Mona started off strong with its flawed titular protagonist and her dry cynical observations of the literary scene, but as it went on I found myself confused by all the multiple characters who are only defined by their nationality and eventually bored with all the focus on the interactions amongst the characters and their speeches and activities at the festival. The novel frequently delves into discourses about literature and the modern world, but these are often just dropped in, as if the author was trying to cram in as many ideas about culture and society as possible, but it felt like a loose collection of scraps of ideas rather than a tight consistent theme. For once I wished a book was longer! This book was quite short and I would've enjoyed more development of the mystery aspects in order to build up the tension more effectively towards a rewarding climax. The ending did not feel satisfactory and was a complete genre shift. The writing was beautiful but occasionally veered into over-writing (I'm reading the English translation so my view on this is limited). 

This is a triumph. Of all the unhinged woman character studies that are in style right now, this is the one that reigns supreme. A fantastic examination of the sarcastic, criticizing exterior a woman will build to avoid a dark past. 
It has the conversational structure of Rachel Cusk’s Outline trilogy and that “yucky”, gross tone of Ottessa  Moshfegh. Every page there’s some jab at the literary elite, at contemporary social politics and the performance of being a writer and an academic. There’s blow after blow, to the point where it feels like you’re playing catch up with every page just to make sure you got every roast. 
This well crafted criticism and the absurdist style are both smart distractions for the core of this story as Mona travels for an international writers conference in Sweden. Which is what makes the contrast of what you thought it was about and what hits you near the end all the more striking. All the wit and irony aside, Mona is running away from a deeply inflicted wound of sexual trauma. She’s distracting you with jokes as she buries farther into herself. This reckoning comes as a small surprise but the result is a striking portrait. 
It’s short length and internet sensibility add to the pleasure of this story. This is what Fake Accounts and many other “internet” books wish they could be and more.