A gentle yet deeply affecting novel about a taciturn man who overcomes abuse and loss early in life to stumble into transitory contentment — if not quite true happiness — as an adult ... Fascinating and unexpected ... If you’ve ever woken up to the realization that your life has become something you never planned for, anticipated, or desired, you’ll likely find Flesh all too human.
Uncommonly gifted Hungarian-English novelist David Szalay ... Cool, remote ... The novel works because Szalay’s simplicity is, like Hemingway’s, the fatty sort that resonates ... Time moves with an uncanny fluidity ... I admired this book from front to back without ever quite liking it, without ever quite giving in to it. Sometimes those are the ones you itch to read again. Sometimes once is more than enough.
Szalay’s straightforward, spare prose helps propel the novel as the effects of that tragedy reverberate throughout his life ... The power of Flesh is Szalay’s ability to let these moments speak for themselves, letting these simple interactions tell a tragic story.
Szalay consciously leaves much of the melodrama and violence in István’s life off the page, and while not a horror story at all, Szalay employs this cutaway technique to offer the reader a series of narrative gaps, the kind of blank spaces where, as in a horror film, a mind wanders to the bleakest of possibilities to fill ... Flesh’s one true flaw arises in scenes where the author excludes his protagonist. Without István, these pages turn superfluous, reinforcing information already strongly implied, or producing thin subplots ... A shrewd novel that leverages the unsaid to speak volumes.
Everyone in Flesh is inarticulate, emotionally detached and passive in the flow of the story, yet, I have not stopped thinking about this audacious novel since I read it ... An outstanding achievement.
Compulsively readable. In some ways, it reads like a thriller because of its gripping plotline, but also because there’s an edge of violence to István that seems like it could detonate at any moment ... I’m glad I’ve stuck with Szalay over these last 15 years. Like many of the best writers, he flies under the radar, reappearing once in a while with a new book, then disappearing again, leaving his readers longing for more. Flesh is, I think, his best novel yet, quietly traumatising, with memorable characters and a rather brilliant last line whose peaceful resignation lies in marked contrast to the dramatic experiences that precede it.
Szalay has completely overhauled his prose style. Gone are the extraneous adverbs, the overwrought imagery, the cumbersome syntax. Instead, a radically pared-back aesthetic lends powerful immediacy to this picaresque tale of a taciturn Hungarian man named István ... In the early chapters, Szalay’s new, sparer prose style is enlivened by regular restarts and a steady fusillade of narrative shocks. When the frequency and power of these shocks diminishes, the pared-back prose struggles to sustain narrative tension ... Szalay himself seems aware that the novel is flagging: in the final fifty pages, he lobs another volley of narrative shocks at the reader. This time he goes too far and tilts into melodrama. At the end, I felt surprisingly little for István.
Szalay has written a novel about the Big Question: about the numbing strangeness of being alive; about what, if anything, it means to amble through time in a machine made of meat ... All bone. Szalay has always been a master of the flinty, spare sentence but in this novel he has pared things back even more brutally ... There will be a temptation to pigeonhole Flesh as a novel about masculinity; its silences and its contortions, its frustrations and its codes. But while that is clearly a central concern, Szalay is also grappling with broader, knottier, more metaphysical issues.
Ensnared me ... It’s tense, unnerving and charged with a sense of the fragility of our lives. It’s also a book with lots of sex, sexily told ... The novel is written with the terse narrative style of a thriller, the white space communicating as much as the words ... Revelatory.
Has a lot of flesh, although eroticism, none of it glamorous, is only one part of this multifaceted work ... Impressive ... The obvious allusion to carnal pleasure also has its Shakespearean side, with some characters keen on revenge and exacting their pound of flesh. That's only one of the many subtleties and layers of complexity readers will find in this rewarding work from one of the most original authors in English letters.
A heartbreaking and revelatory portrait of a taciturn Hungarian man who serially attempts to build a new life after his traumatic adolescence ... This tragedy will leave readers in awe.
