The Last Book I Loved: The Death of Bunny Munro


This novel is a delightfully raunchy tale. If you crave raunch; to be torn open and fucked up, The Death of Bunny Munro delivers.

Munro has all the elements I love. I love surprises. I love pussy. I love beautiful words. I love the tension. I read it to escape and wound up connecting very sadly with every character.

Cave carries a steady hand throughout, offering each of his characters a high level of honesty and flashing their worried selves, fallible selves, sincere selves three dimensionally on the page. Cave also seamlessly slips from the mind of an Avril Lavigne vagina obsessed salesman to the tender naïve mind of his nine-year old Encyclopedia enthralled son. If I had more time, and the copy of the novel I borrowed was actually mine, I would have liked to map out all these transitions, as I think Cave reached a level of mastery with them.

Another gem was Cave’s beautiful metaphors: the curtains hanging like “strips of uncooked meat”; the once totemic quiff that lies as “limp and insentient as roadkill.”

The downloadable enhanced ebook features video clips, Cave’s laconic narration, and Warren Ellis’s music; and will no doubt further enliven the engorged, vivid language. Whichever way you come to it, you’ll struggle to think of Avril Lavigne in quite the same way again.

When Melissa Chadburn is not teaching at UCSD, she can usually be found protesting somewhere. She has written for Guernica, SLAKE, Salon, McSweeney’s, American Public Media’s Marketplace, and a dozen other places. Her essay, "The Throwaways," was noted in 2013’s Best American Essays and Best American Nonrequired Reading. Follow her on twitter @melissachadburn. She loves your whole outfit right now. More from this author →