing sexuality through viscerality; it is a particular mindset you have to be. It is a semi-dream (nightmare) sequence which Hval executes with ease. It is also a sensory experience of a novella - smells, texture, colour. Perhaps that is why we also have all the mentions of piss - it is such a distinct liquid with which everyone is familiar (one could argue, while blood imagery may feel more impactful, how often do we - and excuse the weirdness of this - know or see the blood of others, in a way as intimate as the moments of peeing in this novel?) (I cannot believe I had that thought nor that I wrote this review).

Yeah, that could roughly summarise the UK uni experience, I guess.

"Paradise Rot" has a very interesting way of describing sexuality through viscerality; it is a particular mindset you have to be. It is a semi-dream (nightmare) sequence which Hval executes with ease. It is also a sensory experience of a novella - smells, texture, colour. Perhaps that is why we also have all the mentions of piss - it is such a distinct liquid with which everyone is familiar (one could argue, while blood imagery may feel more impactful, how often do we - and excuse the weirdness of this - know or see the blood of others, in a way as intimate as the moments of peeing in this novel?) (I cannot believe I had that thought nor that I wrote this review).

Stas

A decent and quick read. I enjoyed how increasingly dreamy and disturbing it got. However, I was under the impression it would a queer horror, and I'd say it barely leans into either of those which is a little disappointing.

Rebecca Bream

lesbians with a piss kink this is for you 

ayoni

not enough piss, maybe that’s why it was so dry

felicity hu

Weird, gross, damp, moldy and deeply atmospheric. 

Alli

If rotting in bed was taken literally. 

Weird, gross, damp, moldy and deeply atmospheric. 

So. Much. Piss. 



Ryan Mateyk

Came for the vibes, stayed for the piss (which I could’ve handled more of btw!)

Alex S

Based on my love of gay & weird books, I thought this would be a home run. But, the lack of plot and personality from any character made this nearly insufferable.

moist needs to be one of the book description words

Jaylee

that.. was... a vibe..., a rotting one. i commend Hval's atmosphere game. it's a whirlpool to another dimension full of rotting moldy stinky sticky (n mb kinky) things, kinda psychedelic, with real fungi mushrooming here and there. but well, there's a charm in bizarre disturbing things and this was quite a meta sensory experience.

lina d

The writing was equal parts beautiful and bizarre. My rating would probably be higher if not for the heavy-emphasis on urine and that one scene 

Kierce

Un libro que puedes oler. Una historia animal, feral y extraña que te permite identificar todo eso dentro de ti.

Alondra Ayon

michelle

isabella

y✦

✦ strangely in love with this book
✦ 1-sitting read
✦ a 𝙢𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙩, modern version of eden
✦ milton found weeping, turning in his grave
✦ alexa, play in a week by hozier

Ziggy

sticky icky ooey gooey yucky and yummy but a lil too much piss-y

A lyrical fever dream! Blurred lines, deep yearning, subtle horror, explicit surrealism, and sensual descriptions. I felt the humidity, moss, skin, and, yes...if you've read any other reviews...multiple liquids.

Emiley Jones

As a Norwegian musician turned writer, this novel reads appropriately like poetry, like chronological puzzle pieces of a songwriter’s drafted verses, with the threading through-line of character. It is more lyric and consciousness than story, which some of my favorite books tend to be. The ominous haunting of rotting, both physical and emotional, is a particularly poetic inclusion—I am a fan of the way it is both metaphoric and real, both inferred and explicit. I found myself wanting more, so much more, particularly between Jo and Carral, somtimes to the point where the narrative became frustrating, but it is clear from the beginning that 

 could never be, something would always be rotten there, and Jo enjoyed the ride, which is all a reader can ask for, I suppose. Jo as a narrator (& Jenny Hval as writer, Marjam Idriss as translator) proves to be a unique voice I wouldn’t necessarily be immediately drawn to, had this book not been on a reading list I found, but I am glad to have read it. While it’s not a book I see myself picking up again, it is an excellent point of reference for the way a motif can build and build and build until the motif itself is more important than anything else. The novel is less story and narrative and more viscera, grotesque; a surrealist painting of a rotten paradise.

As a Norwegian musician turned writer, this novel reads appropriately like poetry, like chronological puzzle pieces of a songwriter’s drafted verses, with the threading through-line of character. It is more lyric and consciousness than story, which some of my favorite books tend to be. The ominous haunting of rotting, both physical and emotional, is a particularly poetic inclusion—I am a fan of the way it is both metaphoric and real, both inferred and explicit. I found myself wanting more, so much more, particularly between Jo and Carral, somtimes to the point where the narrative became frustrating, but it is clear from the beginning that more could never be, something would always be rotten there, and Jo enjoyed the ride, which is all a reader can ask for, I suppose. Jo as a narrator (& Jenny Hval as writer, Marjam Idriss as translator) proves to be a unique voice I wouldn’t necessarily be immediately drawn to, had this book not been on a reading list I found, but I am glad to have read it. While it’s not a book I see myself picking up again, it is an excellent point of reference for the way a motif can build and build and build until the motif itself is more important than anything else. The novel is less story and narrative and more viscera, grotesque; a surrealist painting of a rotten paradise.

Paradise Rot A Novel

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