Working-class boy, István, rises from poverty in communist Hungary to join London’s super rich in Flesh by David Szalay. The road there is far from obvious and has little to do with István’s skills or intelligence and everything to do with a series of random coincidences. The prose in Flesh by David Szalay is as sparse as István’s emotional life but as addictive as any of the drugs consumed in London’s nightclubs.

István is an unusual male protagonist. Despite his masculine exterior, his macho jobs in the army and private security and the expectation that he’s in charge, Istvan is far from in control of his own destiny. Things just happens to him, be it relationship or jobs. He goes through an endless string of meaningless sexual encounters, always initiated by the women he meets. Several of them end in life changing disasters. He’s void of charm, never gets excited by anything, only rarely gets emotionally attached to anyone. His dialog is curtailed and impersonal. ‘It’s okay’ is Istvan’s reply to everything, okay or not.

Flesh is the story of István’s life, from humble beginnings to private-jet-and-helicopter-wealth and a not so glamorous ending. Not that any of it makes any difference to how he feels. I couldn’t help feeling sympathy for István, for the unfulfilled expectations of him as a man, his lobotomised emotional life and his somewhat self-inflicted bad luck. Flesh is a strange novel and I found myself wondering how something so unemotional could be so engaging. In the hands of someone as skilled as Szalay the tone of the book becomes the point of the story. I devoured this book in two days.

Flesh by David Szalay is published by Jonathan Cape, 349 pages.