Woo woo, p.1
Woo Woo, page 1
PRAISE FOR
WOO WOO
‘Thrillingly weird, squirming with life and throbbing with rage, Woo Woo often had me breathless and vibrating with delight. An incandescent howl of a book.’
EMILY MAGUIRE, author of Rapture
‘Woo Woo—what a delight. Richly dark and funny, this exploration of art and meaning, of the feminine experience, of modern madness had me stopping to catch my breath. Brilliant, original and loaded with the unexpected.’
SOFIE LAGUNA, author of Infinite Splendours
‘Visceral, hyperreal and hilarious—there is no book like Woo Woo and no writer like Ella Baxter. I loved every single stunning sentence.’
PAIGE CLARK, author of She Is Haunted
‘Baxter has somehow managed to create a work that is both lavishly excessive and tightly restrained. Woo Woo is a surreal fever dream but also an astute domestic portrait. It’s genuinely terrifying and laugh-out-loud funny. I’ve never read anything quite like it.’
ANNA SNOEKSTRA, author of Out of Breath
‘Ella Baxter has created a frightening, brilliant and utterly invigorating novel, something that radiates, darkly, on your bedside table. Her sentences gleam like a knife held at night. Woo Woo captures the psychology of making art in the present, to be cut up and devoured online, flayed between discourse and obscene acts live-streamed.’
PAUL DALLA ROSA, author of An Exciting and Vivid Inner Life
‘Ella Baxter’s second novel is brilliant and profane, pretty much guaranteed to provoke the provokable and delight people who like weird feelings and private thoughts. It’s a wildly entertaining book, surprising on every page, and it dares you to wonder what the difference is, in life, between the dark bits and the fun bits.’
RONNIE SCOTT, author of Shirley
‘Woo Woo is sharp and heady, the kind of writing that makes you feel slightly drunk and bewitched. Its exploration of creativity as a gothic haunting, as an indignity to be endured, is delicious, delightfully revolting and unlike anything you’ve read before.’
SINÉAD STUBBINS, author of In My Defence, I Have No Defence
‘A primal scream of selfhood into the toilet bowl of the art world. Feral, guttural.’
WILL COX, author of Hyacinth
‘Sharp, clever, and wickedly funny, Baxter’s Woo Woo is an unsettling delight.’
MONICA DUX, author of Lapsed
‘Equal parts freakshow and feast, artistic haunting and portrait of the artist as huntress—not to mention, funny as fuck. Ella Baxter’s prose is a force of nature.’
LAURA ELIZABETH WOOLLETT, author of West Girls
‘Woo Woo and its glorious, propulsive, feral protagonist mark a new frontier in fiction, where everything beautiful is laid out like a picnic, and we stomp on it. This book is hungry and hilarious, with prose so exquisite it makes me scream. I am in awe of Ella Baxter and her spectacular brain.’
LAURA MCPHEE-BROWNE, author of Little Plum
PRAISE FOR
NEW ANIMAL
‘New Animal is a wild, moving and original debut—and like the best bits of sex and funerals, it’s very, very funny.’
ROBERT LUKINS, author of Loveland
‘If Six Feet Under was transplanted into small-town Australia and centred on a mordantly hilarious mortuary cosmetician in the throes of her Saturn return, it might look something like New Animal. Ella Baxter’s prose is clear, confident, and delectably off-kilter, and Amelia is one of the most memorable heroines I’ve encountered in a long time. Sex, death, humour, and heart—this novel has it all.’
LAURA ELIZABETH WOOLLETT, author of West Girls
‘So complex is Amelia’s character and narration that as I read New Animal, I found myself squirming with discomfort, sniggering at the earthy and often incongruous humour, and tearing up—often at the same time. New Animal is an unputdownable read, which will linger with you long after you’ve torn through the pages.’
ERIN HORTLE, author of The Octopus and I
‘Equal parts profound and profane. Somehow both darkly hilarious and just plain dark. Baxter gives you everything you want in a debut—fresh ideas, fresh language, and fresh blood. She has officially exploded into the literary scene. I shrieked with laughter and horror. New Animal is a book for anyone who’s struggled with the interminable disconnect between brain and body. I tore through this and I guarantee you will too.’
BRI LEE, author of Eggshell Skull and The Work
‘A novel about having so much grief you want to break your body to match your heart. New Animal is funny, raw, gutsy and stealthily sweet. I sobbed my way through the last few pages and was left feeling bruised, but also wiser, braver and more generous.’
EMILY MAGUIRE, author of Love Objects
‘Baxter has crafted a study of grief that hits very close to the bone.’
Marie Claire
‘With its pitch-black humour and the narrator’s sexual escapades, Ella Baxter’s debut novel, New Animal, has all the hallmarks of a literary sensation … this is a fearless and remarkable debut.’
The Weekend Australian
‘Beautifully dark … this novel is a character portrait that honours the body and treats it as a sentimental item we leave behind.’
Arts Hub
‘New Animal is a rendering of a complex moment in time … Baxter details the pain of attempted connection particularly eloquently.’
Books + Publishing
‘Baxter has created a dark, beautiful, wild and engaging read with an incredible ending to match. If you enjoy bold contemporary Australian fiction, read it—as long as you’re prepared to hide your blush if reading on public transport.’
Readings
‘Trying to escape trauma by running away is hardly a new narrative concept, but Baxter’s writing is so forthright, her protagonist so raw and unmediated in her feelings … that New Animal makes for compelling reading … an intense, viscerally affecting book.’
The Sydney Morning Herald
‘A propulsive and beautifully written debut that offers moving observations on grief, relationships and family dynamics.’
The West Australian
‘Wild, original, deeply uncomfortable, laugh-out loud funny, wise, profane, raw and gutsy … [Baxter] is unafraid to write a female protagonist that is gutsy and confronting and who makes choices that the reader may find unusual.’
Cass Moriarty (blog)
‘Original and engrossing in style and characterisation, Ella Baxter offers incredible insight into humanity and its multitudes of emotions.’
Jess Just Reads (blog)
‘This story is unique and compelling. New Animal is funny, sad, and illuminating about the nature of mourning. There is fiction about grief and then there is Ella Baxter’s New Animal. Truly stunning.’
Buzzfeed
‘There’s a compelling quality to [Amelia’s] honesty that recalls Raven Leilani’s Luster or the sex-addicted eponymous narrator of Leila Slimani’s Adèle. As with these books, Baxter focuses on the ways in which pain works its way through the body.’
SARAH GILMARTIN, The Irish Times
‘At turns a rollicking sexual romp almost slapstick in its intensity and an existential meditation filled with the languid profundity of bodies at their final rest, this unusual novel navigates the most treacherous of emotional territories—the fault lines between love and grief, sex and death—with a deliberate lack of grace and real charm. A tragicomic debut by an impressive new voice.’
Kirkus Reviews
‘Australian writer Baxter debuts with a raw and mordant story of a woman processing her grief, sexuality, and family relationships … Baxter delicately balances the emotional heft of the situation with dark humor and finds clever ways to push Amelia toward coming to terms with her limits. It adds up to a convincing look at a young woman’s path toward self-acceptance.’
Publishers Weekly
‘Ella’s prose will grip you and not let go. This debut novel is vivid, raw, smart, darkly comic and genuinely unforgettable. Tightly wrought images will haunt you long after you close the book.’
Literary Hub
‘A startling and intense meditation on sex, death and the uncontrollable responses a body has to both, New Animal is an arresting literary debut.’
ALICE MARTIN, Shelf Awareness, starred review
‘For fans of Sally Rooney’s brand of millennial malaise and Six Feet Under’s tragicomic take on the mortuary business, New Animal is at turns graphic, raw and tender—a wholly human exploration of the Venn diagram of emotion.’
PureWow
‘Baxter takes on a refreshingly real and acerbic tone in her portrayal of Amelia, exploring the inner psyche of a young woman attempting to piece together her existence in the modern world … New Animal offers a new take on the aging millennial novel.’
Cleveland Review of Books
‘Baxter’s character eloquently pulls the mask from not only the face of the death industry, but grief’s face as well. A wonderful novel, New Animal is a groundbreaking, holistic call for reform, mostly of the self.’
Southern Review of Books
‘Baxter’s prose is a living thing, wild and snarling, its jagged claws and honed teeth unforgiving and relentless. Amelia stokes empathy as a woman seeking absolution down dead ends. Her codependency and repression are addressed in frank terms and every beat of dark comedy is paired with an empathetic wince as Amelia forces herself past her limits. New Animal is at turns graphic, disturbing, and tender—in other words: human.’
Foreword Reviews
‘In her incredible debut, Baxter combines dark humor with a complex protagonist and bold narration to both astound and devastate her readers. Amelia is a memorable heroine who is raw with grief as she struggles with and explores the paradox of finding harmony in the dichotomy of life and death.’
Booklist
‘Self-destructive anti-heroines are in vogue, but what Amelia’s story makes clear is how under-represented female sexuality still is.’
The Telegraph
‘This is writing that is sharp and fearlessly chaotic, grappling with the depths humans go to for mere illusion of control. Luridly funny and always surprising, New Animal takes on the promise of catharsis—and upends it entirely.’
The Skinny
‘One of 2022’s most exciting debuts, New Animal is a blistering, darkly funny account of its narrator’s eventful attempt to outrun her grief, in a 72-hour exploration of sex, death and pain.’
Harper’s Bazaar
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First published in 2024
Copyright © Ella Baxter 2024
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
This work was supported by the City of Melbourne arts grants. The work has also been assisted by the Australian Government through Creative Australia, its principal arts investment and advisory body.
This project is supported by the Victorian Government through Creative Victoria.
Allen & Unwin
Cammeraygal Country
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: info@allenandunwin.com
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Allen & Unwin acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the Country on which we live and work. We pay our respects to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elders, past and present.
ISBN 978 1 76147 069 1
eISBN 978 1 76118 933 3
Typeset by Bookhouse, Sydney
Cover design: Hazel Lam
Cover images: Still Life with Fruits and Flowers, Daniela Constantini/Stocksy; iStock; Shutterstock
For Nicky
Contents
This Is Not a Love Song
A Fierce and Violent Opening
Mutiny by Maison Margiela
Meat Joy
Very Private Little Random Possibilities
You Seemed to Me a Small Child Without Charm
Skinned Rabbit
Now Muses, and My Genius, Help
Protect Me From What I Want
So Shut Your Eyes While Mother Sings
Reacquainted With My Limbs
Trouble Moving On?
I Should Not Allow Anyone to Inconvenience Me
A Cosmic Awakening
When It Became Apparent That Both Men and Beasts Were Wearing Themselves Out to No Purpose
In Search of the Miraculous
Glorify Me!
The Girl and Goat
Why It Is That Women Are Chiefly Addicted to Evil Superstitions
With the Last Vibrations of Her Jangled Nerves
Fever Dreams
Your Love Touches Me, But I Can’t Return It, That’s All
No Fear of Depths
Prodigal Self
For Five Minutes I Considered Myself Utterly Disgraced Forever
R U Dumb?
She Was Terrified, and, Astonished, She Recoiled From Herself
The Last Thing I Said to You Was Don’t Leave Me Here II
Orgy for Ten People in One Body
Our Heads Are Round So Our Thoughts Can Change Direction
Shadow of Men
Truth Coming Out of Her Well
Tribute to Ana Mendieta
The Guest
Small Beasts
Dogs Which Cannot Touch Each Other
Two-Headed
Untitled (Pig Woman)
Revenge Body
Could It Be Magic
By Holding In One’s Left Hand A Peacock’s Or Hyena’s Eye, Wrapped In Gold, One Finds Success In Love
Even If One’s Head Were to Be Suddenly Cut Off, He Should Be Able to Do One More Action With Certainty
The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
To Be Aware of Your Own Momentum
Body Electric
Large and Small Form
Blinded, Ridiculed, Pitied
But Ah, My Foes, and Oh, My Friends
Attributions
Acknowledgements
About the Author
This Is Not a Love Song
—Public Image Ltd, 1983
Sabine had traumatised only a few people in her life and one of them was her husband. She stood in their back garden and waited for Constantine to remove the camera from the tripod. It was Monday night. It was about to storm. The sun had set hours ago, and dinnertime had come and gone without mention.
‘A reminder that we’re aiming for stark and otherworldly,’ said Sabine. Despite her tone, she was not too dictatorial.
‘The sky is actually purple,’ said Constantine. He held his hand out, palm up, and looked at the cloud overhead.
Sabine unbuttoned her vinyl coat, smoothed her hair back behind her ears, and crouched at the base of their fruiting lemon tree, ready to be immortalised. These photos would be used to publicise her upcoming solo art exhibition. She loved seeing herself named as the photographer for any promotional material. Differentiating herself, no matter how subtly, from the other artists represented by the Goethe Gallery soothed her no end.
Sabine had briefed Constantine on the importance of capturing the glossiness of her hair and her lively sanpaku eyes. Two aesthetics she was unwilling to compromise on. She’d demonstrated how she would dip her head at a severe angle so that a distinct white gap showed between her iris and the lower lid of her eye. Their garden needed to look untamed and jungle-like in the background. The sky must be a deep navy. No stars! And—
‘Get some of the lemons in,’ said Sabine. It was imperative that the waxy lemons were lurid against all that green.
‘Please,’ said Constantine.
‘Please,’ said Sabine.
The foliage above and behind Sabine was lit by an industrial floodlight which sat at Constantine’s feet and pointed directly at her head. There was no time to disperse the insects or style the lemons. There was no time at all. Her bushy, bleached eyebrows and tall, plump body were in the process of becoming art.
Sabine shifted through a series of poses, tossing her hair, angling her arms, opening her mouth, and tilting her head back, while Constantine moved around the garden capturing her.
‘I’m getting sexual art alien. I’m getting a revolution in a body. I’m getting pure genius,’ said Constantine.
‘What else?’ said Sabine.
Constantine was shorter and more nuggety than her, with strong legs like a touring camel. He was quick and elegant, moving seamlessly through various squats and stretches as he photographed her. Sabine loved his salted, wiry hair, his defined cheekbones, and his soft paunch. She found her husband’s body to be so irresistibly dense.
‘You need to make sure I’m mysterious and powerful and surprised, but the portrait also needs to have the emotional impact of Rip My Heart Out You Fucking Cunt by Tracey Emin.’
She motioned for Constantine to stop and went over to him, scrolling through her Instagram feed, angling the phone screen towards him as she rolled through reels of pictures.
