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Junket
In these over-busy, stress-rich days, what sounds better than a stay at a high-end spa, complete with a much-needed change of scenery, in a warmer, gentler spot? The heroine of this latest story from beloved bestselling author Lauren Groff is offered just that: a few all-expenses-paid days of pampering at an Arizona retreat, far from the colorless cold of late winter in her hometown of Boston. Soon she’s squinting into desert sunlight, a kind of all-encompassing brightness she’s not known in years.
But relaxing is harder than it seems for Groff’s narrator, who, like so many of her unforgettable characters, is thrillingly complex and conflicted. A novelist, she’s been invited to the retreat to bring an air of intellectual sophistication—but only because a “far more famous writer” canceled at the last minute. She hasn’t had a full night’s sleep or written with any enthusiasm in months and is fresh from a breakup. Arriving with her guard up, she quickly becomes ill at ease with the wastefulness-in-the-name-of-luxury she sees around her, the complacency of the other guests—so wealthy she can barely relate to them or them to her—and the New Age spirituality on the overpriced spa menu. And yet something starts working on her. Maybe it’s the jarring beauty of the desert, the response to the reading she gives from her latest book, or even those New Age treatments she’s so suspicious of. Despite herself, her cynicism begins to soften.
And as it does so, she becomes overwhelmed by what she feels—and we are drawn into the existential and psychological terrain that Groff maps with such uncanny skill, providing piercing insight after insight into what it means to live among the twenty-first century’s environmental and socioeconomic crises. In Junket, as with her recent internationally celebrated novel Matrix, she conjures a woman at a crossroads who, rather than surrender to desolation, finds renewed courage and strength via her art, a path to a creative vision all her own, confirming once again that this three-time National Book Award finalist is a master of both the sublime and the subversive.
But relaxing is harder than it seems for Groff’s narrator, who, like so many of her unforgettable characters, is thrillingly complex and conflicted. A novelist, she’s been invited to the retreat to bring an air of intellectual sophistication—but only because a “far more famous writer” canceled at the last minute. She hasn’t had a full night’s sleep or written with any enthusiasm in months and is fresh from a breakup. Arriving with her guard up, she quickly becomes ill at ease with the wastefulness-in-the-name-of-luxury she sees around her, the complacency of the other guests—so wealthy she can barely relate to them or them to her—and the New Age spirituality on the overpriced spa menu. And yet something starts working on her. Maybe it’s the jarring beauty of the desert, the response to the reading she gives from her latest book, or even those New Age treatments she’s so suspicious of. Despite herself, her cynicism begins to soften.
And as it does so, she becomes overwhelmed by what she feels—and we are drawn into the existential and psychological terrain that Groff maps with such uncanny skill, providing piercing insight after insight into what it means to live among the twenty-first century’s environmental and socioeconomic crises. In Junket, as with her recent internationally celebrated novel Matrix, she conjures a woman at a crossroads who, rather than surrender to desolation, finds renewed courage and strength via her art, a path to a creative vision all her own, confirming once again that this three-time National Book Award finalist is a master of both the sublime and the subversive.
27 pages, Audiobook
First published February 25, 2022
About the author
Lauren Groff
54 books6,700 followersLauren Groff was born in Cooperstown, N.Y. and grew up one block from the Baseball Hall of Fame. She graduated from Amherst College and has an MFA in fiction from the University of Wisconsin-Madison.
Her short stories have appeared or are forthcoming in a number of journals, including The Atlantic Monthly, Ploughshares, Glimmer Train, Hobart, and Five Points as well as in the anthologies Best American Short Stories 2007, Pushcart Prize XXXII, and Best New American Voices 2008.
She was awarded the Axton Fellowship in Fiction at the University of Louisville, and has had residencies and fellowships at Yaddo and the Vermont Studio Center.
She lives in Gainesville, Florida, with her husband, Clay, and her dog, Cooper.
Her short stories have appeared or are forthcoming in a number of journals, including The Atlantic Monthly, Ploughshares, Glimmer Train, Hobart, and Five Points as well as in the anthologies Best American Short Stories 2007, Pushcart Prize XXXII, and Best New American Voices 2008.
She was awarded the Axton Fellowship in Fiction at the University of Louisville, and has had residencies and fellowships at Yaddo and the Vermont Studio Center.
She lives in Gainesville, Florida, with her husband, Clay, and her dog, Cooper.
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
September 25, 2023
And then the Mother woman takes a deep breath and, making her voice ever softer, says, Darling, you can tell me. You have been sexually abused? Lord, the writer thinks even as the breath stops in her lungs, there is nothing like the words ‘sexual abuse’ to stop an epic hemorrhaging of tears. No? she says, surprised. She thinks back to the cold childhood room with the drafts through the ancient windows, it was all lonely, only ghosts ever visited her there.
É verdade que não nos rimos todos das mesmas coisas, e a baixa pontuação deste conto aqui, no GR, comprova que realmente o humor é uma coisa muito subjectiva. A maioria detestou esta pequena sátira e, eu que nem sou apreciadora do género, acho que Lauren Groff, bem-dita seja, tem um cérebro artilhado como o meu. Nem a capa de “Junket” é inocente, já que a protagonista é de facto uma pessoa melindrosa que se eriça facilmente e vai dando as suas ferroadas ao mundo em geral, nem que seja apenas na sua mente.
Later, the father holds his spent plastic cup and snack waste straight out, taking up space in front of the writer that is not his own, blocking her Proust, while the flight attendant is still ten rows away with her trash bag, he shakes his hand impatiently, clearly believing that women in aisle seats are placed there by the gods of sport to hold his garbage until another woman comes along to whisk it away. (…)The writer looks at his arm and wants to put her mouth on it and bite down until she draws blood, until she bites down to the bone.
Apesar das suas reticências, a protagonista de “Junket”, uma escritora infeliz com o inverno e com o fim de uma relação, aceita um convite para uns dias num retiro no Arizona, um daqueles sítios New Age, cheio de gente chique, que dá, desde logo, azo a um choque de classes.
Gratitude to people like these women who have everything would probably mean that they are so cognizant of the astonishing luck they have been born into that they have no choice but to become Florence Nightingale, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Dolly Parton, or a host of lesser lights who care for the sick and sad and imperiled. Yet this is not seemingly what is meant, because none of these women are saints. If they were, they wouldn’t be here.
É, de facto, um conto extremamente rico em temáticas, mas todas elas trazidas a propósito, seja a da crise climática…
Water is meant to be calming, and they have an artificial river running through the campus, but to any mind as outraged by climate change as hers, it is impossible to see the peace and tranquility in it, she sees only the way the desert’s heat and dryness peel the surface of the water up and away, hundreds of gallons evaporating every second, the astonishing waste of what is the most precious thing in this place, the astonishing arrogance. Perhaps it isn’t the water that is the calming thing, she thinks. Perhaps, to rich people, it is the waste itself that is calming.
…seja a da espiritualidade duvidosa…
She is humming with energy. You’re not the cynic you pretend to be, she mutters, hip-checking, briefly squeezing. Yes I am, she thinks, but something here is working on her, she doesn’t say it aloud. AND YET. AND YET. So much of this spirituality stuff is bullshit, it’d almost be offensive if it didn’t feel so good.
…ou até mesmo a da inspiração, que não pode faltar numa história sobre escritores.
Perhaps her art, the one thing that has never disappointed her, unlike her parents, her friends, her men, her cat, unlike even her own intelligence and kindness, can be prodded to dancing again.
O forte deste conto é, porém, o tom cáustico mas sincero de alguém que é cínico mas não hipócrita na sua rendição ao bom do capitalismo:
She still smells like sage on the tender pulse point of her wrist. Which means, she knows, she smells like money, which smells like freedom, which smells like the ability to hold herself gloriously aloof, to hold herself solitary and perfect, to sit in silence as the night tips to dawn, to stare all the way out, and then all the way back.
É verdade que não nos rimos todos das mesmas coisas, e a baixa pontuação deste conto aqui, no GR, comprova que realmente o humor é uma coisa muito subjectiva. A maioria detestou esta pequena sátira e, eu que nem sou apreciadora do género, acho que Lauren Groff, bem-dita seja, tem um cérebro artilhado como o meu. Nem a capa de “Junket” é inocente, já que a protagonista é de facto uma pessoa melindrosa que se eriça facilmente e vai dando as suas ferroadas ao mundo em geral, nem que seja apenas na sua mente.
Later, the father holds his spent plastic cup and snack waste straight out, taking up space in front of the writer that is not his own, blocking her Proust, while the flight attendant is still ten rows away with her trash bag, he shakes his hand impatiently, clearly believing that women in aisle seats are placed there by the gods of sport to hold his garbage until another woman comes along to whisk it away. (…)The writer looks at his arm and wants to put her mouth on it and bite down until she draws blood, until she bites down to the bone.
Apesar das suas reticências, a protagonista de “Junket”, uma escritora infeliz com o inverno e com o fim de uma relação, aceita um convite para uns dias num retiro no Arizona, um daqueles sítios New Age, cheio de gente chique, que dá, desde logo, azo a um choque de classes.
Gratitude to people like these women who have everything would probably mean that they are so cognizant of the astonishing luck they have been born into that they have no choice but to become Florence Nightingale, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Dolly Parton, or a host of lesser lights who care for the sick and sad and imperiled. Yet this is not seemingly what is meant, because none of these women are saints. If they were, they wouldn’t be here.
É, de facto, um conto extremamente rico em temáticas, mas todas elas trazidas a propósito, seja a da crise climática…
Water is meant to be calming, and they have an artificial river running through the campus, but to any mind as outraged by climate change as hers, it is impossible to see the peace and tranquility in it, she sees only the way the desert’s heat and dryness peel the surface of the water up and away, hundreds of gallons evaporating every second, the astonishing waste of what is the most precious thing in this place, the astonishing arrogance. Perhaps it isn’t the water that is the calming thing, she thinks. Perhaps, to rich people, it is the waste itself that is calming.
…seja a da espiritualidade duvidosa…
She is humming with energy. You’re not the cynic you pretend to be, she mutters, hip-checking, briefly squeezing. Yes I am, she thinks, but something here is working on her, she doesn’t say it aloud. AND YET. AND YET. So much of this spirituality stuff is bullshit, it’d almost be offensive if it didn’t feel so good.
…ou até mesmo a da inspiração, que não pode faltar numa história sobre escritores.
Perhaps her art, the one thing that has never disappointed her, unlike her parents, her friends, her men, her cat, unlike even her own intelligence and kindness, can be prodded to dancing again.
O forte deste conto é, porém, o tom cáustico mas sincero de alguém que é cínico mas não hipócrita na sua rendição ao bom do capitalismo:
She still smells like sage on the tender pulse point of her wrist. Which means, she knows, she smells like money, which smells like freedom, which smells like the ability to hold herself gloriously aloof, to hold herself solitary and perfect, to sit in silence as the night tips to dawn, to stare all the way out, and then all the way back.
August 17, 2023
Coming out of my hiatus to tell you to skip this. Doesn’t matter how short it is.
I don’t know what this even was 🤷🏼♀️
I don’t know what this even was 🤷🏼♀️
August 29, 2024
Substack & Bookstagram
Lauren, love, with all due respect, what was that?
Lauren, love, with all due respect, what was that?
December 22, 2023
I'm not even sure what this was?
July 9, 2023
Short story about an author invited to a posh retreat to cover for another author who cancelled last minute. Explores wealth, wellness culture, environmental issues, and personal transformation. The tone is abstract, written in a way that is intentionally alien. The premise was interesting but not sure the conclusion delivered or if it missed the mark.
February 16, 2024
Junket was a tour de force of a novella, brought to life in a stunning audiobook edition by narrator Suehyla El-Attar Young with a voice not only pitch perfect but swinging wildly and beautiful between warm and conversation, deeply confused and as angry at the world as our unnamed (fictional) narrator known only as The Writer.
If you've ever had a mild breakdown because of climate change, ever raged at the uberrich and their private jets, ever read or written a book, Junket is for you.
If you've ever had a mild breakdown because of climate change, ever raged at the uberrich and their private jets, ever read or written a book, Junket is for you.
November 7, 2024
Honestly, it was poetic and descriptively written, but it was probably just lost on me. A couple parts were relatable, because I myself am skeptical and even marginally judgy when it comes to spa-type spiritual stuffs… but it seemed like she just couldn’t make up her mind whether it was effective or a hoax that was simply bought into. In the end, she felt better because….it was a spa…. She relaxed and she slept… Anyone would…
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 7, 2023
Short and relaxing, with a bit of modern day cynicism.
October 10, 2023
Not a bad story, but it read more like a book pitch than a finished story.
October 17, 2023
What was the point?
December 31, 2023
What even was this
December 31, 2023
I feel like I shouldn't even count this as "read" because it was so incomprehensible.
0.5 stars because I finished it and it was a 30min listen.
0.5 stars because I finished it and it was a 30min listen.
February 20, 2024
Enjoyable
Chilled
Interesting
Inspiring
Short story
Chilled
Interesting
Inspiring
Short story
March 11, 2024
More like a ~2.5 this was engaging and the audiobook narration was great but other than that, it didn’t blow me away.
June 23, 2024
The reader had a weakness for books with cacti on the cover. This particular one left the reader feeling sullied and confused.
No, seriously. This is a piece of disjointed junk.
No, seriously. This is a piece of disjointed junk.
July 2, 2024
This was a weird book, proceeded with caution
October 18, 2024
tough to rate, feels unfinished! some parts were just plain nonsensical.
July 22, 2023
What even was this-
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews