DONNAVILLE

A simmering rebellion breaks out in the city of the author’s mind.

Journalist Minkowitz’s mystical and imaginative debut novel conceives of her mind as a sprawling city full of degenerates, deities, and everything in between. The novel opens with Donna, or “The Narrator,” telling the reader that her therapist does not understand the “lush,” “sprawling,” and “strange” nature of her internal landscape, or what she calls Donnaville. She tells us that Donnaville has always cultivated resistance, and the reader is about to see “what happened when that resistance took flight.” The book contains a three-page list of characters—almost all of whom are parts of the author herself—the jailer, the harlequin, the divine mother, and the child, to name a few. Almost immediately, it’s clear that something is off in Donnaville: The harlequin, the city’s happiest, most beautiful citizen, asks himself “why…things feel wrong.” The citizens are restless and worrying and acting out of character—and the most important citizen is in danger. In the heart of Donnaville, there’s a prison, and in the heart of the prison, in the “most hidden and best-defended place in Donnaville,” lives the child. The child cannot be reached even by the most powerful citizens; she can only be touched with rage by the jailer, who believes his only purpose is to punish people. The divine mother knows the child is in even more danger than usual—and it’s up to the other citizens and deities to save her. Written in vignettes jampacked with tangents and asides, the novel jumps around Donnaville and the happenings of its citizens—which presents an often disorienting reading experience. That said, Minkowitz’s writing is especially strong when exploring identity, abuse, and the power that comes from breaking free of the prisons created for us and by us.

An unabashedly honest and queer debut that is equally strange and heartwarming.