Istvan is a 15-year-old boy who has moved with his mother to a new town in Hungary. He has one (unnamed) friend and is forced by his mother to help the middle-aged woman next door with her shopping. His friend soon informs him that he is having regular sex with a girl from the other side of town and that she is also willing to do the same with him. Istvan anxiously goes to her flat with his friend, but is so intimidated by the scenarios running through his mind that he is left immobilised and mute. She orders him out, interpreting his reaction as a complete lack of interest, and so his first foray into the carnal life fails due to his outward apathy.
This is the first of many instances where he is led by his flesh into a world where he is incapable of expressing any of his desires or inclinations. He is soon seduced by his neighbour after the grocery run, but is a passive and possibly reluctant participant.
As far as narrative goes, he kills someone, goes to prison, enlists in the Hungarian army and is sent to Desert Storm, becomes a bouncer and learns the skills that take him to London as a security expert.
This summary does no justice whatsoever to one of the strangest and most haunting books I have read. David Szalay has said elsewhere that he wanted to write a novel where the challenge was to dramatise waiting. To make nothing happening as interesting as something happening.
Everyone in Flesh is inarticulate, emotionally detached and passive in the flow of the story, yet, I have not stopped thinking about this audacious novel since I read it. A friend of mine read his earlier novel All That Man Is on a plane and then, jetlagged, in an industrial hotel on the outskirts of an airport where the sizzle of neon lights over empty giant carparks and the vending machine in the hallway were the soundtrack. I thought this was almost the perfect way to read Szalay.
This ambitious novel is an outstanding achievement by a writer in complete control of his gifts.
