Mona Awad’s “We Love You, Bunny” is a wickedly inventive sequel-prequel that transforms literary criticism into visceral horror while exploring the violent underbelly of creative ambition. Both standalone and deeply connected to its predecessor, this novel is a masterclass in unreliable narration wrapped in the silk ribbons of dark academia.
The Rabbit Hole Deepens
Five years after “Bunny” (2019) introduced us to the nightmarish world of an elite MFA program where literary workshopping meets actual witchcraft, Mona Awad plunges us back into Warren University’s toxic creative ecosystem. But this time, the tables have turned with delicious malice. Samantha Heather Mackey, our former protagonist turned successful author, finds herself kidnapped by her former classmates—the very “Bunnies” she once both feared and desired to join.
What follows is a reverse intervention of sorts, where the Bunnies take turns wielding both literal and metaphorical axes, forcing Sam to listen to their side of the story. The genius lies in Awad’s structure: each Bunny becomes narrator, revealing the events of the first novel through their warped perspectives while Sam remains bound and gagged—quite literally a captive audience.
A Literary Ouroboros
The novel’s most audacious achievement is its circular narrative structure. “We Love You, Bunny” functions simultaneously as prequel, sequel, and meta-commentary on the very act of storytelling itself. The Bunnies’ tales reveal the origin of their unholy alliance and their first violent creation, while the framing device of Sam’s kidnapping pushes the timeline forward. It’s a literary ouroboros that devours its own tail with gleeful abandon.
Awad’s prose maintains the fever-dream quality that made “Bunny” so compelling, but here she pushes the stylistic envelope even further. Each Bunny speaks in a distinct voice—from Coraline’s saccharine manipulation to Elsinore’s pretentious mysticism. The novel’s middle section, narrated by their conjured creation Aerius in archaic, capitalized English, is particularly bold, though occasionally tests reader patience with its affected style.
The Horror of Creation
Where “Bunny” explored the horror of conformity within creative circles, “We Love You, Bunny” digs deeper into the violence inherent in the creative process itself. The Bunnies don’t just workshop stories—they birth them in blood and viscera, their creations literally emerging from rabbit corpses in scenes that would make Cronenberg proud. Awad uses this surreal premise to examine how artists cannibalize experience, relationships, and even each other in service of their work.
The novel’s exploration of artistic exploitation feels particularly relevant in our current literary landscape. Sam’s success has come at the cost of exposing her classmates in print, transforming their trauma into bestseller material. The Bunnies’ revenge isn’t just personal—it’s professional, creative, and deeply feminist in its reclaiming of narrative agency.
Dark Academia Perfected
Awad has perfected the dark academia aesthetic without falling into its common traps. The New England setting isn’t just atmospheric window dressing but a character unto itself, with its “wrong trees” and “mind-fucking light” that distorts perception. The university workshop scenes crackle with authentic academic pretension and barely contained violence.
The novel’s most unsettling moments come not from its supernatural elements but from its painfully accurate portrayal of workshop culture—the performative intellectualism, the coded cruelty masked as constructive criticism, the way creative communities can become cults of personality. Anyone who has survived an MFA program will recognize the dynamics at play, even as they spiral into literal horror.
Narrative Innovation and Minor Missteps
Awad’s commitment to experimental storytelling sometimes creates obstacles for readers. The extended Aerius section, while thematically rich, occasionally feels indulgent in its stylistic affectations. The novel demands patience during these moments, though dedicated readers will find rewards in the way these seemingly tangential narratives fold back into the larger story.
The book’s structure as a series of confessions means character development can feel uneven. Some Bunnies receive more nuanced treatment than others, and Sam herself remains frustratingly opaque throughout much of the novel, existing more as catalyst than fully realized character.
Standing Among Literary Siblings
“We Love You, Bunny” positions itself confidently within Awad’s growing body of work. Readers familiar with her previous novels “All’s Well” (2021) and “Rouge” (2023) will recognize her preoccupation with female rage, body horror, and the price of artistic ambition. However, this latest offering showcases a more sophisticated approach to narrative structure and meta-textual commentary.
The novel functions brilliantly as a standalone work, providing enough context for new readers while rewarding those familiar with the first book. This accessibility, combined with its experimental approach, makes it a rare beast in contemporary fiction—genuinely innovative yet surprisingly readable.
The Verdict
“We Love You, Bunny” succeeds as both a satisfying continuation of the Bunny universe and a bold experiment in form. Awad has created something genuinely unique: a horror novel that’s also a love letter to literature, a sequel that interrogates the very concept of sequels, and a darkly comic examination of creative toxicity.
The novel isn’t without its flaws—the pacing occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own ambition, and some readers may find certain sections more challenging than rewarding. But these minor criticisms pale beside Awad’s remarkable achievement in creating a work that functions on multiple levels: as horror, as literary criticism, as feminist commentary, and as pure, twisted entertainment.
For readers craving something genuinely different in contemporary fiction, “We Love You, Bunny” delivers in spades. It’s a book that will haunt your dreams and make you question every writing workshop you’ve ever attended—which is exactly what the best horror should do.
Similar Reads
If “We Love You, Bunny” left you hungry for more, consider these companion texts:
“The Secret History” by Donna Tartt – The gold standard of dark academia fiction
“My Education” by Susan Choi – Another exploration of obsessive academic relationships
“Ninth House” by Leigh Bardugo – Supernatural elements meet university setting
“The Idiot” by Elif Batuman – A more grounded but equally sharp look at university pretension
“Mexican Gothic” by Silvia Moreno-Garcia – Atmospheric horror with feminist themes
“Normal People” by Sally Rooney – Toxic relationship dynamics in academic settings (minus the supernatural elements)