Well, that’s a bit bleak.

This book has been on my tbr for a while, but the other day (Monday) I was at work when I noticed a customer reading it. I struck up conversation – as I usually do when I see a reader – and found that she usually reads biographies rather than fiction, but had a desire to get into the latter, and had gone to the Waterstones and picked up Tender is the Flesh, recommended by the staff there (who are awesome, by the way.) Anyway, I got chatting and went to Waterstones to get them a copy of Empire of the Vampire, as it seemed like something they’d enjoy, given our conversation, and that was that. Or so I thought.

The next day, they came back in the morning and left Tender is the Flesh for me to read. Which was very lovely of them, and I can’t wait to find out their thoughts, but in the meantime, here are mine.

I’ve ruminated on this book since I threw it down after the last sentence. I literally cannot get it out of my head – I’ve read reviews, both positive and negative, scanned reddit threads, scoped outsources of information about it and had a rather disconcerting conversation with a co-worker, who hasn’t read it, but was quite happy for me to vent my thoughts and feelings.

There are lots of those.

I cannot in good conscience say that I “enjoyed” this short novel, but I also cannot say that I hated it, or, contrary to some other views say that it’s not worth the paper it’s written on. On the contrary, I believe the opposite of that is true. At surface level, one may take this book to be unworthy of the ‘hype’ it has received in the past: indeed, I have seen it described as shallow, disjointed, lacking plot, being a pro-vegan statement, lacking any depth or consideration of intelligence, badly written and/or translated and ultimately shocking for the sake of it.

I don’t agree with any of those sentiments. In fact, I vehemently disagree with them, because I think that the readers who have seen those things, are only seeing the thinly veiled surface of this novel, and that’s such a shame. In fact, it’s even more of a shame because one of the themes of the novel is how humans can be actively ignorant of so many things…

I’m one of those humans. That’s the kicker.

The book is centred around cannibalism. I suppose that’s why it gets filed into the ‘horror’ category, but it’s not so much horror as it is ‘terrifying dystopia.’ I don’t usually do synopsis/plot in reviews, because if you’re reading reviews, chances are high that you already know what the book is about. Yet I think, in this case, it’s so much more than a category, and so much more than the blurb can say. The blurb on the back of the copy I read is as follows:

If everyone was eating human meat, would you?

Marcos is in the business of slaughtering humans – only no one calls them that. He works with numbers, consignments, processing. One day he’s given a specimen of the finest quality. He leaves her ties up in an outhouse, a problem to be disposed of later.

But she haunts Marcos. Her trembling body, and watchful gaze, seem to understand. And soon, he becomes tortured by what has been lost – and what might still be saved…

It should be noted I went into this book blind. The only thing I knew was that it involved cannibals. I didn’t realise the actual extent until I started reading.  I finished in one session because even though the content was appalling, I could not put it down, because at the same time, it was a compelling read. The book is told in third person, so it’s obviously an unreliable narrator, but it really does give insight into its focal character – Marcos – if you pay enough attention.

First of note is that Marcos is grieving – he’s recently lost a son whose conception was more than difficult – it becomes apparent exactly how difficult throughout the narrative that IVF treatments etc were ineffective for the most part. When his wife, Cecilia, does conceive, the baby boy dies of SIDS, colloquially known as cot-death. This results in the inevitable grief of both parents, with Cecilia retreating to her mother’s house and Marcos continuing his existence in the family home, working a job in a combined abattoir and tannery – a processing plant – for ‘special meat’ – it’s not animals, it’s humans, because an unexplained “virus” has made all meat inedible, as it causes death for mankind. Scientists have deemed that animal protein is necessary to live and magazines publish the “dark side” of vegetables and that plant protein is not enough to survive.

Suspend your disbelief people.

The “Transition” from animal meat to human meat is just that, and it happens quickly – within a generation in fact. Butchers adapt, as does language regarding “meat” – feet and hands becoming upper and lower extremities, tongues, penises, noses and testicles becoming “delicacies.”

As Marcos’ job is to procure “meat” or “heads” from industrial factory farms, he is aware of all rules, regulations and no-no’s regarding processes, treatments, legal requirements and procedures that must be followed to the letter. We see him, through our narrator as conflicted about the fact that this “meat” is human, and he is portrayed as seeing all the current events as barbaric, an atrocity, yet he continues to work in the industry because his father is suffering with a form of dementia that requires expensive care in a home. He works for necessity. 

It is clear from the outset that Marcos is grieving and assessing his place in this new world, and when he visits a “breeding centre” from whom his company procure its “cattle” he alludes to various problems with the products that have been received in recent shipment. As a result, the owner of said company sends Marcos a personal gift – his own FGP – a 20-something old female who has not been medically altered to enhance growth but has been “raised” naturally – free range is what we’d call it if we were discussing chickens.

For the next twenty or so chapters, we are treated to a full-blown explanation with descriptions as to how “heads” are procured, treated, slaughtered and made into “meat” – this is juxtaposed with scenes from Marcos’ perceived relationship with his “gift,” who he names Jasmine.

It’s a harrowing experience, to say the least.

After raping her, Marcos “humanises” the “head” – he teaches her to wash and dress herself, spends time with her watching TV, kisses here head and sings her songs, then eventually discovers that she is pregnant. His father dies. What lack of relationship he has with his sister breaks down completely – unsurprisingly considering her twins discuss at the dinner table what their uncle might taste like, as well as the fact that she herself has a “head” in her fridge that she serves to guests at the wake.

There are fleeting discussions of the government lying about the virus, that the ultimate reason for the lie is to cull the people due to over-population of the planet, but nothing much comes of that. There is mention if the sadistic side of human nature – hunting celebrities to resolve debts, trafficking on the black market, savages (those living in extreme poverty) that are so ravenous that they eat people alive and plan attacks on the trucks that deliver “produce” to the processing plant – resulting in deaths of many – innocent workers included. There is extremist religious activity in a church/cult called the Church of Immolation, where it’s members “volunteer” to be sacrificed for the greater good of humanity – to atone for their sins for resorting to cannibalism and the like – yet they are, unknown to the congregations, simply thrown to the savages to be torn apart and eaten alive.

Through all of this, Marcos is indifferent, apathetic. It just is what it is. The narrative reflects that he is conflicted, but his actions do not. He indulges in the society he is part of. He wilfully wants to control people – including a female butcher who had adapted to the current society and is seemingly stone-faced about the Transition, and in fact capitalises from it.

This is not a ‘do not eat meat’ narrative. It really isn’t. This is a ‘humanity is essentially depraved and inherently evil’ narrative. You just need to get under the skin of it. (Pun unintentional, honestly.)

Yes, there are themes involving cognitive dissonance; there is the absurdity that within a generation, people would resort to cannibalism and easily accept the industrial farming of humans – but under all this, there is so much more…

– How easily society normalises atrocities

– The depravity of human nature

– How language can become a tool of control

– How easily we are manipulated by the government and media

The punch in the gut becomes apparent only in the last pages, Jasmine is pregnant and there’s a problem with the birth – the baby is breach – it hasn’t turned – so the feet are coming first. Marcos panics and calls his wife – she comes straight away – which shows that his thoughts previously about there being no reconciliation were unfounded. She berates him for having sex with a “head” but as soon as she realises the baby is in trouble, she helps. The baby is born – it’s a boy. This is the sucker punch. Readers have been led to believe that Marcos cares – that’s our humanity right there as it stands – we believe for the best in people. It’s our flaw – believing what we are led to believe.  Jasmine gives birth, with Cecilia’s help. She reaches for the baby – an innate, human instinct – and Marcos hits her with a club before dragging her to the barn for slaughter.

His final words are this:

She had the human look of a domesticated animal.

There are lots, and I mean, lots of speculation about what this means…. He saw her as a pet, he planned it from the beginning, he was always evil, this was his final test etc…

I believe he was simply in a state of grief throughout the entirety – there was no pre-meditation. Jasmine was at best a pet, at worst an incubator, a means for him and his family to return to the norm. Killing her was necessary because he would have been caught otherwise. Marcos succumbed to the norm instead of fighting against it, because it was in his best interests to do so. Cecilia did the same.

The novel began bleak, it ended bleak. There is no hope for humanity here. In fact, there is no humanity here. In less than a generation, humanity has turned into a barbaric, extremist culture with no morality to speak of. It has been manipulated into believing that in order to survive it must consume itself.

This novel highlights not only the power of government, but also the power of media and most importantly the power of language.

When I spoke to my co-worker about this book, because I needed to talk about it – I was disgusted that I used the wording from the book – that I referred to humans as meat and flesh and heads. I appalled even myself. That is the effect if you really read and digest this novel. We are, as humans, none beyond corruption – it’s not about veganism, it’s not about criticising factory farming, it’s not about ethical consumerism – although those are themes it covers – at its very core it’s about the nature of human depravity. It’s visceral, it’s intense, it is about how far we will go, in order to survive above all others, and how we are all monsters.

As a fellow Goodreads reviewer states (Jr Bacdayan)

The infinite capacity of human beings to adapt is a powerful phenomenon… Behind its depictions of human slaughter and cannibalism you’ll find yourself intoxicated by its morbid truths.