And again later, when the novel’s story has finally started to gain momentum:

Your Presence is Requested at Suvanto is also preoccupied with female sexuality. All of the “up-patients,” without exception, have in some way failed sexually. Julia arrives with a longtime undiagnosed sexually transmitted disease and a prolapsed uterus. Pearl is unable to achieve intimacy with her husband. Even Sunny, presumably one of the novel’s healthy individuals, is so frightened of childbirth she becomes nearly catatonic when asked to assist with a delivery.

Sexual dysfunctionality seems to be the main reason for their voluntary seclusion. It is almost as if this blemish on their femininity has made them incapable of functioning in even the most unrelated situation. Their only response is to remove themselves from society, to gather together with other examples of broken womanhood and nurture their various eccentricities. But no matter how voluntary their confinement may appear, each woman harbors a quiet rage. Deep, hidden rage is where one of the novel’s most successful elements comes into the discussion — the echoes of Euripedes’ tragic play The Bacchae. There is the chorus-like we, there is the gathering of “mad” women off in the forest, suspiciously sexual and deranged, both misunderstood and feared, and there is the ultimate act of frenzied, nearly unconscious violence. Your Presence is Requested at Suvanto is not a reinterpretation of The Bacchae, but the reference is so sharp and so deftly accomplished that it infuses the novel with a sense of rebellious ecstasy, inciting the reader to approve and even revel in its ultimate tragedy.