Every now and then I pick up a book that completely derails my evening, my sleep, and frankly, my appetite. Tender Is the Flesh did all three within the first few chapters. Recommended by my niece, I went in knowing it was disturbing, but I wasn’t prepared for just how deeply it would get under my skin. It’s grotesque, fascinating, and somehow, impossible to put down.
The novel is set in a dystopian world where a virus has supposedly made animal meat poisonous, leading society to legalise and industrialise the consumption of human beings, now rebranded as “special meat”. We follow Marcos, who works at a processing plant and is still grieving the death of his infant son and the collapse of his marriage. When he’s given a “female” as a gift, intended for slaughter, his already fractured moral compass begins to splinter in even more uncomfortable directions.
What struck me most was the constant tension between wanting to root for Marcos and simultaneously recoiling from him. He’s not a hero, nor is he meant to be. His numbness, his contradictions, and his quiet complicity all mirror the world he lives in. That ambiguity is one of the book’s greatest strengths. It forces you to sit with the uncomfortable truth that people can justify almost anything if the system around them normalises it.
Bazterrica’s writing,translated sharply by Sarah Moses, is intentionally staccato. Short, clipped sentences mirror Marcos’ emotional detachment, while longer, disorienting passages reflect the moments where his internal world threatens to crack. It’s not always a smooth reading experience, but it feels purposeful, as if the prose itself is part of the psychological landscape.
Thematically, the book is a powerhouse. Cannibalism becomes a metaphor for capitalism, exploitation, and the ways societies sanitise cruelty through language and bureaucracy. The euphemisms, the factory tours, the casual conversations about “cuts” and “quality”- it’s all chillingly plausible. That plausibility is what makes the story so horrifying. You can almost imagine how easily a world could slide into this kind of moral decay.
If I had one wish, it would be for slightly more depth in some of the side characters, but honestly, the sparseness adds to the bleakness. This isn’t a world where people flourish; it’s a world where they survive by shutting parts of themselves off.
The ending absolutely floored me. I had to sit with it for a while, feeling equal parts devastated and impressed. It’s one of those conclusions that reframes everything you’ve read and leaves you questioning your own assumptions.
Who Should Read It
This is not a book for everyone. If you’re squeamish, sensitive to graphic content, or looking for a comforting read, steer clear. But if you appreciate dark dystopian fiction, moral complexity, and stories that linger long after you’ve closed the final page, this is an unforgettable experience.
Final Words….
Tender Is the Flesh is brutal, thought‑provoking, and disturbingly believable. It’s a short novel, but every sentence hits hard. I loved it in the way you “love” something that unsettles you so deeply you can’t stop thinking about it. It’s a visceral, unforgettable read and one I’ll be recommending to anyone brave enough to stomach it.
Tender is the Flesh – Exclusive Books Online
You may also enjoy: The Unworthy by Agustina Bazterrica (Translated by Sarah Moses)
