The Glutton by A. K. Blakemore

Sister Perpetué is not to move. She is not to fall asleep. She is to sit, keeping guard over the patient’s room. She has heard the stories of his hunger, which defy belief: that he has eaten all manner of creatures and objects. A child even, if the rumours are to be believed. But it is hard to believe that this slender, frail man is the one they once called The Great Tarare, The Glutton of Lyon.

Before, he was just Tarare. Well-meaning and hopelessly curious, born into a world of brawling and sweet cider, to a bereaved mother and a life of slender means. The 18th Century is drawing to a close, unrest grips the heart of France and life in the village is soon shaken. When a sudden act of violence sees Tarare cast out and left for dead, his ferocious appetite is ignited, and it’s not long before his extraordinary abilities to eat make him a marvel throughout the land.

Following Tarare as he travels from the South of France to Paris and beyond, through the heart of the Revolution, The Glutton is an electric, heart-stopping journey into a world of tumult, upheaval and depravity, wherein the hunger of one peasant is matched only by the insatiable demands of the people of France…

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In 2022, I read and very much enjoyed The Manningtree Witches by A. K. Blakemore.  While The Glutton is a very different novel, it’s one that I was intrigued by, particularly on discovering that it’s a fictionalised account of a real person’s life. There really was an individual called Tarare (although it’s not known if this was his real name or a nickname) who had a literally insatiable appetite.  In 18th century France, the hows and whys behind his polyphagia could only be guessed at, although he was autopsied following his death, and theories abound today.  

Blakemore has taken what little is known about him, and produced an unusual yet compelling narrative around this figure.  Fair warning, there are elements to the novel that are distinctly unpalatable (pun fully intended).  I don’t believe that these aspects of the narrative have been introduced purely to shock and they are in keeping with what’s known about Tarare, but they are nevertheless unpleasant.

Tarare’s tale begins in a small village near Lyon, and his childhood is probably fairly typical for the time – largely impoverished by today’s standards but he and his mother make do, although she is forced to prostitute herself to help them get by.  At this stage, Tarare is a normal child – friendless, as both he and his mother are widely shunned, and tall for his age, but normal in every respect.  I love his awe of the natural world.  He’s a sentimental soul who seems to find joy in the world around him and I like his appreciation of the natural world.  It makes what follows that much harder to swallow (I’m sorry, it seems that a novel about an individual with a voracious appetite brings out the worst in me). 

In the novel, the change in his behaviour stems from a severe beating at the hands of his mother’s partner, a salt smuggler who blames Tarare for the theft of his own smuggled stock.  Beaten and left for dead, Tarare leaves his village, and eventually falls in with a small group of wanderers who take him in.  Upon discovering his never-ending appetite and that he will consume almost anything placed in front of him in an attempt to satisfy his hunger, they see a way to make money, turning Tarare into something of an attraction to perform to the crowds.  And it seems that the public are prepared to pay to watch him eat – food, raw meat, offal, corks, candles, dead rats… I’d go on, but the list gets worse…

Tarare is something of a difficult character.  Part of me sympathised with him – he’s used by those around him as an attraction and taken advantage of, although he is looked after as well.  He seems to understand on some level that he’s being used, but accepts it.  He’s quite a simple and naïve individual, and it’s difficult to see how he can improve his lot in life.  On the other hand, his appetite makes him abhorrent as he debases himself repeatedly.  It’s not his fault and it’s not something that he can control, but it’s hard to look past the disgust that his diet sometimes evokes.  This is emphasised by Blakemore’s descriptions of his dreadful body odour which comes across vividly to the reader throughout the novel. 

Despite this, it’s a compelling tale.  It begins with Tarare in hospital nearing the end of his life, narrating his life story to the nun taking care of him.  We know from the beginning how his story ends, but the journey there is a fascinating one.  There are elements of humour – he breaks into a pantry ready to see a family through the lean winter months and eats everything, and joins the Republican army on the understanding that he will at least be fed, with little understanding of the concept of rations.  But for me, the novel is sad more than anything else.  It seems impossible that Tarare will find any real happiness in his life, consumed as he is by his appetite which drives him to some depraved and disgusting acts.   

As a poet and author, Blakemore’s writing is, unsurprisingly, beautiful and intelligent.  The Glutton is a bleak novel, charting a possible life for one man about whom little is known.  I found it to be somewhat reminiscent of Perfume by Patrick Süskind.  I can’t honestly say that it’s a novel that I recommend to all – I think that some elements will be distinctly off-putting to some readers, but it’s one for those looking for an unusual novel with an utterly unique protagonist, provided that they can look away from the worst of what Tarare consumes.