The Rabbits

'Immensely captivating and original' The Guardian

'A poetically written domestic drama with a wonderful magical-realist twist' Daily Mail***
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How do you make sense of the loss of those you love the most?

Delia Rabbit is already struggling to juggle three wayward children, a damaged relationship with her mother and an ill-advised affair with one of her students. Then her sixteen-year-old son Charlie vanishes in the middle of a blistering Brisbane heatwave. The family reels from the loss, as twenty-year-old Olive descends into hedonism and eleven-year-old Benjamin clings ever tighter to his superhero obsession.

However, Charlie's disappearance is stranger than it seems. And while his family search desperately for him, he may be closer than they think . . .

A multigenerational tale of motherhood, grief and the tribulations of adolescence, The Rabbits weaves a thread of magic into a classic family drama novel.

Autorentext

Sophie Overett is an award-winning writer, editor, podcaster and cultural producer based in Melbourne, Australia. She won the 2020 Penguin Australia Literary Prize and the 2018 AAWP Emerging Writer Prize. The Rabbits is her first novel.

Klappentext

A literary fiction novel with a touch of magical realism, The Rabbits speaks to universally relatable themes of grief, loss, and thorny family dynamics through a cast of memorable characters.

Zusammenfassung
A literary fiction novel with a touch of magical realism, The Rabbits speaks to universally relatable themes of grief, loss, and thorny family dynamics through a cast of memorable characters.

Leseprobe

‘God, your mum’s a dick.’ 

Olive makes a vague noise of agreement as Lux takes one final drag from the cigarette she pinched from Olive, before dropping it to the ground, stepping on it and killing the last bright lick of flame. 

‘I don’t even know how you handle it. Like, if my mum ever tried that shit with me, I’d go off.’ 

Even the thought of that makes an amused smile tug at the corner of Olive’s mouth as she glances down the loading bay, taking a long drag on her own cigarette. It’s not that she doesn’t think Lux is capable of it, exactly, more that it’d just never happen in the first place. She doesn’t know all that much about Lux’s parents, but she knows they don’t really seem to give a shit about what she does. 

Shifting her weight, Olive bites back a wince. The ride to work that morning had been gruelling – had left her ropey calves aching, her thighs chafed, and maybe she should’ve taken Delia up on the lift, but then again even the thought of twenty minutes trapped in the car with her had left her blood running hot. She shuffles her feet against the dirty concrete. 

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Olive says, taking another quick drag. ‘I’m moving in with my dad soon anyway.’ 

Lux instantly perks up. 

‘Oh yeah? Is he cute?’ 

Olive coughs before she can help it, spluttering smoke, and when Lux starts cackling Olive rolls her eyes, shoving the other girl into the brick wall of O’Malley’s. 

‘Doesn’t he have, like, a total bachelor pad these days?’ 

The question comes so suddenly that Olive blinks, her mind scrambling to remember where she and Lux left off. 

‘He has his own apartment,’ she counters, because that’s not the same as a bachelor pad. Hell, he even has a girlfriend living with him now. She takes a shorter, sharper drag at the thought, folding her free arm around her skinny waist. ‘Just since my mum kicked him out.’ 

‘Why’d your mum kick him out?’ 

‘Because she’s a cunt.’ 

It leaves her like another flung stone, and there’s that dragging feeling again, the heavy one that sinks something in her low, as Lux chokes on a laugh. 

‘Dad said I could move in once he got settled,’ she adds quickly. ‘It’s not like I’m a kid he’s got to watch out for like Banjo or Charlie.’ 

Lux hums, and it’s soft at the edges, placating almost, and Olive watches as she pulls her phone from the back pocket of her work pants and taps out a message to someone. It’s just as quick then, the flush that burns up Olive’s cheeks. The air around the loading bay suddenly feels swampy, claustrophobic, and she fumbles for a new topic, a better story, one that might keep Lux’s attention. But what else has she got to say? 

Hey, you know about that sale on avocados? 

Do you know lightning doesn’t need rain to strike? 

Her fingers twitch around her cigarette, and she’s opening her mouth to say something when the back door cracks open and Mindy’s head pokes out, her hand against her forehead to ward off the midday glare, her eyes searching. She brightens when she spots them.

‘Olive, can I grab you for a bit?’ 

‘She’s on break,’ Lux replies loudly, not looking up from her phone, and Mindy gives her an unimpressed look in reply. 

‘She’s on smoko, not break,’ Mindy says curtly. Her gaze pivots back to Olive, and she holds the door open a little wider. ‘Please, I just need a hand.’ 

The shrill cries of lorikeets and the rolling warbles of magpies sound overhead, and not for the first time Olive wishes she could see them. She finds her gaze drifting up above the stagnant heat of the loading bay, but the walls are too high, and the trees that house the birds are hidden by the surrounding buildings and a billboard advertising a movie Olive won’t see. 

She drops her cigarette beside Lux’s dead one, stamping it out.

‘Yeah, ’course.’ 
Mindy offers her a grateful smile in reply, pushing the door open a little wider so Olive can slip in behind her. It’s too easy to do it then, to nod Lux off, ignoring her irritated look, and maybe it’s also a relief to not have to think of a way to keep her attention anymore. To let Mindy hold her own instead with chatter about store politics and the latest dumb idea Frank’s come up with to help them compete with bigger, louder chains. 

The air conditioning is welcome too. The cool air nipping at Olive’s face and neck and licking down the back of her shirt as Mindy leads her down the bland corridor of O’Malley’s. The vinyl floor squeaks beneath their rubber soles, and the harsh, unrelenting store fluorescents make Mindy’s dark hair shine.

They pass a few open doors – the staffroom, the cleaning cupboard, the bathroom – before Mindy stops in front of one of the coolrooms, pushes it open, and— 

God. 

Olive gasps at the smell. 

‘I know,’ Mindy groans, stepping inside. ‘I hate to ask again, it’s just that we got it done so quickly yesterday.’ 

‘How’s it all off already?’ 

It’s unmistakable – not just the smell, but the sludge coating the bottom shelves of the fridge – sunken zucchinis and shrivelled green beans, capsicums warped almost beyond recognition. Something tacky gently slaps against her wrist, and Olive glances down to see Mindy offering her a pair of gloves, and figures, Olive thinks, snapping them on. 

‘It’s just the heat, that’s all.’