My review: Tender Is the Flesh, by Agustina Bazterrica

I read this in paperback on 26 July 2026.

I grabbed this book and every other one mentioned in the New York Times article about cannibalism as a publishing trend. I’m a sucker for a theme, and especially for this theme.

https://www.nytimes.com/2026/07/11/books/cannibalism-fiction.html

Look, I grew up on Rocky Horror, and Meatloaf is a rather tender subject. Later, I learned to grok the way consumption could be reverence.

I once met Anthony Bourdain at a book signing in the early 2000s. I don’t remember if the signing was for A Cook’s Tour or for The Nasty Bits, but either way he was talking about eating ‘weird’ stuff, and how he approached it as a respectful cultural thing.

My mom asked him, very timidly but very earnestly, if he would, given the chance, sample long pig. He gave it serious consideration, and said that yes, in fact, he would. My family continues to tell this story with great respect for the man and for his objectively correct answer.

I’ve read Make Room! Make Room! and countless other classics with these themes. A favorite of the newer canon is How to Cook and Eat the Rich, by Sunyi Dean. All this to say: I’m not squeamish about the topic, and I enjoy exploring it.

This book was intense. The pseudo-detachment of our narrator, who seems to be having a rough time of it all, allows us to learn the nastier bits of a world in which all animals have been eradicated (allegedly to avoid a disease fatal to humans) and so society has turned to captive-bred humans as a source of meat. The narrator comes from a meat-processing family, from the era before society resorted to cannibalism, and now he’s fairly senior in the human flesh industry, giving us ample exposure to how the world works.

We learn about the world while also learning about his personal struggles, and his own disaffection with the system frequently feels relatable. It seems to be, perhaps, building to some heroic ending, as he is increasingly broken down by the world, and as some odd opportunities present themselves.

Spoilers ahead. And very unpleasant concepts. And the dog does not live.

I don’t know if the author was trying to be edgy, or to gradually raise the stakes, but I don’t think so. I think this was an earnest look at the horrors humans are capable of, and not just some sensationalist stunt. The book is too good, too personal and poignant, to be merely gonzo.

There was a scene where teenage hooligans murder a few puppies (who have somehow survived in this world where all animals were purged). The description is straightforward, not as graphic as it could have been, but definitely explicit. Our narrator is suitably horrified. Somehow, this murder of the dogs was harder for me to read than all the descriptions of breeding, raising, and processing of human livestock. I think this was intentional – the author knows that we’ll feel compassion for puppies no matter how well we’ve been desensitized to the human suffering.

Of course, maybe I’m just overestimating my own desensitization, because the narrator later meets with a man who runs a game hunting preserve (yes, the most dangerous game). The hunter is ordering pregnant females (they’re never called “men” or “women” because they are not people, just meat). The pregnant ones are better, we’re told, because they’re wilder and more likely to fight back. They’re more interesting and challenging to hunt – and the fetus is delectable.

Details like that made this hard to stomach (heh), but also felt natural and realistic for the world, which is why I don’t think it’s gonzo.

Ultimately, the ending is what really makes the book hit hard. I will have to re-read this, in a few years’ time, to see if the ending is adequately scaffolded throughout the narrative, or if it still feels like a left turn. Abruptly surprising or not, the ending is definitely a good fit for the story.

If you can read the first few chapters without too much disgust, it is definitely worth finishing. I’d love to hear what you think!