Book Review: “Tender is the Flesh” by Augustina Bazterrica
By: Joelle Carr
Kate Dehler for the New York Times
It’s almost masochistic to read a dystopian novel in today’s social climate. The older I get, the more I read these novels as warning signs. “Tender is the Flesh” by Augustina Bazterrica is not your average dystopian take.
Originally published in Spanish in 2017, “Tender is the Flesh” comments on society, consumerism, corrupt governments, and the power of language. The book’s overtly nauseating plot follows a society where a virus has contaminated animal meat. In its stead, the government legalizes cannibalism. As animals were herded up and slaughtered, humans referred to as “heads” were bred and raised to serve as a protein source. Cannibalism, one of the world’s greatest taboos, has unflinchingly become the standard diet.
“Tender is the Flesh” is a quick read. Bazterrica garners some sympathy for the protagonist Marcos, a right-hand to the owner of one of the most esteemed meat processing plants. As Marcos handles the day-to-day operations of the plant, he is unmoved by the horrors the humans face as they are prepared for slaughter or forced breeding. Strangely enough, Marcos does not follow the human meat diet.
I was compelled to root for Marcos; assuming that by the end of the novel he would dismantle this oppressive cannibalistic government regime. Although, admittedly, it is far-fetched to hope that a manager of a meat processing plant could tackle a worldwide system. As much as Marcos personally opposes the consumption of human meat, he is powerless to act against this government-controlled cannibalism mechanism that is the meat industry.
Marcos is a lonely man. His wife, Cecilia, left their home following the death of their son. His father is dying from dementia in a nursing home and he can hardly stand to visit his sister in the city. Marcos is gifted a purebred female “head” by one of the breeding center’s directors in a show of gratitude for the partnership of their respective companies. For most of the book, the “head” stays chained in his shed. I quickly understood that Marcos's morality towards the woman reflected his feelings for his deceased dogs. His morality shows that he is unbothered by the slaughter of “heads”, viewing it as an end to their tortuous life.
Part one of the book ends with Marcos bringing the woman, whom he named Jasmine, into his house. I audibly gasped at the beginning of part two. A small time jump occurs, and it is revealed that Jasmine has been cohabitating with Marcos for months, and she’s pregnant.
I do not doubt that some readers would romanticize this coupling–a troubled woman and an imperfect man who will save her from her doomed fate. It is important to realize that this woman for all intents and purposes, is an animal. Jasmine’s tongue was cut out to prevent her from speaking. She has no comprehension of language or life outside of the meat processing plant, where she was raised to be bred and subsequently killed.
She does not have a relationship with Marcos, and she cannot consent to sex with him. Marcos admits that he would be convicted of raping and impregnating Jasmine should their situation be exposed.
One of my biggest takeaways from this novel, and specifically the treatment of Jasmine, is that one cannot escape misogyny’s most brutal forces in a dystopian world; they are only amplified.
The second half of the novel builds the dynamic of Jasmine and Marcos. Jasmine is treated as Marcos’ child, pet, and lover all in one. She is locked up in a room so she doesn’t accidentally hurt herself; left alone all day in a bare room with crayons, food, and water. Jasmine’s pregnancy progresses in the second half of the novel while Marcos grapples with hiding her, working a job he despises, and the aftermath of his father’s death.
When Jasmine goes into labor, Marcos frantically calls his estranged wife, Cecilia, to help him. She is unmoved by the discovery of the pregnant “head” he has been hiding for months. Cecilia sees Jasmine as a tool to produce more children. She shows this when Marcos knocks the freshly postpartum woman unconscious and takes her to the barn to slaughter her. Cecilia cries, insisting that they could have used Jasmine to give them more children.
The striking ending brought me discomfort; the fictional world is littered with the same brutality it began with. My experience with dystopian books has always ended with a resolution–a powerful hero who usurps the tyrannical systems of power.
As I sat with my discomfort, I recognized that “Tender is the Flesh” might be the most reflective piece of dystopian work I have ever read. It is more realistic to show that no one person could dismantle a corrupt government. Whether through a lack of trying, or an unfortunate consequence of the bystander effect, we are less likely to attempt to valiantly overthrow oppressive regimes.
Did the characters in “Tender is the Flesh” truly desire to eat human flesh? My impression is that they acknowledge and accept where they fall on the cannibalistic food chain. Eat or be eaten. Not unlike the way materialistic items and diet reflect a social status in our society, human meat is a status symbol. “Tender is the Flesh” is a harrowing reflection of gluttony and human complicity.