Beyond the Manosphere: Understanding David Szalay's Booker-Winning Masterpiece
When David Szalay's Flesh claimed the prestigious Booker Prize, literary circles immediately anointed it as the latest 'masculinity in crisis' novel. Yet those who've actually read this experimental work know it represents something far more profound and nuanced than this convenient categorization suggests.
The Unconventional Protagonist and Narrative Style
Flesh follows Istavan, a Hungarian man whose emotional landscape remains largely uncharted territory throughout the novel. From his teenage years to old age, Istavan navigates life's complexities with a vocabulary dominated by 'yeah' and 'okay'. Szalay's narrative technique deliberately turns away from internal monologues, focusing instead on physical actions and external events.
The novel opens with a disturbing portrayal of 15-year-old Istavan being groomed by his 42-year-old neighbor. The matter-of-fact description of their sexual encounters creates profound discomfort that lingers with the reader. This traumatic beginning sets the stage for a life marked by passive drifting through significant historical moments.
Istavan's journey takes him through multiple continents and identities: he serves in the Iraq war, works as a bouncer in a London strip club, achieves unexpected wealth, and experiences devastating personal losses. Throughout these transitions, women consistently pursue him sexually, while historical events like Hungary joining the European Union and the COVID-19 pandemic form the backdrop of his life.
Literary Experimentation and Historical Context
Szalay creates what might be described as an inversion of picaresque tradition and Greek epics. While the narrative moves episodically through different locations and time periods, unlike traditional heroes, Istavan lacks any grand quest or moral compass. He exists in a moral vacuum where things simply happen to him, and he responds with passive acceptance.
The novel's structure reflects this aimless drifting. Early sections shift with reel-like rapidity, refusing to let readers settle into comfortable reflection. This technique forces us to experience Istavan's life much as he does - as a series of events without clear connection or meaning.
Yet within this emotionally barren landscape, tender moments emerge unexpectedly. The image of the young Istavan realizing he's expected to leave after his first sexual encounter evokes profound sympathy. Later, when returning from war to a world oblivious to his trauma, he experiences the isolation common to many veterans: 'it makes you feel slightly insane or something, to have those things inside you, when they seem to have no reality here.'
Why the 'Masculinity Crisis' Label Misses the Mark
The rush to frame Flesh as commentary on the manosphere and male loneliness represents a fundamental misreading of Szalay's intentions. The author himself describes the novel as being 'about contemporary Europe' and exploring 'life as a physical experience'.
Several factors challenge the simplistic 'masculinity in crisis' interpretation. Istavan, born around 1980, doesn't align with contemporary discussions about young men attracted to figures like Andrew Tate. Furthermore, his characteristics - handsome war hero who attracts numerous women - contradict the 'beta male' archetype often discussed in manosphere rhetoric.
Istavan's emotional numbness finds clear explanation within the narrative itself: childhood sexual abuse, wrongful incarceration, war trauma, and paternal absence. These specific experiences, rather than generalized masculine crisis, adequately account for his detached existence.
While the novel loses some narrative tautness in its later sections, it remains an engaging read that challenges conventional storytelling. Flesh represents a significant literary experiment worth exploring for readers interested in innovative narrative techniques and nuanced character studies.
The true value of Szalay's achievement lies not in its supposed commentary on masculine identity but in its unique exploration of physical existence in contemporary Europe. By resisting easy categorization and simplistic messaging, Flesh demands that readers engage with its complexities on their own terms, making it a worthy addition to any serious reader's collection.
