One of the stranger feelings in adult life is realizing that “progress” can narrow a person as much as it elevates him.
A family climbs and suddenly whole kinds of work, whole ways of speaking, even whole categories of suffering start to feel farther away — not because they disappeared, but because success encourages the fantasy that you have outgrown them. That distance can look like refinement or achievement. It can also look like emotional cowardice, class vanity and a failure to say what really happened to you.
That’s an idea I took from Flesh, David Szalay’s 2025 novel that won the prestigious Booker Prize.
I adored this, pored over it and found it beautiful and visually-insightful and memorable. Below I have a few notes I took for future reference.
Continue reading Our progress can disappear what we once were