I’m reading the profane and very funny novel, “Bunny” by Mona Awad, which has nothing to do with the COVID crisis and everything to do with being observant/irreverent/a writer. It’s contemporary, though yesterday it occurred to me that it is simultaneously a historical novel—like a time-capsule from the recent past when it was still usual to gather in small groups called workshops, fling oneself at strangers, hold another person close at a Tango class. Remember that world from two weeks ago? Awad’s warped and mean sense of humor feels like a balm to me, a way of escaping the heavy seriousness for a minute.

Mona Awad, BUNNY (Viking, 2019)