Introduction: A Prize, a Phrase, a Provocation
The Booker Prize often refracts a moment in literature through the lens of its winner. This year, David Szalay’s Flesh has become a flashpoint in debates about what it means to be masculine in contemporary society. Central to that conversation is the book’s refrain: the protagonist István repeatedly utters the word “OK.” The word—plain, unadorned, almost backhanded in its simplicity—can be heard as a barometer of restraint, endurance, and a modern male stoicism that critics say runs counter to the more expansive versions of masculinity celebrated elsewhere in fiction.
The Sparse Style That Holds a Mirror Up to Men
Flesh is frequently described as austere, almost clinical in its prose. Szalay trims his sentences to the bone, and the effect is a prose style that foregrounds action and interior persistence over ornate description. In this environment,
István’s voice becomes a site where masculine identity is performed through effort, silence, and the low, almost monotonous assertion of merely getting through. The repeated OK is not a catchphrase but a ritual of self-affirmation, a verb that signals endurance rather than emotion. Critics note that the book’s muscular restraint mirrors a cultural script in which men are expected to suppress vulnerability, present competence, and compartmentalize feeling.
What the OK Refrain Signals About Masculinity
Experts and readers diverge on how to read the OK refrain. Some see it as a critique of a gendered norm that equates emotional release with weakness. In this view, István’s constant affirmation becomes a parry against existential doubt, a way to force the world to acknowledge him without inviting scrutiny of his inner life. Others argue that the repetition exposes the hollowness that can accompany masculine performance—how the word “OK” can flatten rich experience into a single, unremarkable stamp of acceptance.
Gen X and millennial critics often bring a contemporary lens: a society that prizes resilience may risk erasing nuance, empathy, and vulnerability from male storytelling. In Flesh, the OK becomes a lens for examining how men narrate or withhold experience when asked to account for pain, desire, or failure. The result is a book that invites readers to examine not just István, but the scripts they carry about what it means to “be a man.”
Reception, Controversy, and the Booker Nexus
Since winning the Booker Prize, Flesh has been both lauded for its discipline and challenged for its emotional stillness. Critics who value psychological breadth find the repeated OK to be a bold, almost philosophical choice—an aesthetic decision that emphasizes form over sentiment. Others argue that the restraint veers into withholding, leaving readers with a surplus of quiet rather than a surplus of meaning.
The Booker victory intensifies these debates because the prize frequently spotlights books that probe social norms. Flesh’s emphasis on masculine reserve aligns with a broader cultural conversation about masculinity—its pressures, its risks, and its evolving codes. Whether Szalay intends a critique or a celebration of endurance, the novel functions as a cultural prompt: what do we owe to the men in our stories who say little and do much?
A Reflection on Prose and Power
Beyond its gendered reading, Flesh is a study in the control of language. The OK refrain is a linguistic hinge: simple, accessible, and emotionally freighted. It invites readers to infer a universe of unspoken feelings and unacknowledged consequences—an invitation that rewards careful close reading. The result is a narrative that moves through scenes with quiet gravity, leaving a lasting impression about the power of restraint in storytelling.
Conclusion: The Book That Keeps on Talking
As the Booker Prize conversations continue, Flesh’s central question remains: what is the shape—and the cost—of contemporary masculinity? The book’s careful, repetitive use of OK is more than a stylistic flourish; it is a diagnostic tool for how men narrate their lives when words are scarce. Whether readers see it as validation of a tough, stoic ideal or a critique of it, Flesh undeniably contributes to an essential literary dialogue about identity, vulnerability, and resilience in the modern era.
