Natural Beauty

Description

Finalist for the Lambda Literary Award in Bisexual Fiction

Sly, surprising, and razor-sharp, Natural Beauty follows a young musician into an elite, beauty-obsessed world where perfection comes at a staggering cost.

Our narrator produces a sound from the piano no one else at the Conservatory can. She employs a technique she learned from her parents—also talented musicians—who fled China in the wake of the Cultural Revolution. But when an accident leaves her parents debilitated, she abandons her future for a job at a high-end beauty and wellness store in New York City.
 
Holistik is known for its remarkable products and procedures—from remoras that suck out cheap Botox to eyelash extensions made of spider silk—and her new job affords her entry into a world of privilege and gives her a long-awaited sense of belonging. She becomes transfixed by Helen, the niece of Holistik’s charismatic owner, and the two strike up a friendship that hazily veers into more. All the while, our narrator is plied with products that slim her thighs, smooth her skin, and lighten her hair. But beneath these creams and tinctures lies something sinister.
 
A piercing, darkly funny debut, Natural Beauty explores questions of consumerism, self-worth, race, and identity—and leaves readers with a shocking and unsettling truth.A Good Morning America Buzz Pick

A New York Times Editors’ Choice

One of WIRED‘s Best Books of 2023

A SELF Well-Read Book Club Pick

One of the New York Post‘s “best new books to read”

One of Bustle‘s “36 Best New Books Of Spring & Summer 2023”

One of the New York Public Library’s “Engrossing Thrillers To Put Into Your Beach Bag This Summer”

Featured in Book Riot’s “25 Best Horror Books of 2023”

One of Powell’s Books “Hot Book Summer” recommendations

One of Katie Couric Media’s “13 Books by AAPI Authors To Read This May and Beyond”

An April LibraryReads Pick

“Her talents…harmonize most seamlessly when she writes about music, managing the near-impossible feat of crafting descriptions of the compositions that are as airy and adroit as the melodies themselves. And she is at her best when she skewers the narcissistic, corrosive version of self-care that can be mistaken for empowerment…The novel is a meditation on vanity, the ways in which the pursuit of physical beauty can betray the other sources of beauty in one’s life, and how horror can lurk beneath the surface of even the most poreless skin.” –Jazmine Hughes, The New York Times Book Review

“Absorbing . . . Natural Beauty starts out frothy, offering an enticing dip into how tech could beautify and perfect our bodies and faces in the near future . . . It quickly veers into subversive horror, turning into a cautionary tale on societal themes we’re currently seeing IRL.” –Vogue

“The promise of self-improvement is darkly seductive. In Ling Ling Huang’s Natural Beauty […] a former pianist working at a biotech-funded wellness store initially thrills at her regimen’s effects (defined eyelids, opalescent skin). By the end, her dismissal of rigid aesthetics is what lingers: ‘That fine line between beauty and ugliness, ripeness and rot, is what keeps an audience listening with held breath.’”—Vanity Fair, “The Pursuit of Beauty Fuels a Dark Streak in Fiction”

“A must-read . . . We’d recommend it to anyone intrigued by girlboss discourse, sci-fi, love triangles, mysteries, and injectables, or who has ever thought, What if there was an episode of Black Mirror inspired by Goop?”—SELF, A Well-Read Book Club Pick

“A thriller mixed with horror and laced with a biting dose of social commentary, Natural Beauty is a book you won’t be able to stop thinking about”—Glamour, “New Thriller Books of Summer 2023”

“This is a darkly absurd and hilarious skewering of the luxury beauty industry, as well as a heart-wrenching story of a woman left alone in the world. It’s definitely not one to miss.” —Buzzfeed, “30 Books Coming Out This Spring That You’ll Love”

“Goopcore body horror…Natural Beauty is a delightfully baroque grotesque. It can achieve a folkloric power in its creepiest moments—a scary story you’d tell in a posh spa’s sauna instead of around a campfire.” –Kate Knibbs, WIRED

“Natural Beauty is a cautionary tale about wellness…intriguing from page one…great for book clubs, prompting discussions of beauty standards, where to draw the line and how the growing industry is unregulated.” —Associated Press

“Natural Beauty is a horror novel that digs deep into the evils of exploitative industries.” –Shondaland

“Natural Beauty is a satirical horror that brilliantly skewers the beauty and wellness industries, specifically their participation in white supremacy and anti-fatness.” —Autostraddle, “65 Best Queer Books of 2023”

“A propulsive, captivating read, Natural Beauty pulled me into its world like a fever dream. A prescient look at the dirty underbelly of society’s beauty standards, it also carries a moving reminder that true beauty is often found in the very things we’ve been taught to abandon.” —Constance Wu, star of Crazy Rich Asians and author of Making a Scene

“Insidious Western standards, fears about bodily autonomy, and queer desire intersect as Huang’s precise and subtle portrayal of the beauty industry builds to an explosive climax. Alternatingly poignant and deeply unsettling, this is an outstanding first outing for an immensely talented author.” —Publishers Weekly, *starred review*
 
“Haunting and immersive . . . The novel seamlessly blends sci-fi, literary fiction, suspense, and body horror while also exploring the oppression of the beauty industry and the Chinese immigrant experience in America. The writing is lyrical even when plot events are profoundly tragic, and the protagonist’s journey will captivate readers throughout. Highly recommended.” —Booklist, *starred review*

“This is a smart, savage book about the horrors of the modern beauty and wellness industry, and how capitalism can twist anything to look like a good idea. Written by a musician with immigrant parents, the novel’s visceral depiction of growing up poor and musical feels absolutely lived in, as does the examination of what our protagonist needs to do to survive living in the big city.”—Criminal Element

“This horror story is scarier than the latest celebrity after alleged buccal fat removal. Explore the darker side of beauty obsessed culture.”—Betches, “Best Summer Reads”

“Precise, unflinching, and utterly unforgettable, Natural Beauty is both a razor-sharp critique of the beauty industry and a startlingly tender story of family and sacrifice. This book will swallow you whole.” —Grace D. Li, New York Times bestselling author of Portrait of a Thief

“A surreal, dreamlike thriller where art and darkness are woven together in unexpected ways. The main character is tortured and brilliant, and possesses immense appeal and heartbreak. The cinematic storytelling shows what happens when businesses trade on the most extreme levels of human desires. Gripping!” —Frances Cha, author of If I Had Your Face

“A modern-day Picture of Dorian Gray shot through a Cronenbergian lens, Ling Ling Huang’s Natural Beauty has big things to say about art, society, and the obsessive pursuit of youth. Huang’s writing is as austere as a flawless arpeggio, but there is great warmth in Huang’s portrayal of her characters.” —Nick Cutter, author of The Troop, The Deep, and Little Heaven

“Huang frets the ‘fine line between beauty and ugliness, ripeness and rot’ in this alluring tale of estrangement, body horror, and possibly a new genre, Dark Wellness—pierced through by a daughter’s love for her immigrant parents. Ardent and unsettling.” —Lisa Hsiao Chen, author of Activities of Daily Living
 
“Eerie and entertaining, Natural Beauty intertwines a terrifying critique of the beauty industry with a poignant ode to the power of music and the devotion of immigrant families. Ling Ling Huang is a fearless storyteller, and this book is as luminous as it is thrilling.” —Pik-Shuen Fung, author of Ghost Forest

“Ling Ling Huang amplifies and expands the future of horror fiction with a book so riveting it is impossible to put down.” —Rikki Ducornet, author of Phosphor in Dreamland

“Natural Beauty uses elements of sci-fi, fantasy, and body horror to cut to bone-deep truths about consumerism, race, identity, appearance, and the exhausting pursuit of perfection.” —Jessica DeFino, The Unpublishable

“Gaudy consumerism and body horror at face value, the true terror resides in the predatory nature and question of other people’s desires. How much of our lives are a result of other people’s desires? What does it mean to seek beauty?… I recommend this novel for Capitol residents of ‘The Hunger Games’ series, and those who want to be ahead of the game, because this story is meant for the screen.”—Mochi MagazineLing Ling Huang is a writer and violinist. She plays with several ensembles, including the Oregon Symphony, Grand Teton Music Festival Orchestra, ProMusica, Chamber Orchestra, and the Experiential Orchestra, with whom she won a Grammy Award in 2021. Natural Beauty is her first novel.Chapter One

Even the door is beautiful. A single piece of dark heavy wood, like rich chocolate poured under an ancient stone archway carved with wings and scales. My hand rests on the golden doorknob, surprisingly hot to the touch. A twist and a push and I am pulled in by the deep pink carpets and the soft muted clinking of expensive products. Warm candlelight emanates from every surface. A light botanical smell fills the air.

People mill around, tightly wrapped in sumptuous wools and furs. They sniff, drip, and dribble substances onto themselves. Light gray mother-of-pearl inlays stripe the walls. When the light catches, they seem to move like the sudden falling of tears. In fact, the entire place feels unusually alive, as if I have stumbled into the womb of a slumbering giantess.

In the back, a tall man in a sharp black suit stands next to a woman caressing the sleeping sloth curled around her neck. He nods at her a few times before crouching down abruptly to catch a vial tumbling from a toddler’s pudgy hand. He straightens and smiles at the child as he places the product out of reach. He moves with authority, towering over everyone. Balletic and rigorous in his economy of movement.

His dark blond hair is slicked close to his head, and his face has a rubbery quality, like it would hold a pressed handprint. The exception is his cheekbones, which slice the air like fins. I realize he looks familiar, though I can’t remember where I’ve seen him. The wall behind him is light pink, filled with rows and rows of white ceramic jars, like gleaming teeth embedded in a healthy set of gums.

“Darling, you came! Welcome to Holistik.”

Saje walks over with quick steps and slips an arm through mine. I worry that she can smell me, the November air not yet cold enough to keep me from sweating on my long walk here. Her smile is warm. “What do you think?”

She’s wearing a silky nude jumpsuit and dark red hair snakes over her shoulder, glinting in the dim lighting. Her irises are brown but have a surprising yellow edge I hadn’t noticed last night. She is so tall in her animal-skin stilettos, I have to strain my neck to meet her eye.

“Would you be interested in working here?”

My jaw drops open and my mouth fills with cold air. I hastily shut it, embarrassed, and look at her for a few long seconds to see if there’s any chance she’s fucking with me. Her expression is unchanged-and looking around at all the products, so many specifically made to keep women from ever aging, I wonder if she’s even capable of different expressions.

“Yes,” I say, exalting her by craning my neck as high as it will go. She starts to explain the particulars of the job, the pay and benefits included, and I feel a wave of relief so intense, I have to reach out and grab the display table next to me.

“Thank you,” I add, surprised to find myself blinking back tears.

Her smile widens, showing teeth. “No thanks necessary. I’m so glad I found you. I knew from the moment we met that you’d be the perfect addition to our little family here. I’ll introduce you to Lilith in a moment. She’ll be the one to show you around. Why don’t you go downstairs? There’s an employee closet where you can put your things.”

Chapter Two

I take the stairs down and pause. How different from my previous place of employment. Every bit as opulent as the floor above, this private space is enormous and inviting. A few women seem to float together on a cloudlike structure that acts as a sofa. They are homogeneously beautiful, as if airlifted from a movie set about popular high school girls. They are still in character, perhaps, since they don’t acknowledge or even notice me. Gigantic shelves loom on the left, crammed with stone jars and crystal vials. A clean, faintly medicinal smell puts me at ease. It is cold down here, refreshingly so, and I love the clinical click of my shoes on the porcelain tiles.

The full kitchen is spotless, as if it has never been used. My view through the clear refrigerator door is blocked by a dense forest of rainbow-colored juices. I ignore my sudden hunger pangs and begin my search for the employee closet.

I pass a door with an electronic lock. A sign over it: The Zoo. Down the main hallway, a glass door. Beyond it, people dressed in white lab coats move with urgency. On a table in front of them, something wrinkled and translucent pumps like a beating heart. Jellyfish, I think, though they look like crumpled plastic bags recently fished out of water. In the closet, I leave my bag and hang up my ratty old coat. At least the clothes I am wearing underneath are somewhat nicer. Long sleeves, as Saje had requested.
  
She had stomped in late, looking so filthy rich no one wanted to tell her the restaurant was closed. She was very beautiful, with skin so white it was almost translucent, and her long red hair was tucked into a lavender coat that looked incredibly soft. I could have believed someone was airbrushing her live image.

I had just finished another day of scrubbing endless dishes in piping hot water. It wasn’t so bad once I’d gotten used to it. At the end of each night, I would kick off my shoes, eat leftovers from the kitchen, and strip the burned skin from my hands. I felt triumphant when I could get a large piece off all at once, like peeling off an opera glove. Months of lightly flaying myself had made the raw skin baby soft, and I sometimes fantasized about submerging my whole body in the sink, shedding everything.

“May I have one?” She slipped into the seat opposite mine,  gesturing at my leftovers, coiling her legs beneath her.

I masked my surprise with politeness. “Sure. They’re cold, though.”

She picked at the soggy fries, pushing them through a small opening between her two front teeth. I was mesmerized by this action. The gap caused a soft musical whistle when she spoke, as if she had songbirds in her throat. She sighed and the birds took flight. I felt grimy sitting across from her, surely exuding the smell of recycled frying oil from every orifice.

“Man’s greatest invention, don’t you think? The potato with salt,” the woman said, licking a finger.

I said nothing. Carla was glaring at me from behind the counter, prematurely accusing me of stealing a wealthy customer.

“Did you know that they can be toxic? Nothing serious. You won’t die from a potato, but it can make you very ill,” she said.

I smiled reflexively. Rich people have all the time in the world to pick up random anecdotes for small talk.

She suddenly leaned in, peering at me with an inquisitiveness that made me stop breathing. “Wait a minute. I know you.”

I almost looked behind me. “Excuse me?”

“You look very familiar. Have we met?”

I gazed at her once more, carefully, before shaking my head. My hair, greasy from a day next to the fryer, didn’t move.

“Have you been in the city a long time? Do you study here?”

Close enough, I thought as I nodded.

“What do you study?”

“I studied piano. At the Conservatory.”

There was a look of recognition on her face.

She jabbed a fry at me. “I knew it. You’re her! The Rachmaninoff girl!” she said. “Am I right?”

A quick nod.

“You’re incredible! I love the piano, and I’m a huge supporter of the arts!”

“That’s great,” I say.

There’s a pause before I realize I should thank her for supporting the vague “arts,” which in this instance is me. “Thanks so much.”

“What are you doing here? A bit far from the Conservatory, aren’t you?” She was leaning in so close, I could feel her hot breath on my face.

“I’m not there anymore.”

“Where are you playing next? I would love to see you perform.”

I hesitated, still unsure of how to answer these types of questions. It had been almost three years since I had touched a piano. For a second, I imagined shrinking in size and bouncing on her fully cushioned lips instead of answering her.

“I don’t really play anymore.”

“You don’t? Why!”

“It was just time to move on.”

“How do you make a living?”

“I work here. Dishwasher.” I showed her my hands.

Predictably, she gasped.

“But what a waste of your hands! Your talent!”

I shrugged.

“They must pay a fortune if that’s what you’re doing to yourself!”

“It’s better than nothing. I get a lot of free food.”

Before the restaurant job, I consistently found myself choosing between eating enough and putting money away for rent. I never went through with it, but there were too many nights when I waited for my roommates to fall asleep before creeping upstairs to listen to the quiet burbling of their cat’s triple-filtered water fountain and to stand transfixed by the gleam of gold tops on her gourmet cat food.

“Stop by anytime. Ask for me.” She was opening her purse and reaching inside. “I go to the Philharmonic every week, and I’ve never heard a pianist who can do what you do. You deserve better, and we can certainly give you more than free food.”

I was startled to see a look of genuine concern in her eyes. The card she slid onto the sticky tabletop was iridescent and embossed with the word Holistik. The script was so lavishly curled, the letters looked like they might sneak off the card to ensnare me. She turned it around and tapped on her name a couple of times.

Saje Bernsson.

She rose, encompassing me in her shadow. “My driver is waiting.” She placed a cold hand over one of mine, shocking me. “I hope to see you soon.” Putting leather gloves on at the door, she looked back at me, remembering something. “Wear long sleeves when you visit.”

The wind let in a flurry of freshly fallen leaves, red as her hair. Feathers, too, inexplicably floated out from her open handbag. They swirled in the wind, eventually sticking to the dirty tile.

I find a bathroom across from the employee closet. The floor is spongy, and every step emits a whiff of something sublime. It appears to be a carpet made of woven eucalyptus, matted and pulverized to be plush and springy underfoot. A tub lined with jars of scented salts takes up half the room. I slip into the large celadon half egg, opening the carafes and smelling each one, almost compulsively. My bladder is full, but I can’t imagine using the toilet, which looks like an art piece. In the mirror, I’m surprised to find that the soft light makes me look well rested. Not quite beautiful, but not completely out of place in this enchanted setting. A creamy soap is dispensed from a sculpture of a bathing woman, and I sink my hands into a dense fluffy towel before hurrying back upstairs.

Saje is waiting for me near the stairs with a strikingly beautiful young woman. A light gray gauze, more mist than coat, is draped over her tight-knit dress and over-the-knee leather boots. She has long glossy hair the color of roasting chestnuts and dark green eyes with all the depth and chill of an overgrown forest. She can’t be much older than I am, but on her face, there is more than a hint of superiority. I don’t yet know this to be a trait shared by all Holistik girls.

“There you are! This is Lilith. She’s our exceptional manager, and she’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“Hi,” I say, anxious under Lilith’s cool gaze.

She dips her chin slightly in my direction as a greeting. “Are you headed back to the Gunks?” she asks Saje, who answers affirmatively before turning back to me.

“I am so happy you’re joining us. A quick word before I leave?” Saje asks.

I glance nervously at Lilith. She covers a yawn with a tiny hand before stepping two paces away.

Saje’s eyes glow with pleasure as she looks me up and down. “You already fit in so beautifully. As you can see, we favor an international staff.”

I look around, but none of the other staff seem particularly international to me. If anything, I seem like a clear diversity hire. I lower my head in agreement like a good model minority.

“I want to warn you about some of our customers. They may assume you’re from the Mainland or another country. It’s offensive, especially in this day and age, but it might be best to let them think they’re right and to focus on the products you’re selling.”

I try to smile.

“Exactly like that. And do bring up the formal piano training. Only if you’re comfortable, of course. We have a few expensive hand creams that may sell especially well with your endorsement.” She reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “That reminds me.” She pops a little glass jar into my palm. “For your poor hands. I’ll see you soon! Lilith will take great care of you.” She walks away, leaving me alone with Lilith.

I look at the jar, unscrew the heavy lid, and dab a bit on my left hand. A light floral scent rises as the thick cream clings to my skin. Nothing like the watery stuff Ma would rub on my aching hands after long sessions of piano practice. She fortified cheap lotion or Vaseline with a liniment she made using Chinese herbs. Every night after dinner, no matter how exhausted she was, she would soften the calluses on my fingertips so they wouldn’t split open. We would watch TV, I would read to her from a book, or she would tell me the things she missed about home. We always drank chrysanthemum tea, steeping the same tired flowers from the day before. The fingers of one hand would always run impatiently while she massaged the other one.

“You’re just like me,” Ma said. “Every morning in Cultural Revolution, we woke up and officers watch us carefully make sure we read the Little Red Book. I always keep my fingers moving. So small they can’t see. But moving. Hope one day get out, can play piano again.”US

Additional information

Dimensions	0.9400 × 5.7400 × 8.5300 in
Imprint	Dutton
ISBN-13	09780593472927
ISBN-10	0593472926
Author	Ling Ling Huang
Audience	General / adult
BISAC	FIC015000, FIC052000
Subjects	humorous books, humor books, horror books, FIC052000, satire, fiction books, books fiction, horror stories, horror fiction, horror novels, satire fiction, funny gifts, asian fiction, best novels, beauty books, beauty standards, beauty industry, natural beauty, body horror, holistic beauty, beauty products, FIC015000, horror, thriller, fiction, supernatural, literary, book club books, humor, novels, asian, beauty, wellness, book club, gifts for women, funny books, scary books, beauty book, books for women, book club recommendations, Asian American, aapi