Mary and the Rabbit Dream by Noémi Kiss-Deáki
Review by Anne Meale (@bookfairywriter)
‘Ann Toft doesn’t realize her outlandish idea will not be enough to set the system on fire. Because the system can’t be set on fire. She doesn’t realize yet the system eats everyone, sooner or later, and especially the poor. Especially them.’
from ‘Mary and the Rabbit Dream’ by Noémi Kiss-Deáki (Galley Beggar Press 2024)
I confess I was unaware of the story of Mary Toft, subject of eighteenth-century gossip columns and attempted Mummy Doe, until I immersed myself in Kiss-Deáki’s debut novel, an offbeat and curious amalgamation of worlds three hundred years apart.
But as I lay in bed, book illuminated by the dim table lamp, I asked myself: did I really want to invest time reading what was clearly a gruesome topic, set during a period of history that had never before captured my interest, involving a set of characters that had actually existed but whose affairs were being part-fictionalised between plum-coloured covers? Was this going to be an interminable trudge through a fusty fable of yore?
After I completed the book in two sittings, I castigated myself for having been so judgemental; reading this gem of a story is like taking a shower and being doused in lemon verbena words. Everything about it is refreshing, from its structure to the vocabulary to the style – I finish my literary ablutions bathed in originality and drops of charm.
The subject matter is a challenging one: the true story of Mary Toft of Godalming, who after chasing a longed-for rabbit in the fields, claimed to subsequently give birth to several of the species, her implausible declarations drawing eminent doctors to her like misers to piles of gold. Without divulging spoilers as to the verity of her leporine bundles, the talebearer of the 1720s managed to ridicule the hitherto-hallowed of the medical profession, bulldozing the careers of associated surgeons in her bonneted wake.
But ‘Mary and the Rabbit Dream’ does not read like a well-thumbed history textbook. The plot itself is indeed a unique one, an entrancing one, but the magic is in the telling. Kiss-Deáki brings with her sharp wit and distinct narrative flow a symbiotic relationship of terminology separated by three centuries:
‘…by now, the esteemed gentlemen have grown tired of being forced to travel to Guildford. They have been forced to travel to Guildford for a short period of time, but still, they are growing tired of it. They are also tired of Mr Howard being much obliged, bowing deep and kissing ass.’
The way she composes, it neither jars nor protrudes. The modern-day lexicon is a spark, alights and attracts attention to two eras that may at times contrast, but also reveal perpetual similarities. Clickbait is clickbait. Notoriety and fame is money. Or not – it all depends on the background of the victim.
Repetition is one of the tools Kiss-Deáki uses to display expressive style. It is astonishingly effective, sentences being repeated, extended, emphasised; one would think it might hold back the narrative, but it does quite the opposite. The writing gleams, it pops.
Simultaneously, the author reveals a character’s thoughts, how they were regarded at the time and how they are viewed in retrospect. What skill Kiss-Deáki has in her ability to gift glimpses as to how everything plays out in the future, but interestingly without releasing spoilers as to the unfolding of the tale. From the start, we know what is coming, yet we are at the same time ignorant, glued to the plot, impatient to find out what unfolds.
The cast of the diabolical scenes are a joy – even the seedy ones, and of those there are many. Mary herself is depicted in a way that, perhaps not deserving of empathy, nevertheless receives it from the reader. We know who the bad guys are. And don’t even start me on the mother-in-law.
‘They think Mary is a carousel, a carousel for anyone to take a ride in.
A carousel of flesh, to take an educative ride in.
But Mary is not a carousel. Mary is suffering, everyone thinks she is in labour, and yet, there is no respect in the room.
None whatsoever.’
Mary Toft is treated as a scientific specimen, an inconsequential bystander, her feelings neither here nor there. The only thing the women of the village and the surgeons see about Mary is the swelling of her womb and their careers and purses.
Toft is the one who should have been lauded in society had the story played out as initially planned. But in their own minds, that importance goes to the doctors that surround her bed. Everything happens to Mary but is not about Mary – of that, the fame-hungry, power-playing doctors ensure.
The novel has an air of humour and frivolity, but one does not need to scratch far below the surface to discover deeper themes. From start to finish we are consumed by the exploitation displayed by all of the characters to some degree. Lack of money equates to the inability to fight back or have a voice. Abusers are abundant:
‘Sir Manningham wanting to examine Mary and Sir Manningham examining Mary are the same thing.
There is no question or delay between intention and action.
Intention and action are the same.’
‘Mary and the Rabbit Dream’ is a many-layered story, a delicious frolic through the absurdity and quirkiness of life, with lessons to learn about gullibility and how we view and treat others less fortunate; a tale of have and have-nots, rich and poor, susceptible and conniving, vulnerable and predatory.
Not seeing is believing. Lying is merely a necessary part of the game.
If you’d like to purchase Mary and the Rabbit Dream, it is available from the UK publisher, Galley Beggar Press, or from Amazon (who will give us a modest kickback if you go through that link or the one on the image above and make a purchase).
About the reviewer: Anne Meale has been writing stories since childhood. She is currently working on her first draft of a novel, inspired by family holidays to Catalonia, and has also used this beautiful setting for flash and short stories. She has been tackling all genres of writing to give her a more rounded experience, but especially enjoys writing historical fiction and conducting the research required for it. Anne lives with her family in the North-East of Scotland and is an A.S.N. teacher. Her ultimate ambition is to write full-time, but she is having fun trying nevertheless! Anne can be found on Instagram at @bookfairywriter.