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NEW YORK — The Russian oligarch who helped bankroll Donald Trump Jr.’s wedding celebration says the president’s eldest son has paid back the money.

“Yes, he did,” Umar Kremlev told an International Boxing Association press conference in Istanbul on Tuesday. “He did repay the money I spent on the present.” Still, he said he felt the repayment was unnecessary.

“Frankly speaking, I do not understand why he decided to do so,” he went on. “There are all kinds of events organized by all kinds of people. It is as if I invite you to come and visit my country house. Would you expect me to issue an invoice to them afterward?” Speaking through an interpreter, he said that would be “ridiculous.”

ProPublica, a nonprofit investigative website, reported last month that Kremlev, who has close ties to Russian President Vladimir Putin, “footed the bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars of wedding expenses” when Trump Jr. married socialite Bettina Anderson in the Bahamas in May. That included paying to rent one of two private islands where the three-day party was held.

In a subsequent post on her Instagram page signed by the couple, Bettina Trump wrote that they had been married “surrounded ONLY by our family,” but that Kremlev, head of the boxing association, was a “dear friend” who “very generously hosted two incredible nights of celebrations for us AFTER our wedding.”

President Trump, who did not attend the nuptials, previously defended the arrangement but told reporters that the money would be paid back.

“It’s totally allowed,” he said. “But, as I understand it, he paid them back.”

“That’s very common,” he added, “I’ve given wedding parties to numerous people.”

Kremlev, who was recently honored with the Order of Friendship by Putin, also played down the significance, saying the celebration was “a shared event” and “people blew it out of proportion.”

“I mean, why can’t we be friends? We are just friends,” he went on. “We are simply friends and what unites us is love for sports.”

The focus on Kremlev comes as Russia remains at war with Ukraine following its invasion in 2022 and as Trump has failed to broker a promised peace deal between the nations.

Trump Jr. has previously been scrutinized over his ties to Russia. During the 2016 campaign, his meeting with a Russian attorney in Trump Tower to discuss potentially incriminating information about his father’s then-Democratic opponent was a critical element of investigations into whether the Trump campaign coordinated with Russia to meddle in the election to help Trump win.

Colvin writes for the Associated Press.

LEGENDARY R&B singer Freddie Jackson has died at 70 as family and friends mourn the icon’s passing online.

The singer, known for his hit song Rock Me Tonight (For Old Times Sake), passed away on Monday, just days after his milestone birthday.

Freddie’s family announced the sad news on his Instagram on Tuesday.

“It is with profound sadness and heavy hearts that we share the passing of our beloved Freddie Jackson, who went home to rest last night,” the post read alongside a photo of the iconic vocalist.

“Freddie was more than a legendary voice. He was a kind, generous soul who loved his fans, his family, his friends, and his music with everything he had.

“For decades he gave us the songs that became the soundtrack to our love stories, our celebrations, and our most treasured memories. That gift will live on forever,” the caption continued.

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“To everyone who ever sang along, danced, or felt something when Freddie took the stage: thank you. You were family to him, and he carried your love with him always.

“Please keep his family, friends, and loved ones in your prayers during this difficult time. Details regarding arrangements and how to honor his legacy will be shared in the coming days.”

The family concluded the post, writing, “Rest in peace, Freddie. Your legacy and your voice will live on forever.”

They did not reveal the artist’s cause of death.

Fans shared their grief and condolences to Freddie’s loved ones in the comments.

“Another Legend Gone…Another Legacy left behind. This sucks! Grateful for the gift he shared with an unforgiving world,” professional wrestler Elijah Burke (Da Pope), wrote.

“Oh man Freddie one of. The true greats!!!! I had the pleasure of working on a song duet with him and Natalie Cole! Superb!” singer Narada Michael Walden added.

“Three days after his birthday. Rest well and Thank you for all the wonderful songs throughout the years here with us on earth,” a fan said.

“Awww man. Such a cool brother. So talented too ! One of the Greats,” chimed in a fourth.

“Heartbreaking news!!! Rest in Paradise Freddie,” a fifth echoed.

Freddie’s music career took off in the 1980s, with his chart-topping hits, You Are My Lady, Have You Ever Loved Somebody, and Jam Tonight.

The New York native kept performing until his death, singing his old hits and songs from his newest album, My First Love, released in May 2023.

He hit the stage in June for a performance at a winery in Philadelphia and was among the headliners at an 80s Night Concert in Fort Worth, Texas, in April, per his recent Instagram posts.

In one of Freddie’s latest posts, he thanked fans “for all the love” on his birthday and shared a photo of himself in a white suit.

Hallmark films have mastered the art of escalating low-stakes situations into high-stakes emotional emergency plotlines. They have made a lucrative business out of absurdities.

The town’s ice sculpture competition is in danger of being canceled forever. How can the Christmas celebration in Colorado go forward without a nice spruce? The only way to really save the bakery is to have a life-size gingerbread house competition.

It’s a proven formula that leans into the ridiculousness of mundane situations but earns its audience every holiday season. Whether it’s watching the movies for comfort or to turn a viewing party into a drinking game, millions of people tune in to laugh or cry watching them.

The Hallmark situations can be predictable, comfortable and wholesome, which can come off as absurd for a film plotline. Their sincerity and humor come from the cast’s commitment to the mundane, said Ron Oliver, writer and director of many Hallmark films.

A scene from “The History of Concrete.”

(Magnolia Pictures)

“Funny is only funny if you don’t think it’s funny,” he said. “We know that’s ridiculous. But at the same time, if the actor commits to it, it makes it seem real, then the audience gets it.”

He likes to think they’re laughing along with the idiosyncratic elements of the movies, and as long as it is creating a communal atmosphere, Oliver is all for it.

“If there’s anything we need these days, it’s a sense that people belong somewhere,” he added.

The formula isn’t what makes a movie a Hallmark movie. The structure has existed since God wore shorts, said Oliver. The channel’s achievement has been its ability to turn the structure into a recognizable brand through its stories.

When filmmaker John Wilson was in between jobs after finishing his HBO show “How To With John Wilson” during the writers’ strike, he attended a seminar on how to write and sell a Hallmark film.

After seeing what makes the Hallmark brand recognizable, Wilson decided to adapt the style into his own genre of making a documentary about concrete titled “The History of Concrete,” hoping the structure would help him finance the film.

John Wilson in “The History of Concrete.”

(Magnolia Pictures)

“But it’s very loose and almost impossible to even identify at points,” he said.

Instead of mocking the genre, Wilson subverts the Hallmark elements into his style of documenting, which finds the filmmaker recording trivial life moments — a person sitting on a pole, for example, or someone ruining a perfectly good jar of peanut butter by dipping their fingers into it — alongside his contextualizing narration.

“I both embrace but betray certain rules,” he said.

The seminar told him to avoid mentioning Christianity in the context of Christmas, so he pivoted to a Buddhist community with an annual tradition of running around a school in New York. The formula prefers to stay away from trauma. Instead, he made the death of one of his subject’s fiancées one of the main plotlines of the film.

“The actual Hallmark of it all fits in a way because that’s the kind of living proof that this rhythmic cyclical way of storytelling is actually soothing and attractive to people over long periods of time, to be able to return to this thing that they can trust and understand,” he added.

A scene from “The History of Concrete.”

(Magnolia Pictures)

In Wilson’s film, the entrance point is concrete, but what begins to unravel is a romance story involving a boy who has a movie idea, needs money to make a movie and tries everything he can to sell it — a signature love trope for most Hallmark movies.

Throughout the film, Wilson goes from pitch meeting to pitch meeting trying to finance his art. In the process, Wilson meets other eccentric characters that share his passion of filmmaking but have their own interests, like clearing gum from a sidewalk, immortalizing a person’s tattoo after they’re dead, and music.

“I’m just finding different ways to court this industry that doesn’t seem ready for this relationship,” Wilson said. “I’m trying to find some consensual way into it, but I eventually just need to perform the romantic gesture of doing what feels right and what comes naturally to me.”

The love story is the kind of theme that sometimes it’s OK to lean into, even though he’s constantly battling whether he should explore it in his films, Wilson added.

A scene from “The History of Concrete.”

(Magnolia Pictures)

Oliver believes that battle is a product of the cynicism that exists in society. Pledging love and respecting someone or a relationship can make people feel so uncomfortable that leaning into these tropes of life can feel humorous, and that’s where the laughs from a Hallmark film come from.

“They’re realizing that they’re being emotional about somebody who can’t find the right Christmas sweater,” he said.

The people in “The History of Concrete” aren’t funny because Wilson makes them out to be ridiculous. He doesn’t emphasize their eccentricities or tell the audience what makes them funny. He simply lets them be themselves. He captures their personality through a curiosity lens.

The humor comes from their passions not seeming worthy of the level of seriousness with which they pursue them. These people love something so much that their devotion mirrors the kind of energy normally reserved for higher stakes.

“There’s no definition of normal that sticks,” Wilson said.

A Christmas celebration isn’t objectively a life-or-death situation, and neither is concrete. But when people care deeply about them, those seemingly mundane things can take on an emotional significance the audience understands.

“Even if it’s something absurd … [the casts] are also committed to the idea of making it real,” Oliver said.

In 2002, 91-year-old Edwin Hiles was murdered in his Oxfordshire home and the way police tracked down his killer changed forensic investigations forever and led them straight to the killer

Frail 91-year-old Edwin Hiles was brutally murdered in his Oxfordshire home by a former local slaughterman who cut his phone line so he couldn’t call for help.

Paul Weedon, 24 – who worked in the ‘gut room’ of Mutchmeats’ slaughterhouse in Witney, Oxfordshire – stabbed the pensioner in the throat in 2002 after trying to rob the widower when he refused to give him money for rent.

Mr Hiles’ body was found in the front downstairs living room of his semi-detached home by a neighbour who had called in to see him. But there was no sign of the killer.

Mr Hiles was known in his community for his small-scale money lending to those in hard times and detectives immediately linked his murder to his generosity and that he may have had cash at his house

What followed changed British forensic science forever. In order to catch the killer, investigators pioneered a breakthrough technique known as “fibre-taping” for the first time in the UK – linking the victim’s body directly to bloodstained clothes Weedon had stashed in a nearby woodland close to where he was living in Chipping Norton.

Rather than just gathering loose fibres to see if the two people interacted, investigators used a complete, grid-indexed tape on both the killer’s clothing and Mr Hiles’ body to reconstruct their positions during the attack.

During the trial in 2003, Weedon had changed his story multiple times, even claiming to have seen drug dealers kill the elderly widow, according to the Oxford Mail. He also claimed he had been deliberately framed by an acquaintance who had had dealings with Mr Hiles.

But later on, he then said he stabbed Mr Hiles in the throat after the pensioner came at him with a kitchen knife to stop the robbery. In mitigation, Julian Baughan, defending, said: “This wasn’t pre-planned. It was intended possibly as an application for a loan which turned into a robbery which went wrong.”

The breakthrough forensic testing from 2003 will be shown and explained on the brand new documentary series UK Forensic Breakthroughs on the True Crime channel. Spanning across 10 episodes, each instalment will focus on its own murder case where scientific breakthroughs and microscopic evidence secured justice for grieving families.

Forensic scientist Jo Millington will give exclusive access to the experts behind the investigations, including the case of Edwin Hiles, which is set to air on September 27. Jo Millington has been a forensic scientist for over 30 years, even working behind the scenes on BBC’s Silent Witness.

Speaking of the new documentary, Jo Millington said UK Forensic Breakthroughs stands out from other crime shows and explained: “The first difference is that it puts forensic science at the heart of the show, which normally sits on the periphery in the shadow.

“Over a 10 part series, we’re using the programme to kind of assure a spotlight on forensic science. And more importantly, the scientists that do forensic science, every single day.”

Jo explained how forensic evidence isn’t just about fingerprints and bloodstains. Speaking to the Mirror, she said: “Forensic science is based on the principle that every contact leaves a trace and that’s exactly what people do when they commit a crime. Every interaction, every step has the potential to leave material in the crime scene or take it away.

“The challenge sometimes is finding the evidence in the first place, but once forensic scientists do find it then they can start to interpret it and put it into the context of an investigation.

“The evaluation of the science is really important. For example, finding my DNA in a place where I live or work is unlikely to unlock a case, but if investigators find my fingerprint in the blood of the person that has been injured, then that is like a timestamp.

“It tells you I was there when the person was bleeding – that contextual evaluation is vital – and in that particular example, I would have questions to answer.”

As well as shining a light on the forensic science work, Jo aims to tackle one common misconception about her job. She added: “The thing about forensic science is it’s mostly a process – things need to happen in a particular order in line with a particular method and the results need to be checked and double checked by people who are trained and competent.

“The chain between the evidence that is collected from a crime scene and the scientific findings that are presented to the court, and the jury, needs to be water-tight. That level of diligence and checks takes a longtime.”

TRUE CRIME is available on Sky, Virgin Media, Freeview, Freesat and Freely as well as for streaming via TRUE CRIME UK (FAST), accessible on platforms including Prime Video, Rakuten TV, Pluto TV, Plex, LG Channels, Samsung TV Plus, ITVX and 5.

If ABC brought back the TV show “Superstars” that featured top athletes competing in various events, then a trip to Corona del Mar High would be a must, because the Sea Kings have top multiple-sport athletes competing every day.

The football team is 5-0 thanks to a trio of athletes who are still learning what their best sport is.

Nolan Scott, left, scored the winning basket and his brother, Maxwell, scored 35 points in Corona del Mar’s basketball team’s 78-77 win over Los Alamitos.

(Eric Sondheimer / Los Angeles Times)

Nolan Scott is a 6-foot-4 tight end and linebacker who can dunk and plays basketball with his Harvard-bound brother, Maxwell.

Tucker Murray is a safety, receiver and punt returner who’s committed to Princeton to play both football and lacrosse.

Corona del Mar High’s JJ Haley (3) comes up smiling with teammate Max Brengel after both scoring two runs during the Battle of the Bay baseball game against Newport Harbor last season.

(Don Leach / Daily Pilot)

JJ Haley is a receiver and center fielder for the baseball team who could play both sports in college.

That kind of versatility and ability to handle pressure is seen every week in football.

For them to keep playing more than one sport instead of focusing on a single sport shows their commitment and belief you can do both and be good in both while having fun with friends.

This is a daily look at the positive happenings in high school sports. To submit any news, please email eric.sondheimer@latimes.com.

Sept. 22, 2026 3:02 AM PT

A few years ago, I received a call I’ll never forget. Jeanette Epps, an astronaut aboard the International Space Station, Zoomed into my living room from 250 miles above Earth. During our conversation, she told me that one of the reasons she chose her career was a television show my father created in 1966.

She wasn’t alone. I’ve heard versions of that same story from countless people over the years. Engineers. Scientists. Astronauts. People who saw possibility on a television screen before they ever saw it in the real world.

They credit “Star Trek” for showing them a future they wanted to help build. That’s an extraordinary thing for a television series to accomplish. It didn’t just entertain millions of people. It gave many of them a direction.

And I don’t think that was because of the ships, the gadgets or the aliens. It was because, underneath all of it, was a profoundly human belief that we are capable of becoming something better.

There was a time when science fiction made a bet on humanity. A bet that humanity was worth rooting for. We need storytellers willing to make that bet again.

I don’t think we have an innovation problem. We have an inspiration problem.

We talk a lot about what we’re leaving the next generation. The debt. The climate. The geopolitical mess. But there’s another inheritance we don’t talk about enough: what we show them is possible.

Today, many visions of the future are dominated by collapse, dystopia and fear. Those stories can have value. But conflict doesn’t always have to come from destruction. It can come from discovery. Two minds encountering an idea neither had considered. A crew facing the unknown with curiosity instead of fear. That kind of conflict doesn’t leave you feeling like the world is ending. It leaves you feeling like it’s just beginning.

Most storytelling holds a mirror up to who we are. Our flaws, our failures, our contradictions. But there is another kind. Stories built around characters a step or two ahead of where humanity is. Not perfect. But people who have learned how to cooperate, how to lead, how to stay curious and how to put something larger than themselves first. Characters you don’t just recognize. Characters you want to become one day.

That distinction changes what a story asks of you. And what you walk away believing is possible.

This year, “Star Trek” celebrates its 60th anniversary.

That’s not a milestone you reach by accident. Franchises built on spectacle fade. Ones built on something people actually needed tend to stick around.

The engineers who built Silicon Valley, the astronauts who went to space, the scientists pushing the edges of medicine and artificial intelligence — many of them trace a line back to this show. That wasn’t the plan. Nobody set out to build an innovation pipeline out of a television series. But that’s exactly what happened. When you give people a future worth believing in, they go build it — or sometimes they get inspired to imagine other hopeful destinations and lead us toward them. That’s not nostalgia. That’s a model.

One thing my dad understood that I think gets overlooked: “Star Trek” wasn’t going out into the galaxy to find aliens that looked different. It was going out to find aliens that thought different.

Diversity of perspective is how a species grows. My father gave that idea a name: IDIC. Infinite Diversity from Infinite Combinations. It didn’t mean you had to abandon your own point of view. It meant staying open to someone else’s. Because that’s how you grow. That idea has never been more relevant. And it has never been more achievable.

For the first time in history, a creator anywhere in the world can tell a story that reaches everyone, and now it can come from anywhere. The future belongs to everyone. The stories that shape it should too.

That astronaut who called me from space didn’t just watch a television show. She saw a future worth dedicating her life to.

Every generation needed something to build toward before they ever picked up a tool. A vision. A direction. A story that made the future feel worth the work. And right now, we’re not building enough of that.

We need stories that don’t just entertain us, but also become our compass. We need the kind of storytelling that doesn’t ask what could go wrong, but asks what could go right.

Rod Roddenberry, founder of the Roddenberry Foundation and son of “Star Trek” creator Gene Roddenberry and actor Majel Barrett Roddenberry, is an executive producer on current “Star Trek” television shows.

Among novelist Mona Awad’s prized possessions is a handmade rabbit brooch with delicate hanging daggers. It’s a gift from a reader. The present was inspired by Awad’s goth-tinged comic novel “Bunny,” which has garnered a cult following on social platforms like BookTok over the last several years with readers who call themselves “bunnies.” Driven largely by these devoted fans, the book’s sequel “We Love You, Bunny” hits shelves this month in paperback, while Awad hops across the U.S. on her latest book tour.

The bunnies are so enamored with Awad’s horror-adjacent satires centered on academia and female friendships (and often compared to “Heathers” and “Mean Girls”), they have created their own online — and offline — aesthetic universe.

Their videos and artwork, spanning Pinterest, YouTube, Instagram and TikTok, bring the novels’ surreal, “creepy-cute” aesthetic to life. The fan art features moody Ivy League backdrops with bunny ears, heavy tomes, blood-red candles and saccharine doll-like fashion. It’s a style ripped straight from the book’s antagonists — one of whom wears a pink dress patterned with beheaded girls. Some bunnies cosplay lace-adorned, ax-wielding characters and post the images on social media, or illustrate them.

Sara Ah Sing, a 30-year-old multidisciplinary artist in San Diego who considers herself a bunny, is one such illustrator. She discovered Awad’s fiction when she went down a BookTube dark academia genre-themed rabbit hole. “I was taken aback by how intense and vivid the descriptions were, and not only detailed, but very viscerally described … Mona Awad is not a generic prose writer,” Ah Sing says.

Author Mona Awad writes and dreams up her fiction in La Jolla, where she has a second home.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

She recalls a protagonist called Cupcake. “She’s described as a person who looks like a cupcake … something like ‘The Children of the Corn’ going to prom. And, it’s like, OK, what does that mean? For an artist it begs for interpretation — and I just have to illustrate it.”

Her imagination has been reignited with the sequel, “We Love You, Bunny.” Ah Sing illustrated its tortured central character, Aerius, as a muscled romance book cover star — with a twist. “Instantly when we meet him in the new book, he’s described with all these delicious descriptions. He’s got all these very specific tattoos that are in very specific places on his body,” Ah Sing says. “He’s wearing pearls and has auburn hair that covers one eye — it’s like a playground for your brain reading that kind of stuff.”

Awad’s vivid descriptions have led to all kinds of fan-led creations. Los Angeles-area Bookstagrammer Michelle Grondine, 40, is inked with five “Bunny”-inspired tattoos. “I have one on my inner ankle, one on my forearm, one on my collarbone, one on my lower back of a cat reading ‘Bunny’ and one on my thigh,” Grondine says. Each of the tattoos varies in style, not unlike the distinct personalities in the book’s fictional MFA cohort.

Grondine plans to attend Awad’s upcoming event at Skylight Books in Los Angeles on Sept. 21 with her best friend, Valentina Feldstedt, who lives in Northridge. The two met online after Grondine spotted Feldstedt’s “Bunny” social posts, and they quickly bonded over their shared obsession. They have collected various editions of the series (including the Barnes & Noble-released “We Love You, Bunny,” which features a bonus chapter), gone to see Awad live several times and crafted Taylor Swift Eras tour-style friendship bracelets for fellow fans and Awad (whom they call “our alpha bunny.”)

“Bunny” author Mona Awad’s spread of her fan art and gifts in her home in La Jolla. (Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

Feldstedt, 30, has her own “Bunny” tattoo, which she says doubles as an excuse to pitch the novel to strangers. “It’s weird, but if you get it, you get it,” Feldstedt says. “And if you don’t, you’re not a bunny — and that’s fine.”

Awad says her sequel, in part, owes to bunnies like Ah Sing, Grondine and Feldstedt. “When readers started finding it online and creating and expanding the universe of it, it gave me permission to go back to it,” Awad reflects.

She walks around her Boston home and plucks up a fan-made crocheted rabbit toting an ax. Another fan, a nail artist, crafted spooky bespoke black and purple press-ons decorated with intricate white hares. Awad says there’s a song written about the book by an indie band from western Massachusetts called the Greys, and you can buy fan-crafted “Bunny” merch on Etsy.

A poster signed by fans at Mona Awad’s book signing for “We Love You, Bunny” at the Center for Yoga in Los Angeles.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

But “Bunny” didn’t always have such a rabid fan group. In fact, when the first book was published in 2019, it received critical acclaim, but Awad was disappointed it wasn’t selling as well as her previous novel, “13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl.”

“I was like, well, maybe it’s just a weird book,” she recalls on a Zoom call in her literature-lined home. A few years later, during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, Awad got a call from her publisher. The book was selling, and they couldn’t figure out why. “It was beginning to sell more than 1,000 copies a week, which is crazy two years after publication,” she says. Around that time, BookTok and BookTube had discovered her novel. Next came the bunny ears.

“More and more readers were tagging me on Instagram, and they were dressed in bunny ears, or they had a bunny tattoo, or they were sharing visual art that they had made, envisioning the characters — paintings, ink drawings, cartoons, comics, so many different iterations of this — and then all of these reels and collages that were just so incredible to see,” she says, pausing to emphasize her amazement. “I was really startled by it. It just kind of came in this wave, and then it just grew from there.”

Jane Friedman, a books industry veteran who tracks publishing news, trends and the intersection with technology in her newsletter “The Bottom Line,” says that intense literary fandoms aren’t entirely new. “Apart from BookTok, there have always been these really obsessive fan communities,” Friedman says. “The internet and social media just made it easier for them to come together, making them far more powerful.”

Friedman emphasizes that some critics are concerned that a so-called BookTok phenomenon pushes literature toward consumerism and waters down literary quality. “You can sometimes see authors chasing a trend rather than writing what they would ordinarily write, hoping their book will go viral,” Friedman says. “But I don’t think that’s the case here. It’s probably a mix of timing, serendipity, literary quality and, you know, the stars aligning.”

Awad was born in Montreal to a French Canadian mother and an Egyptian father. She grew up in a French-speaking family, and when her mother enrolled her in an English-speaking school, she recalls feeling like a complete outsider. It was an experience that would happen again and again — like later when her family moved to a Toronto suburb (where, of course, she had a few goth years), and again in her 30s during grad school when she earned her MFA at Brown University.

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1. Superfan Valentina Bunny lives in Northridge. (Valentina Feldstedt) 2. Madelyn Bunny hails from Kentucky. (Madelyn Chimento) 3. L.A.’s Michelle Bunny has five rabbit tattoos with plans for more. (Michelle Grondine) 4. Valentina Bunny, left, and Michelle Bunny with author Mona Awad. (Michelle Grondine) 5. Chloe Bunny lives in Australia. (Chloe Bunnie)

“It was kind of my first taste of New England, which was very, very mythical to anybody who doesn’t come from there … It was disorienting in ways that I suppose were productive in retrospect, but it was hard. It was my first taste of being critiqued. It was my first experience of sharing work with others and having them talk about it with me, and it wasn’t easy,” she says. “I mean, the whole world of the MFA felt like fodder for horror.”

Being an outsider looking in remains a central theme across her novels, including her other critically acclaimed works, and it resonates deeply with readers. The wildly imaginative “Bunny,” often described on TikTok as a “fever dream,” has been translated into 17 different languages. Awad notes that she has an especially huge readership in war-plagued Ukraine, where the book is a breakout bestseller. “It’s so moving to me,” she says. “What they say is that it’s a very anti-fascist book, and it’s a very anti-establishment kind of book. It is about resisting the pull of the clique, finding your own ground, standing on your own ground, and being authentically yourself and embracing that.”

It’s a theme she will continue in the third Bunny book. “The minute I turned in ‘We Love You, Bunny,’ I missed the characters and the world,” Awad reflects. She knew there would be another one. Although Awad has deep roots on the East Coast where she’s taught university-level creative writing courses — her students perhaps not so unlike some of the MFA characters in her “Bunny”-verse — nearly all of her books were written in Southern California, where she has a second home and plans to write her next novel. She notes that a short story she wrote in 2025 for the New Yorker was set in the San Diego area, as was her novel “Rogue.” “It’s been such a generative place for me,” she says. “I’ve become sort of superstitious about it.”

Her next book is taking shape as she works and dreams near the ocean. Meanwhile, her existing work is set to make waves in Hollywood. “Bunny” is slated to be adapted into a film by J.J. Abrams’ production company, Bad Robot, and was recently acquired by a major streaming service — although Awad can’t disclose which one yet. She says she’s been deeply involved. “I feel like my vision of the book is being honored, which is really meaningful. Part of the reason that’s so important to me is because I want to honor my readers’ connection to it.”

That deep bond is something Awad witnesses firsthand nearly every night on the road, where her digital fandom materializes into physical rooms filled with devoted readers (often donning rabbit ears). “The thing that moved me the most about going on tour for the hardback — and it’s happening as I’m on tour for the paperback too — is seeing just how many people bond over the book,” Awad reflects. “Not only the art that has been generated by ‘Bunny,’ but so much community and friendship has been formed. You see this kindred spirit through reading, and it’s the most beautiful thing.”

Mona Awad presents “We Love You, Bunny” at Skylight Books on Sept. 21. 1818 N. Vermont Ave., L.A.