Bullied at school with near-hellish doggedness by cold-hearted classmates and fattened at home with increasingly extravagant feasts by an overindulgent father, the voracious narrator of All Flesh trudges through her teen years certain that her heft is because she has absorbed her twin sister in utero and is now eating, and living, for two. As those around her look down on her corpulence, she struggles to see who she might be beyond such narrow-mindedness. When a near-fatal incident unexpectedly brings a man and a heady experience of the body’s other pleasures into her life, she gets a decadent taste of a future she had never dared to imagine. But she is beset once more by sharp tongues and beady eyes until, finally, she devises a drastic way to turn the tables on her tormentors and the whole unjust world. But will her coup de grace prove self-possessed, or self-destructive? In All Flesh, Ananda Devi’s keenly lyrical prose presents a darkly humorous mirror that bitingly reflects and shatters the double standards around how we talk about bodies, women, beauty, and food, and how society consumes, obsesses over, and vilifies humanity’s excesses.
