The Glutton is a fictionalised account of Tarrare (spelt in the novel as Tarare), a showman, French Revolutionary soldier and woefully under-prepared spy who was known, to quote Wikipedia, for “his unusual appetite and eating habits”. An understatement. To those who witnessed him, Tarrrare’s appetite was infinite, a capacity to eat anything, whether cooked, raw or rotten—everything from decomposing apples to dead rats and cats to a banquet fit for fifteen people.

Blakemore takes inspiration from French surgeon Pierre-Francois Percy’s 1805 paper in the Journal of Medicine (Memoire sur la polyphagie), shaping her account around the pivotal moments of Tarare’s life but not beholden to them. In the known records, Tarare was born with his “gift”. Not so in The Glutton. His endless hunger only truly kicks in after he’s rejected by his mother and her lover, an awful man who takes Tarare to the forest and beats the shit out of him, leaving him for dead. It’s after he awakes, his body wracked with agony, that he finds he can’t stop eating. It’s as if the trauma, the pain, triggered his condition.

As with Percy’s account, Tarare joins a troupe of thieves and prostitutes who take full advantage of his party trick. This section is the most vital part of the novel, Blakemore’s lyrical prose juxtaposing the beauty of the countryside and the perfect features young, vibrant Antoine (a troupe member whom Tarare desires) with the appalling nature of Tarare’s diet.

But that Huysman-like exploration of beauty and corruption, indulgence and revulsion, can only (in my humble opinion) take a story so far. And there comes a point where the shock value isn’t shocking anymore. It’s not helped that Tarare is such a passive figure—a ravenous creature with little agency. And while we empathise with him, it’s only because we would feel this way for anyone in such pain.

So, no, The Glutton didn’t work for me. That said, Blakemore can write. There are some extraordinary, mouth-watering (haha) passages, some that delight, others that repulse. I just wish the novel was more than the sum of its parts.