Life, death and the Booker Prize: The author of Flesh answers our tricky questions

Each week, Benjamin Law asks public figures to discuss the subjects we’re told to keep private by getting them to roll a die. The numbers they land on are the topics they’re given. This week, he talks with David Szalay. The Canadian-born, Hungarian-British writer, 52, is the author of six works of fiction, which have been translated into more than 20 languages. He won the 2025 Booker Prize for his novel, Flesh.

DEATH

You’ve won the Booker. Can you die happy now? Wow [laughs]. Do achievements in life change one’s attitude to death? Is death more bearable because of a sense that one has achieved stuff in life one can be proud of? I don’t know. There’s a sense of “that’s an achievement that can’t be taken away”. But when it comes to it, I’m not sure it makes any difference.

Your novel, Flesh, is about many things – Europe, capitalism, masculinity, the body – and death is such a major presence … Yes, the book does, basically, consist of a series of deaths. That’s the plot’s structure. You’ve got a very significant death at the beginning, a very significant death at the end, and a couple of other deaths – also significant – thrown in.

Some deaths are completely shocking. Did you know who was going to die from the outset? It was all in my mind from the beginning; I see the book as almost a kind of tragedy.

How would you like to die, ideally? Aged 105, peacefully, in my sleep.

How would you not like to die? There’s a very long list …

Shark. Elevator shaft. Fire. [Laughs] And it’s not very original, but plane crash. Of course, there are worse ways, but being in a plane and knowing that you’re imminently going to die and not being able to do anything about it, being surrounded by screaming strangers … Very stressful. Again, there are too many. Let me count the ways.

SEX

The first chapter of Flesh is so memorable and upsetting. It deals with a male teenager’s coming of age and losing his virginity to a much older woman. What compelled you to write it? The thing I found most interesting about that was the emotional development of the character: the way that he begins by being disgusted and not sexually interested in this woman but, on the other hand, aroused and interested despite himself. Then the way he becomes emotionally invested in the situation in a way that’s catastrophic for him.

What’s fascinating is how power shifts in the situation. You have to constantly ask yourself, who is the victim and who is the aggressor? There’s much debate about whether it’s an affair, a coercive situation or a rape. What’s your take? Well, it’s precisely because I don’t really know that I found the situation so interesting. There’s an aspect to it – on the part of the woman – that’s morally reprehensible, clearly. He’s 15 but consents at every point. Whether he’s in a position to give consent is obviously the question. If I had a clear answer, it would’ve been a less interesting thing to write about.

What are your rules when it comes to writing sex? Flesh is a book about the physical experience of being human. So it was always going to be necessary to write about sex. It’s so easy to get it wrong. I tried to just write as directly as possible: factually, no euphemisms, no metaphors. And you have to write without worrying about embarrassment. But I’m happy with it … and I think, hopefully, it’s OK. [Laughs]

Flesh is sexual, but it’s not sexy. What’s a sexy book you’d recommend? Platform, by Michel Houellebecq. In some ways, it’s not romantic … but it kind of weirdly is romantic, too.

[Filmmaker and author] John Waters famously said, “If you go home with someone and they don’t have books, don’t f--- ’em.” Any thoughts? [Laughs] Absolutely. I’m in complete agreement with that.

BODIES

When you won the Booker Prize, you got onto the podium, absolutely stunned. All you could say for a while was: “Yeah. Wow. Wow.” What was that moment like for you, in your body? An out-of-body experience, frankly. I’d been shortlisted before, and that had been stressful and unpleasant – really unenjoyable. So in order to help myself relax, I persuaded myself I wasn’t going to win. So when it was announced, it was a very strange moment. I hugged my wife, my agent, my publishers, and then I was dragged off up onto the stage.

Is writing good for your health? I feel it’s good for my mental health, but maybe I’m just deluding myself. It does force you to think about things in a very clear, concrete, honest way, and that’s always healthy. I’m sure I’d be more physically healthy as a ski instructor.

What superpower do you wish for? I used to have this conversation quite often with my kids when they were a little bit younger. This was a staple, actually, for long car journeys. But what we found more fun was thinking of the most ridiculously lame superpower.

What did you come up with? Something like knowing exactly what time it is, or being able to turn something into something else.

What superpower would you want to have, though? Being able to control other people’s minds.

Hmm, whose minds? Well, everybody’s, but nothing sinister! Just everyone always doing what I want …

That’s, arguably, a novelist’s job – making everyone do what you want. It is! It is, in a very roundabout way.

What superpower do you have? [Laughs] I am very good at guessing what time it is.

David Szalay appears at the Melbourne Writers Festival (8–11 May) and the Sydney Writers’ Festival (17–24 May).

More from Dicey Topics:
Deborah’s mother gave birth to nine children. Six of them were taken
‘The flavour of the forbidden’: Russian-born author M Gessen’s unusual teen rebellion
Long before he won a Nobel Prize, this author lugged bodies around in a hospital

diceytopics@goodweekend.com.au

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