Genre Fiction
![Anna Metcalfe - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B0BYPSQ4B2.jpg)
Chrysalis: A Novel
This provocative, fiercely imaginative debut follows a woman trying to slip the shackles of society by controlling her body and mind in extreme ways.
"An unsettling and brilliant portrait-not just of a woman in transformation or of those who fall into her orbit, but also of a world defined simultaneously by our isolation and by our longing to connect."-Jen Silverman, author of We Play Ourselves
It was hard to be in the present, she said, but if her body were heavier and more in control, then her thoughts would clear and her mind would recover its power.
What happens when a woman dares to take up space? An enigmatic young woman drastically transforms her body, working to become bigger, stronger, and stiller in the wake of a trauma. We see her through the eyes of three people, each differently mesmerized by her, as they reckon with the consequences of her bizarre metamorphosis. Each of them leaves us with a puzzle piece of who she was before she became someone else.
Elliot, a recluse who notices her at the gym, witnesses her physical evolution and becomes her first acolyte. Bella, her mother, worries about the intense effect her daughter's new way of life is beginning to have on others, and she reflects on their relationship, a close cocoon from which her daughter has broken free. Susie, her ex-colleague and best friend, offers her sanctuary and support as she makes the transition to self-created online phenomenon, posting viral meditation videos that encourage her followers to join her in achieving self-sufficiency by isolating themselves from everyone else in their lives.
Uncanny, alluring, and intimate, Chrysalis raises vital questions about selfhood and solitude. This daring novel asks if it is possible for a woman to have agency over her body while remaining part of society, and then offers its own explosive answer.
"An unsettling and brilliant portrait-not just of a woman in transformation or of those who fall into her orbit, but also of a world defined simultaneously by our isolation and by our longing to connect."-Jen Silverman, author of We Play Ourselves
It was hard to be in the present, she said, but if her body were heavier and more in control, then her thoughts would clear and her mind would recover its power.
What happens when a woman dares to take up space? An enigmatic young woman drastically transforms her body, working to become bigger, stronger, and stiller in the wake of a trauma. We see her through the eyes of three people, each differently mesmerized by her, as they reckon with the consequences of her bizarre metamorphosis. Each of them leaves us with a puzzle piece of who she was before she became someone else.
Elliot, a recluse who notices her at the gym, witnesses her physical evolution and becomes her first acolyte. Bella, her mother, worries about the intense effect her daughter's new way of life is beginning to have on others, and she reflects on their relationship, a close cocoon from which her daughter has broken free. Susie, her ex-colleague and best friend, offers her sanctuary and support as she makes the transition to self-created online phenomenon, posting viral meditation videos that encourage her followers to join her in achieving self-sufficiency by isolating themselves from everyone else in their lives.
Uncanny, alluring, and intimate, Chrysalis raises vital questions about selfhood and solitude. This daring novel asks if it is possible for a woman to have agency over her body while remaining part of society, and then offers its own explosive answer.
Editorial Reviews
One
I liked watching her. At first, she didn't notice or she didn't care. She never had that thing some people do where if someone's looking at them they feel it-a warm spot on the face or the neck-and then, without thinking, they turn. If she did feel the spot, she could ignore it. She had trained herself for that. It was part of her big project, to be as still as possible. She wanted to be unmoved.
I first met her at the gym. It was early in the afternoon and busier than I would have liked. People, on the whole, make me nervous, but not because I'm insecure. I'm self-employed and live alone. I prefer my own company and keep my own time. I've become very good at finding the quietest possible time to do anything, and I've been a regular at the gym for a while. Like any habitat, it has its own rhythm, a circadian flow. Once you know how it goes, it's easy to make it work for you.
At the crack of dawn, you get the suits. They'll do a quick run before a heavy round of weights. The routine is half performance, half ritual. They attend to each body part efficiently, with precision. They shower with expensive lotions before putting on their expensive shirts, fastening the buttons in the mirror like rich people on TV. They order cabs and make stops to buy coffee, extra hot. They go to work in big glass buildings and watch the doors to their offices open and close while they remain seated the whole time. In some ways, their goals are just like hers-optimize the movement so that later you can afford not to move at all. After that, there are the "morning people," full of energy, smiling at everyone, failing to notice when no one smiles back. They're creepy and cheerful, like cheap actors in advertisements, ones for laundry detergent maybe, or pasta sauce in a jar. It depresses me, the way they act like each day is a gift instead of something that accidentally happened to them. Then, you get the parents and carers, fresh from the nursery drop-off or the traffic jam at the school gate. They'll come in with some child's accessory-kids' headphones, a miniature water bottle, a towel with cat ears. It's like they don't even notice the thing is too small, like they're just giant people holding regular-sized stuff. Then, there's everyone else: students, bartenders, night-shifters, drifters, chronic insomniacs, and people like me who keep their own time.
Between two and four-my preferred hours-the whole place feels light and calm. Between two and four, people keep themselves to themselves. They listen to their podcasts and watch TV on the little screens. They mind their own business and don't put too much of themselves into the world-their own vibes or ideas or whatever. They take their time, they don't injure themselves. It's during the pre- and...
I liked watching her. At first, she didn't notice or she didn't care. She never had that thing some people do where if someone's looking at them they feel it-a warm spot on the face or the neck-and then, without thinking, they turn. If she did feel the spot, she could ignore it. She had trained herself for that. It was part of her big project, to be as still as possible. She wanted to be unmoved.
I first met her at the gym. It was early in the afternoon and busier than I would have liked. People, on the whole, make me nervous, but not because I'm insecure. I'm self-employed and live alone. I prefer my own company and keep my own time. I've become very good at finding the quietest possible time to do anything, and I've been a regular at the gym for a while. Like any habitat, it has its own rhythm, a circadian flow. Once you know how it goes, it's easy to make it work for you.
At the crack of dawn, you get the suits. They'll do a quick run before a heavy round of weights. The routine is half performance, half ritual. They attend to each body part efficiently, with precision. They shower with expensive lotions before putting on their expensive shirts, fastening the buttons in the mirror like rich people on TV. They order cabs and make stops to buy coffee, extra hot. They go to work in big glass buildings and watch the doors to their offices open and close while they remain seated the whole time. In some ways, their goals are just like hers-optimize the movement so that later you can afford not to move at all. After that, there are the "morning people," full of energy, smiling at everyone, failing to notice when no one smiles back. They're creepy and cheerful, like cheap actors in advertisements, ones for laundry detergent maybe, or pasta sauce in a jar. It depresses me, the way they act like each day is a gift instead of something that accidentally happened to them. Then, you get the parents and carers, fresh from the nursery drop-off or the traffic jam at the school gate. They'll come in with some child's accessory-kids' headphones, a miniature water bottle, a towel with cat ears. It's like they don't even notice the thing is too small, like they're just giant people holding regular-sized stuff. Then, there's everyone else: students, bartenders, night-shifters, drifters, chronic insomniacs, and people like me who keep their own time.
Between two and four-my preferred hours-the whole place feels light and calm. Between two and four, people keep themselves to themselves. They listen to their podcasts and watch TV on the little screens. They mind their own business and don't put too much of themselves into the world-their own vibes or ideas or whatever. They take their time, they don't injure themselves. It's during the pre- and...
Readers Top Reviews
Short Excerpt Teaser
One
I liked watching her. At first, she didn't notice or she didn't care. She never had that thing some people do where if someone's looking at them they feel it-a warm spot on the face or the neck-and then, without thinking, they turn. If she did feel the spot, she could ignore it. She had trained herself for that. It was part of her big project, to be as still as possible. She wanted to be unmoved.
I first met her at the gym. It was early in the afternoon and busier than I would have liked. People, on the whole, make me nervous, but not because I'm insecure. I'm self-employed and live alone. I prefer my own company and keep my own time. I've become very good at finding the quietest possible time to do anything, and I've been a regular at the gym for a while. Like any habitat, it has its own rhythm, a circadian flow. Once you know how it goes, it's easy to make it work for you.
At the crack of dawn, you get the suits. They'll do a quick run before a heavy round of weights. The routine is half performance, half ritual. They attend to each body part efficiently, with precision. They shower with expensive lotions before putting on their expensive shirts, fastening the buttons in the mirror like rich people on TV. They order cabs and make stops to buy coffee, extra hot. They go to work in big glass buildings and watch the doors to their offices open and close while they remain seated the whole time. In some ways, their goals are just like hers-optimize the movement so that later you can afford not to move at all. After that, there are the "morning people," full of energy, smiling at everyone, failing to notice when no one smiles back. They're creepy and cheerful, like cheap actors in advertisements, ones for laundry detergent maybe, or pasta sauce in a jar. It depresses me, the way they act like each day is a gift instead of something that accidentally happened to them. Then, you get the parents and carers, fresh from the nursery drop-off or the traffic jam at the school gate. They'll come in with some child's accessory-kids' headphones, a miniature water bottle, a towel with cat ears. It's like they don't even notice the thing is too small, like they're just giant people holding regular-sized stuff. Then, there's everyone else: students, bartenders, night-shifters, drifters, chronic insomniacs, and people like me who keep their own time.
Between two and four-my preferred hours-the whole place feels light and calm. Between two and four, people keep themselves to themselves. They listen to their podcasts and watch TV on the little screens. They mind their own business and don't put too much of themselves into the world-their own vibes or ideas or whatever. They take their time, they don't injure themselves. It's during the pre- and post-work rushes that you see the sprained ankles and pulled knees, locked shoulders, muscle spasms. Early evening is the worst. People arrive anxious, with a desperate kind of energy. You can see the color of it in the air, greyish-red and out of focus, like brake lights in the fog. That's when the most serious damage occurs. I've seen all kinds of things. A tangle on the leg press, a snagged zip and a bloody mess, a concussion from a bad snatch. Once, I saw a man break a leg just doing jumping jacks on the mats. And even when there are no injuries, there's a lot of unkindness around. People who are mean to themselves are often mean to others too. You can feel it when you get too near them, a shiver of warning that says to steer clear. I never used to pick up on that kind of stuff but, since I started taking care of myself, I've become more sensitive to all kinds of things. I've got this whole new way of knowing, just by feeling how my body responds. Muscle twitches, leg cramps, tight shoulders, shallow breathing. It's a language I've acquired, one of the many things she validated for me. When I met her, I wasn't in great shape. I couldn't run very far and I didn't feel good. Though I was naturally strong, I was tired and angry all the time. I was one of those people wasting my energy, getting cross with myself and being unkind. It's taken a lot of muscle work for me to get to my personality, to make the change there too.
When she arrived at the gym that first day, the receptionist tried to direct her to the changing rooms but she ignored them and walked right in. She was wearing a shell-pink shirt, grey chinos and lace-up boots. A net bag hung from her wrist, with a water bottle, a watch, a notebook and pencil and some small plastic items-makeup or deodorant, vitamins perhaps. Among the grey and black machines, between the gleaming mirrors and the miniature televisions, surrounded by people in shiny leggings with go-faster stripes on their shoes, she looke...
I liked watching her. At first, she didn't notice or she didn't care. She never had that thing some people do where if someone's looking at them they feel it-a warm spot on the face or the neck-and then, without thinking, they turn. If she did feel the spot, she could ignore it. She had trained herself for that. It was part of her big project, to be as still as possible. She wanted to be unmoved.
I first met her at the gym. It was early in the afternoon and busier than I would have liked. People, on the whole, make me nervous, but not because I'm insecure. I'm self-employed and live alone. I prefer my own company and keep my own time. I've become very good at finding the quietest possible time to do anything, and I've been a regular at the gym for a while. Like any habitat, it has its own rhythm, a circadian flow. Once you know how it goes, it's easy to make it work for you.
At the crack of dawn, you get the suits. They'll do a quick run before a heavy round of weights. The routine is half performance, half ritual. They attend to each body part efficiently, with precision. They shower with expensive lotions before putting on their expensive shirts, fastening the buttons in the mirror like rich people on TV. They order cabs and make stops to buy coffee, extra hot. They go to work in big glass buildings and watch the doors to their offices open and close while they remain seated the whole time. In some ways, their goals are just like hers-optimize the movement so that later you can afford not to move at all. After that, there are the "morning people," full of energy, smiling at everyone, failing to notice when no one smiles back. They're creepy and cheerful, like cheap actors in advertisements, ones for laundry detergent maybe, or pasta sauce in a jar. It depresses me, the way they act like each day is a gift instead of something that accidentally happened to them. Then, you get the parents and carers, fresh from the nursery drop-off or the traffic jam at the school gate. They'll come in with some child's accessory-kids' headphones, a miniature water bottle, a towel with cat ears. It's like they don't even notice the thing is too small, like they're just giant people holding regular-sized stuff. Then, there's everyone else: students, bartenders, night-shifters, drifters, chronic insomniacs, and people like me who keep their own time.
Between two and four-my preferred hours-the whole place feels light and calm. Between two and four, people keep themselves to themselves. They listen to their podcasts and watch TV on the little screens. They mind their own business and don't put too much of themselves into the world-their own vibes or ideas or whatever. They take their time, they don't injure themselves. It's during the pre- and post-work rushes that you see the sprained ankles and pulled knees, locked shoulders, muscle spasms. Early evening is the worst. People arrive anxious, with a desperate kind of energy. You can see the color of it in the air, greyish-red and out of focus, like brake lights in the fog. That's when the most serious damage occurs. I've seen all kinds of things. A tangle on the leg press, a snagged zip and a bloody mess, a concussion from a bad snatch. Once, I saw a man break a leg just doing jumping jacks on the mats. And even when there are no injuries, there's a lot of unkindness around. People who are mean to themselves are often mean to others too. You can feel it when you get too near them, a shiver of warning that says to steer clear. I never used to pick up on that kind of stuff but, since I started taking care of myself, I've become more sensitive to all kinds of things. I've got this whole new way of knowing, just by feeling how my body responds. Muscle twitches, leg cramps, tight shoulders, shallow breathing. It's a language I've acquired, one of the many things she validated for me. When I met her, I wasn't in great shape. I couldn't run very far and I didn't feel good. Though I was naturally strong, I was tired and angry all the time. I was one of those people wasting my energy, getting cross with myself and being unkind. It's taken a lot of muscle work for me to get to my personality, to make the change there too.
When she arrived at the gym that first day, the receptionist tried to direct her to the changing rooms but she ignored them and walked right in. She was wearing a shell-pink shirt, grey chinos and lace-up boots. A net bag hung from her wrist, with a water bottle, a watch, a notebook and pencil and some small plastic items-makeup or deodorant, vitamins perhaps. Among the grey and black machines, between the gleaming mirrors and the miniature televisions, surrounded by people in shiny leggings with go-faster stripes on their shoes, she looke...
