Pink Slime by Fernanda Trías

First published in Uruguay in 2020; published in translation by Scribner on July 2, 2024

Pink Slime is a jigsaw puzzle assembled from pieces that don’t quite fit together. The novel is driven by an unexplained environmental catastrophe, but there is also an eating disorder story and a dystopian food story and some domestic drama for flavor. The pieces might have fit more snugly without the kid who can’t stop eating.

A phenomenon described as “the red wind” carries something — a toxin, a virus — to coastal cities, afflicting those it touches with a disease that rots their skin. The root of the environmental disaster seems to be algae that causes waters to “expel the fish like a giant stomach.”

Birds have disappeared. Fires are beginning to break out. Food shortages have inspired factories to produce a protein-rich food called Meatrite (people call it “pink slime”) by spinning animals at a high speed until they dissolve into goo. Why not just barbeque the animal? I guess the theory is that Meatrite makes use of all parts of the animal — waste not, want not — but the manufacturing process seems implausible. Perhaps we’re not meant to take it literally, but I’m not sure how else to take it.

Warning sirens direct people indoors when the red wind blows. The narrator lives in a coastal city in South America. She can’t afford to move inland to escape the red wind as more affluent people are doing, although she is saving money to fund her dream of moving to Brazil.

The narrator regularly visits her mother, with whom she has a difficult relationship. Her mother pays cheap rent to live in one of her neighborhood’s mansions, abandoned by its owners during “the evacuation.” The owners wanted someone to keep the hedges pruned in the event they were ever able to return. The mother’s purpose in the story was never clear to me, apart from the apparent belief of some authors that a story isn't complete without illustrating the perilous relationships between mothers and their adult daughters.

The narrator is divorced from Max, who one day ignored the warnings and walked outside to fetch some firewood. Max is no longer in quarantine, but he’s been in a clinic for a long time. Apparently, he’s being studied. Qualifying for chronic care is like winning the lottery. Like many of the novel's unanswered questions, why Max merits study is unclear. I suppose he has some sort of immunity since he hasn't rotted away yet. Why Max decided to take a stroll in the red wind is also unclear. Max might make a greater contribution to the story than the narrator’s mother, but not much.

The narrator used to work as a copywriter but now has a gig taking care of Mauro when his parents are inland. Mauro has a ravenous and insatiable appetite, an eating disorder that will eventually kill him, since he’ll eat wallboard and paint and frozen chickens and possibly his fingers if nobody stops him. Mauro fights with the narrator and steals the pickled vegetables she is hoarding against the food shortage. Mauro is revolting but the narrator must remind herself that his condition isn’t his fault. Whether the condition is related in some way to the environmental catastrophe is never made clear.

Sentences between chapters — “If you’re given a box full of air, what is the gift?” — seem like something a writer might scribble in a notebook. Other times, meaningless fragments of conversations serve as an interlude between chapters. All of this contributes little to the story.

The characters and the environmental catastrophes never come together to build a satisfying story. Mauro’s eating disorder is a distraction from the environmental story, but it occupies a large part of the novel. The purpose it was meant to serve is a mystery to me.

In an effort to make sense of Pink Slime, I read a review in The Scotsman. The reviewer suggested that the pink slime is not algae or wind or Meatrite but the people who have failed their roles as caretakers of the planet. I think that’s a strong insight, although I was frustrated (as I always am) by the unexplained origin of the catastrophe. Is the algae a consequence of pollution? Are germs mutating because of global warming? I like apocalyptic novels to demonstrate cause and effect, but it’s common for modern writers to focus on effects and leave readers guessing about the causes. That seems like cheating to me, but I grew up reading science fiction and scientists tend not to invent a phenomenon without explaining it. My frustration may be my own quirk and not one shared by the general population of readers.

Fernanda Trías has a soothing prose style that almost won me over. Unfortunately, the story didn’t, so I can’t give Pink Slime an unqualified recommendation.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS