Tarare, cursed by the circumstance of poverty lives a life blighted by violence and want. Naive and vulnerable, he is exploited by society, his insatiable hunger used as a side show, a scientific curiosity and tool of war until he comes to embody the monstrosity of what he has experienced. Though dark and gory, this book is also full of beauty, humour and tenderness. Bizarre at times, this unique read is one you’ll want to gorge on!
The stench of the rotting flesh is powerful. Tartar’s hunger is more powerful. So he eats. He eats all of what would be good for dogs. Gorges on it. Lozeau and the butcher watch Tarare eat, until the trough is empty and the blood is baked dry. He never gags. He never stops, even, it seems, to breathe. When he is done he turns from the trough to look at Lozeau, his chin slimy. And he blushes, actually blushes. As though he has been caught in a lie. The real lie, thinks Lozeau, is every moment Tarare spends upright and empty-mouthed. Every pleasantry Tarare exchanges, every polite smile Tarare bestows, with this dog, this wolf, this Gibborim under his skin, slavering and famished all the while. Now Lozeau has seen Tarare. Now he has seen what Tarare is. It is quite a thing to see.
