Flesh
Mr. Szalay instills his characters with almost no inner life. The descriptions of each scene are ruthlessly pared back and the dialogue is almost comically minimalist ... These reductions can feel exaggerated—Mr. Szalay pushes his flat, desiccated writing style to some eye-rolling extremes—but the effect is hypnotic ... Taboo for so long, the female body has become a subject of celebratory interest in contemporary novels; meanwhile, explorations into the male sex drive have been tacitly proscribed. Mr. Szalay turns a cold gaze on those urges and makes no promises that we’ll be comfortable with what he sees.
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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.
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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.
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