KITTEN: my debut novel

I sold my book! On my birthday!!

What else is there to say but this? My debut novel went to auction on my 27th birthday. London had broken into sun for the first time in weeks, and all the people on the street were carrying flowers (it was also Valentine’s day). As someone who reads far too much into signs¹, this seemed like the biggest gift from the universe. I could say something about getting older. I could write about the persistence of dreams through the passage of time. But right now, the only thing worth saying is something I’ve been wanting to say for a while: my debut novel is officially forthcoming from Random House!!!

Okay, I lied, I have a lot more to say. The book is called KITTEN. It’s about a woman (fresh from college, far from home) who becomes obsessed with her boyfriend’s cat. Her attraction escalates when she goes on vacation with said boyfriend (older, wealthy) to his family house by the sea. The ensuing class dysphoria + an abrupt move-out from her roommate back in New York + the one-year anniversary of her fall-out with her unwell mother, who resents her for leaving home = a mind that is very susceptible to the antics of a manic little animal. And while her fixation starts off as harmlessly amusing, it soon gives way to startling consequences.

Here’s a moodboard-in-progress:

I wanted the novel to command the humor of the devastatingly naive yet self-assured girl-in-discovery of Elif Batuman’s The Idiot, the charged class dynamics and “what will she do next” of Emma Cline’s The Guest, the delicate and earnest exploration of sadness and beauty of Banana Yoshimoto, and the off-kilter playfulness of Melissa Broder and Ottessa Moshfegh (one wonderful editor described this book as “My Year of Rest and Relaxation with more heart, Sigrid Nunez’s The Friend with more edge.” I am reading The Friend right now and believe this was far too generous a comparison to make.).

This book is rooted in my life-long fascination with the non-human and the cute—and their penchant for grossness. I think often about what our attitude towards the seemingly helpless, be it a baby or a parent, signifies about our self-perception and broader anxieties, particularly as they intersect with class, family, and race. I’m intrigued by the interpersonal politics of helplessness: who gets to be an agent in their own life? How does that affect how we love and care for other people? How do we sit within our own helplessness—for we are all helpless to something—without becoming thwarted by it?

It goes without saying that writing this book has taught me so much about what I can do for my own life. But selling it has shown me the serendipitous and generous impact that other people make on my life. Like the fact that you’re here, reading my writing (if you’ve ever left a kind comment, or shared my work, know that my heart warms every. single. time.). My community on my literary TikTok channel, where I met most of my writing group, who have supported this book from the very first chapter. My first ever publishing job, which I only held for a year, where I met an editor who would, much later, give me indispensable advice during the querying process. The friend who, in my senior year, encouraged me to apply last-minute to an internship at a literary agency, which led me to said publishing job.

I could go on and on and back and back. The point is, I’m consistently surprised by and grateful for the way nothing happens in a vacuum. Life seems to change all the time, in meaningful, imperceptible ways, until one day you see it—you realize everything you did mattered and took you to the place you are now. More than that: the people you met, those paths that crossed, they brought you here, too, proof of something greater and realer and more possible than your self.

Now I’m laughing because not only am I being so incredibly cheesy, I’m also thinking about that meme where it’s like, me sowing: fuck yeah!! me reaping: fuck this. But contrary to the logic of the meme, this time I sowed something good.

Thank you so much for reading. I mean it. I can’t wait to share KITTEN with you soon*. <3

*In 18-24 months time. Publishing!

1. My very first sign of many delusional signs throughout this process was when the actress who played Frances from Conversations with Friends sat opposite me on the train the day I sent out my first query, which OBVIOUSLY meant something, because Frances’s whole arc is becoming a writer and suffering a lot, two modes perfectly encapsulated by the act of cold emailing a bunch of agents and begging them to read your book. Also, even though I DNF’ed it the first time, Conversations with Friends was my comfort book through the writing of my novel, to the point where if I was feeling blocked I’d just flip it open to a random page and inspiration would strike magically, somehow. It’s now my favorite Rooney.

To be honest, I’m not sure if it was really her. But it would also be very Frances-coded to be mistaken for an actress when you are really just another brunette on a crowded train.