Having recently devoured Tender is the Flesh, I was desperate to get my hands on this new novel, and it absolutely didn't disappoint. Dark, seductive, and truly haunting.

If you thought you heard a tinny scream in the distance a few days ago - you did. It was my squeal of utter pleasure after Pushkin Press approved my ARC request on Netgalley. I had been doing (impatient) dances of joy ever since I saw that the translation of a new Agustina Bazterrica was forthcoming, and it did not disappoint. The novel is as merciless as Tender Is the Flesh, offering a terrifying vision of a post-apocalyptic future that only Bazterrica could create. The bleakness in The Unworthy is cumulative, so I won't give away any details, but the less you know, the harder the blow when you start to understand the relentlessness of the horror in the world of The Unworthy. The novel could easily be read and dismissed as a post-apocalyptic cli-fi or whatever other genre fiction, but that is where Bazterrica's genius lies: she describes the horrors that are just around the corner and asks us to think about what is being done in our name and how we came to live in (a slippery step away from?) the worst of all possible worlds.

If I believed that Bazterrica had already pushed the boundaries of dystopian horror with Tender is The Flesh , The Unworthy elevates it even further. Here, Bazterrica plunges us into a bizarre dystopian realm governed by religious authoritarianism. It’s gory, dark, and utterly addictive.

Bazterrica offers no explanations; she places her trust in us to piece together the unfolding drama, giving just enough fragments to construct our understanding. The world as we know it has vanished: Notre Dame has burned down, Chartres Cathedral has been ravaged in countless wars, Westminster Abbey and the entire United Kingdom lie submerged, and oral history recounts that "in some countries, electricity was cut to halt the advance of artificial intelligence, its burgeoning power, independence, and desire to dominate its creator. After the final blackout, the world never recovered, rebuilt, or restarted, as nature delivered a new wave of devastation."

Amid this chaos, our nameless protagonist is born. In her struggle for survival, she finds refuge within a zealous religious community—“without faith, there is no refuge”—populated by Diaphanous Spirits, the Enlightened, and Minor Saints. They engage in rituals in the Chapel of Ascension and are punished in the Tower of Silence. The story unfolds through our nameless main character’s perspective, expressed in whatever materials she can find: discarded ink, dirt, and even her own blood - many of the words appeared crossed out on the page, a detail that I loved it. As a lower-tier member of the Sacred Sisterhood, labeled “unworthy,” she longs to ascend to the ranks of the Enlightened within this hierarchical enclave, where only a select few endure.

As our main character navigates this bizarre, seemingly female-dominated community—immersed in their sadomasochistic practices—the arrival of Lucía sparks a moment of hope for them. Through their romantic relationship, we catch glimpses of humanity and possibility.

Bazterrica has crafted a world that eerily mirrors what our reality could become if we neglect our planet and each other. There’s a chilling sense that this could be our future if we fail to take action and allow totalitarianism to take root. Curiously, the novel took me back to Pasolini’s film Sodoma e Gomorra. It’s definitely a worthwhile read.

Thanks to Netgalley and Pushkin Press for the arc.