In the Book Notes series, authors create and discuss a music playlist that relates in some way to their recently published book.
Jan Saenz’s novel 200 Monasa debut as propulsive as it is clever and darkly funny.
Kirkus wrote of the book:
“Sharp-witted and vulnerable—she brings her mother’s ashes with her everywhere—Arvy is a delightful narrator of this high-stakes adventure….[It] is much like Mona itself: a propulsive romp haunted by an ever-present darkness. A wild, fun, and moving page-turner.”
In her own words, here is Jan Saenz’s Book Notes music playlist for her debut novel 200 Monas:
Here’s how it works. You get an idea for a novel. You’re excited about it—you can see the entire story in your head. In fact, you’re so excited, so delusional, that you start fantasizing about what the movie trailer would look like. This delusion acts as a gateway drug to a soundtrack—a very long Spotify playlist that you will obsess over, returning to again and again, fantasizing about this fake movie, probably putting more energy into the playlist than you are into actually writing the novel. Oh, that’s not how it works for you? It’s not? Yeah, me neither, I-I was just joking… ::insecurely slurps from an empty juice box::
Everyone arrives to the writer workbench differently. For me, I need to feel excited about the work in ways that exist outside of writing. I need to dream, and I need music to better visualize the choreography and energy of that dream. Writing is a lonely practice. When no one is around to pump you up in the process, music will always be there. When no one else understands, music finds a way.
200 Monas is a story about a young woman who has 48 hours to sell 200 Monas, a drug that induces mind-blowing orgasms. On the surface, it is a fast-paced, twisted rollercoaster ride, but underneath, it’s a story about grief and the power of human connection. You can check out the full playlist HERE.
Timebomb by Beck
It feels appropriate to kick off 200 Monas with an alarming beat—a warning system that feels like a call to action. The story is fast paced, weirdly specific, sexually explicit, yet delightfully commercial. Beck has made a career of being an experimental folk singer and unconventional pop artist; we can never be sure what he’ll do next, which exempts him from being easily categorized as one thing. I could say the same for 200 Monas. You’re never quite sure where the story will take you, but you find yourself intrigued, surrendering to a ride that feels like a ticking time bomb.
Girls by The Dare
I adore the crassness of this song—an unapologetic confession of desire, celebrating not just one type of woman, but all types of women. What I love most about the novel is that every character—male and female—exercises their desire, sexuality, and feminism differently, and the book has no interest in judging them for it. The lyric “I like the girls that do drugs” has a funny way of giving the audience permission to like the same, to agree. I root for all the girls in this song the same way I root for Arvy in 200 Monas. She’s messy and sexual. Complex and vulnerable. She just wants to pass her finals, sell some orgasms, suck-face with a hot drug dealer, and not get killed in the process. What’s not to like?
Come Inside by The Chemical Brothers
The Mona experience is different for everyone. It can be erotic, exhilarating, draining, cathartic, or even nightmarish. It is an illicit drug; its trajectory cannot be predicted nor trusted. If a Mona trip were a song, I imagine it would mimic this song’s progression: a slow yet relentless cadence that builds to a bloom, bursts, then decelerates to a lull—a false finish that returns with a fury (much like Mona’s “second wave” orgasm). It even ends like Mona: the music cuts out, same way Mona makes a user blackout (due to a dramatic drop in blood pressure).
Archbishop Harold Holmes by Jack White
Much like a preacher pulls a sinner toward the light, Mona lures a user with promises of ecstasy and enlightenment. Jack White claims that the song was inspired by a religious chain letter. The lyrics present religion as a miracle drug, one that passes through desperate hands in times of need. Mona is absolutely a miracle drug—it’s “gonna put you in the fast lane”—though it is debatable if that is a good thing or a bad thing. If Mona had a voice, I imagine it would sound something like this song. “I’m looking to help you find bliss, one day or one way, can’t miss.”
Never Say Never by Romeo Void
The sexual tension between Arvy and Wolf is undeniable. We find ourselves hoping that they will hook up despite Wolf’s innate hesitations. He wants to hook up with Arvy, but he also doesn’t want to take advantage, denying her agency at every turn because he thinks he knows what’s best for her during this vulnerable time in her life. This song lived rent-free in my mind when I was writing their final car scene in Act II. IYKYK. Side note, can we please bring back the saxophone in popular music? It’s been a minute, and I would not be mad at a “sexy 80s song” renaissance, one that does not shy away from Rob Lowe’s saxophone shenanigans in St. Elmo’s Fire. The 2020s have been absurd enough; I say we go broke or go home, at least in the woodwind department.
Your Mother by Irontom
This song captures the slightly horrific elements of 200 Monas, specifically Arvy and Wolf’s “mommy issues” that have been normalized. At times, Arvy’s fondness for her mother feels at odds with her unwillingness to talk about their life together, as if speaking one’s truth were a betrayal of loyalty. Even Wolf struggles to feel empowered while operating under his mother’s thumb. In Act II, Wolf downshifts into a more submissive role when he’s around his mother, as if he felt it necessary to dim his light to make room for hers. It makes me wonder if we all share this characteristic in some way. Have you ever felt like you couldn’t speak your truth in front of your mother? Do you frequently dim your light for the sake of loved ones? Have you ever thought, “I wish my mom were more like your mom,” or was your mom the one that all your friends wanted?
Here You Come Again by Dolly Parton
What’s a Texas story without country music? When Arvy visits The Puka Shell—getting pulled into another absurd encounter with Mona—this is the song that I imagine is playing on the jukebox. The song is a wink to the Mona experience (“Here You Come Again”). It also speaks to endless cycles: the people or behaviors we find ourselves returning to again and again. Arvy keeps returning to thoughts of her mom, the urn, Wolf’s hands, the mona. Her most heartbreaking cycle is her relationship with “the funk”—a condition she keeps running away from, worried that soon enough, it will have her wrapped around its little finger.
A Better Son/Daughter by Rilo Kiley
My heart breaks for Arvy, and where she’s at in her life. This song beautifully captures the complexity of her interior, where anxiety, guilt, despair, and the fight to persevere collide. The snare’s uncompromising cadence summons feelings of holding onto something that needs to be said. Like Arvy, Jenny Lewis’ voice aches to say it all, holding back until finally—like a dam breaking—she bursts into a confessional wail that feels like a battle cry. Of all the songs on 200 Mona’s playlist, this is the one that feels most like Arvy.
CVNT by Sophie Hunter
This song gets me TO-GETH-ER. Instant empowerment. When we get to Sayter—a secret society/sorority—we see the girls using the word “cunt” as a term of endearment. A badge of honor. Language is powerful, and I applaud those who snatch ownership of words that they feel have wounded or held them down in some way. Sayter girls refuse to be held down, going so far as to take a vow of celibacy to ensure their goals in life are met without the distractions and/or manipulations of sex. I wouldn’t doubt that some Westheimer students view Sayter girls as elitists, too good to live like everyone else, and perhaps that has led to some nasty name-calling behind closed doors. Rather than waste energy combating a derogatory term, Sayter girls absorb it, make fun of it, and utilize it to make sisterly bonds all the stronger. I love that. Love a Sayter girl.
With or Without You by U2
Arvy and Wolf share a common dilemma: They are both devoted and in debt to their mothers, yet that devotion has stunted them in some way. When we spend years conditioning our lives around the wants and needs of another person, what are we left with when that person suddenly jumps ship? Or when we ache to jump ship, but stay for the greater good? Despite their conditioning, Arvy and Wolf yearn for a different kind of life, one that feels divorced from their mothers’ lifestyles. This song explores the complexity of co-dependence and the tension that plays between devotion to the self and devotion to others. When self-interest feels at odds with those we love most, it creates a restless frustration that often results in shame. Shame erodes the self. How fucked up is that? What greater dilemma could there be than “I can’t live with or without you”? What is the solution? Even Bono doesn’t seem to know, making the song feel suspended in unease, yet certain of its heartache.
Recovery by LP
Arvy is at the beginning of her grief journey. For that reason, I wanted to give her a happy-for-now ending because grief isn’t a mountain; it is a terrain. A series of hardships and recoveries. To believe that Arvy could find closure with her mother’s death so quickly, in the span of a week, would be an insult to the reader; that ain’t how grief works. True grief haunts us until it becomes a part of us. In a way, we’re always grieving the loss of something: a major blow, a moment of cringe, a lack of sleep. In David Lindsay-Abaire’s Rabbit Hole, a grieving mother asks another grieving mother, “This feeling. Does it ever go away?” “No,” she replies. “It changes though…the weight of it, I guess.”
High by Young Rising Sons
I love a happy-for-now ending, a conclusion that feels optimistic but still grounded in an infinite truth: Life is hard, and that’s not going to change. But humans are brilliant. Despite hard times, we find ways to love, laugh, connect, and forgive. We use these tools to counteract the darkness—to survive. 200 Monas is a visceral experience that begs the reader to understand that life (and grief) is a series of ups and downs. Wins and losses. This song is Arvy’s Act III celebratory dance, an opus that—like the book—does not shy away from simple commercial pleasures: a carefree whistle, a clap, a backbeat on 2 and 4, and a chorus to be sung by all those who subscribe to its wisdom: “Without the low, there ain’t a high. Just let it go, enjoy the ride.”
Jan Saenz is an author, poet, and educator who lives near Houston, Texas. 200 Monas is her debut novel.