All Flesh

At the beginning of this sensual and provocative novel by Mauritian writer Devi (Eye Out of Her Ruins), the unnamed but unforgettable narrator announces she’s about to livestream her own “sacrifice.” Exactly what this means is only revealed near the end. First, the narrator, who, at 16, weighs more than 400 pounds, flashes back to her gestation in her mother’s womb, claiming that she consumed her twin sister before her birth. Overwhelmed by the baby’s exceptional size (her birth weight was 22 pounds and eight ounces), the mother struggles to keep up with breastfeeding and abandons her not long after weaning. The narrator is then raised by her father, a food writer who slavishly indulges her with delicious meals. Her father also insists on addressing her as if she were two people, herself and her “disappeared twin,” claiming he has “two beautiful daughters.” She “play[s] along, even though it was no game,” and wryly observes that she “didn’t know that schizophrenia could be forced upon us.” Many painful scenes ensue, including a brief and heartbreaking reunion with her mother. After the narrator turns 16, she supplements her “morbid” and “orgasmic” eating with a life-affirming indulgence: a sexual relationship with a 30-something carpenter who seems to love her for who she is. From here, the narrative hurtles through a series of striking twists, driven in part by the pesky inner voice of the narrator’s twin sister. An epigraph from Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer sets the carnal and gleefully filthy tone, and Devi never lets up. The reader won’t be able to look away from this singular work. (Apr.)