Don’t pick up this book if you want to read something uplifting this year. Flesh is the sixth book by David Szalay and its slender prose, no nonsense narrative, skips between events in its protagonist’s life with brilliant ease. Our would-be hero, István, whose juvenile attempt at murder, trauma soaked 20s in the army and rise through London’s super-rich, conclusively fails in his attempt to escape from the small Hungarian village of his birth. Szalay traces the undercurrents of war in Iraq, immigration, COVID-19 and much more, through the everyday troubles of sex, money or work. István’s life is unfortunately for us and commendably for the author, depressingly familiar in its suppressed melancholy.
Flesh is one of those rare books that makes so much of simple conversational remarks. Where some novels might add “It’s okay” and “Yes” as purposefully colloquial interjections to make the narrative feel more ‘real’, Szalay gives these remarks more weight. We might read a whole section of such stripped dialogue whilst still sensing the underlying gravity of the characters’ inability to fess up to their emotion. These tightly controlled social rituals are sincere and reveal the isolating effects of a world continuously falling apart. If we are to see István as an unlikely hero, then this is due to his otherworldly will to go on despite the circumstances.
Sexual desire is given a careful brush throughout. Many of the narrative turns rely on who István is sleeping with, what social class they belong to and notably less of their emotional make up. The reader easily slips into characters that are deliberately vague. Much akin to Ian McEwan’s Lessons, one sexual experience in teenage years torments István middle age and therefore, Szalay’s novel can be placed among this growing tradition of literature opening up about sex – especially male authors writing about the failures of men to adapt to post-modern relationships.
Szalay also writes with blunt authority upon the European job market. Although retaining work for most of us has become a daunting task, Flesh reminds the reader of the often quirky and bizarre ways that we get jobs. István’s rise to the upper classes depends upon a series of unusual encounters, beginning with his work at no place else but a strip club in Soho. It’s not that Szalay is forging a working-class champion that erupts into financial freedom and lethargy, but István’s successes rather scrutinise his immature assumption that money will make him more content.
If Szalay’s most recent novel proclaims one central tenet, it is this: the scars of our past will erupt continuously in inventive and unexpected ways. When you finally take your teeth out of Flesh, the narrative has looped back to where it began, with a desperate, lonely and sympathetic portrait of a man lost amid his surroundings. Not to say that the reader has certainly felt they have learnt and experienced something new along the way.
Words by Harry Speirs
Want more Books content from The Indiependent? Click here
Support The Indiependent
We’re trying to raise £200 a month to help cover our operational costs. This includes our ‘Writer of the Month’ awards, where we recognise the amazing work produced by our contributor team. If you’ve enjoyed reading our site, we’d really appreciate it if you could donate to The Indiependent. Whether you can give £1 or £10, you’d be making a huge difference to our small team.