Flesh by David Szalay (pronounced soloy) is a refreshingly different novel. It’s quite brief and pacy, and on the surface of it, seems very superficial too, almost as if the author hasn’t bothered to flesh out either his story or his characters. Istvan, the protagonist is extremely taciturn and has the emotional and intellectual range of an empty plastic bucket. He is libidinous and boorish, incapable of conversing in full sentences. He seemingly has nothing to redeem him, and yet, we can’t help but feel for him as his life tragically unravels in front of us.
We are introduced to Istvan as a fifteen-year-old in (presumably) Soviet-era Hungary (Szalay doesn’t mention any dates). He is a typical sullen, raunchy teenager living with his single mother (there’s no mention of a father throughout the novel- wonder if that has anything to do with how Istvan turns out). He is desperate to hook up with girls, and naturally, his first encounter is a disaster. He then begins a clandestine affair with an older, married neighbour, after which his life is completely upended. He shuffles between various institutes, jobs, hookups, relationships and countries with a zombie-like detachment. Nothing affects him, nothing moves him, nothing fazes him- he remains the same with everyone and in every situation. He speaks in monosyllables, remains emotionally distant and aloof and doesn’t show any signs of growth throughout the novel.
Flesh is quite the anti-bildungsroman in that sense, that the protagonist remains firmly ensconced in the mental and emotional space that he was in at the beginning of the novel. Yet it makes for a compelling read for several reasons. For one, Szalay gives us an intimate, unflinching perspective into a mind that is overwhelmingly male. More specifically, working class male- defined by physical urges, transactional relationships and emotional indifference. Is Istvan this way because of his childhood- the trauma he goes through, the lack of a father figure, and the absence of close meaningful relationships in his life? Possibly- though that’s left for the reader to infer. Istvan grows up in a changing world- he lives through a transition from socialism to capitalism, moves from Eastern Europe to England, is faced with the burgeoning rise of feminism- all of which seemingly have no impact on him. Through these transitions, Szalay deftly explores themes of migration, power, class and desire. Istvan remains a curiously passive and impassive character throughout- he does not experience events, rather he just stands by as experiences happen to him. He is incidental to his trauma, his relationships, his wealth, his family- he remains a distant bystander as significant events and people roll by. Istvan’s is a body-centric existence, versus an emotional existence and yet Szalay gives us a closeup, affecting portrait of his alienation and resilience (Istvan always, always, moves on). We see Istvan grudgingly take therapy sessions and medications, and we hope that it might give us some insight into his inner workings, but that doesn’t happen either- possibly conveying that his trauma and his aloof personality may be ill suited for therapy- again reinforcing the alienation and detachment that defines his character. Szalay’s sparse prose paradoxically creates a deeply moving experience for the reader, allowing the gaps in communication and overlooked experiences to speak for the protagonist.
Essentially, Flesh is a psychologically astute and deeply resonant novel. It overturns cliches about how characters dealing with trauma must think and act. Szalay challenges the reader to focus on what isn’t overtly stated, offering a perspective on a character who appears superficial and uninteresting, but has lived a life rich with unspoken experience.
