Sandwich Joe
“All I'm trying to say is, I didn't consent to being healed.”
The latest novel by Ling Ling Huang, Immaculate Conception, is a book like no other, even in the “weird lit” space. There's a lot to unpack in the novel, from classism to the performative nature (both literal and figurative) of the art world.
The commentary that affected me most, however, was the discussion of mental illness and consent with Enka's eventual consumption of Mathilde. As someone with a severe mental illness, I understand Mathilde's mindset. I can imagine what it would be like to be forced to surrender yourself to the mercy of someone who doesn't truly have your best interests at heart, all in the name of production and ROI. It's a brutal metaphor—watching Mathilde's body and autonomy become resources to be mined for the sake of art, all while her suffering is reframed as devotion.
Huang doesn't flinch from showing how easily care can be weaponized, especially when filtered through systems of power, performance, and prestige. This dynamic rang disturbingly true: how institutions (whether medical, artistic, or interpersonal) can coerce compliance under the guise of reverence or necessity. Immaculate Conception, it's not just weird for weirdness's sake. It's precise, purposeful, and cutting.
“All I'm trying to say is, I didn't consent to being healed.”
The latest novel by Ling Ling Huang, Immaculate Conception, is a book like no other, even in the “weird lit” space. There's a lot to unpack in the novel, from classism to the performative nature (both literal and figurative) of the art world.
The commentary that affected me most, however, was the discussion of mental illness and consent with Enka's eventual consumption of Mathilde. As someone with a severe mental illness, I understand Mathilde's mindset. I can imagine what it would be like to be forced to surrender yourself to the mercy of someone who doesn't truly have your best interests at heart, all in the name of production and ROI. It's a brutal metaphor—watching Mathilde's body and autonomy become resources to be mined for the sake of art, all while her suffering is reframed as devotion.
Huang doesn't flinch from showing how easily care can be weaponized, especially when filtered through systems of power, performance, and prestige. This dynamic rang disturbingly true: how institutions (whether medical, artistic, or interpersonal) can coerce compliance under the guise of reverence or necessity. Immaculate Conception, it's not just weird for weirdness's sake. It's precise, purposeful, and cutting.