Flesh by David Szalay won the 2025 Booker Prize.

This book is apparently very understated. No fancy narrative tricks. No poetic turns of phrase. The central character, István, is a taciturn Hungarian, who we follow from boyhood to old age through the ups and downs of his life. By any objective assessment there are some real highs and terrible lows. And yet, there’s a uniform coolness that accompanies it all.

What was life like in the Hungarian army during the Gulf War?

“It was okay.”

“Is it nice living in a mansion when things look up?”

“Sure.”

The same tone answering questions about post traumatic stress from a therapist as that used answering questions about a day at the office.

It somehow makes the emotion burbling below the surface more powerful, and also gives relief from emotional extremes. I would say this was a British approach, but it seems the Hungarians are potentially more British than the British, which is maybe why István feels vaguely at home in both countries – not too at home, nothing too extreme, no marching with flags. Ah, for that kind of Britishness, or Hungarianess.

When I read Anthony Powell, I felt his books provided excitement for those who felt life was mundane, while at the same time conferring peaceful reassurance on those going through dramatic times. This book manages the same trick. There is no preaching. Take what you need, leave what you don’t.

I really enjoyed it.