This review contains small spoilers unrelated to the plot.

I FUCKING loved this book. This book is a cake with far too many layers our leading lady to ever take a bit of it. A mix of British working class reality, womanhood and psychopathic behaviours, where each layer lets you sample a different, unsanitary layer of modern society. 

Your first bite might taste of too many fags, cheap beer and hard liquor, which leads to piggy-backing onto your weird mates who would wander off with strangers towards the end of a night out, with the promise of some sort of after party or drugs, ending with everything becoming increasingly less fun, a little dangerous, and just pretty fucking desperate all around. 

Nibble downward to be assaulted by classism, and the struggles faced by the working class while trying to develop and integrate with new communities, and how everything comes easier to those with inherited wealth and connections, the safety net of Mummy and Daddy’s money, and the ability to bounce back from setbacks that would knock a regular Joe on their arse. 

Lick the cream and you’ll taste the hypocrisy of those trying to climb the social ladder. How our leading lady, Irina, looks down on those around her with the same snobbishness and ‘patient othering’ she is used to being treated with. But among Irina’s flaws, a lack of class consciousness isn’t her main one. 

Take a heafty bite of the icing on this stretched metaphor, and you’ll find an absolute treat. Irina, a late 20-something who is a hot, talented, intelligent woman. She’s also a vile bitch, master manipulator, and rotten narcissist. She’s one of my favourite characters I’ve read in years, and a big part of the reason why I devoured this book in two sittings. This bitch made me ravenous. 

What vile thing would she say to her best friend next, what fucked up abuse would she put some stranger through, what fuck-up would happen next, and why the fuck was she like this?! These are the questions which made me devour this book like Irina devours her meal with Eddie from Tesco. 

Irina is a talented photographer, taking pictures which other tend to class as fetishistic. To her, it’s just her art. Except, that’s not really the truth. First and foremost, Irina is a liar, closely joined by being an incredible narcissist. She wants what she wants and will do whatever she deems necessary to take it. She lies to us, her friends, and to herself. So much so, it’s hard at times to tell what events are real, made up, or conveniently altered to provide Irina with an edgy story, or point of potential manipulative power in the future. 

Irina is tall and strong, physically dominating over many of the men in the novel. She is a well-maintained piece of topiary, and Clark takes great care to let us know that Irina isn’t ‘magically hot’. She might strike you initially as a ‘big-titty goth girlfriend’ stereotype; alternative, edgy and intellectual, but this bitch works hard to look good and she will tell you that herself. She’s clearly shown to have an eating disorder, wears a waist trainer, exercises regularly, and essentially survives off salad and tuna. Not to mention her self-harm, clear depression and PTSD, which all cause Irina and her friends a great deal of pain. 

It’s this juxtaposition which makes this book, and Irina, quite special. Despite being a literal murderer (probably) and an angry, spiteful, vindictive person, Irina feels so incredibly real and relatable. There are good chunks of this book where you feel sympathy for this person-come-monster that it makes you start to question what you really know, what you truly feel, about people like her. 

Irina is a victim. We believe victims. But what if the victim is also a known liar – one known to lie about bad things happening to them to feed their own mythology, their own convenient sob story. Do we believe victims then? 

That’s a question posed by Flo, Irina’s long-abused friend, former convenient fuck, and hopelessly ‘basic’ bisexual who is absolutely still in love with Irina. It’s one I still don’t have a good answer for in the context of this book. It’s these very real, murky, complicated questions which lead you through Clarks narrative, and help to make some of the more blatantly abusive things Irina does almost palatable. 

These elements of Boy Parts may rub some readers the wrong way, with Irina often being dismissive and critical of feminism and ‘woke’ culture. While one could take Clark’s critiquing of (particularly fourth wave) feminism as offensive, I think it’s the sort of critique that the current feminist movement appreciates and knows is necessary. While I think you’d struggle to call Irina herself a feminist, I do think this book could be classed as a feminist test, simply by the fact that it exists as art. It is the sort of feminism which allows you to show a truly evil woman – every bit as evil (and as real) as the most abhorrent you’ve ever read about – and to point and say ‘that’s also being a woman’. As Irina herself says, “I wonder what I have to do for people to recognise me as a threat. Do I have to smash a glass over the head of every single man I come into contact with, just so I leave a mark?” 

There are so many elements of this book which I love but haven’t yet covered. Flo and Finch are fantastic supporting characters, each who feel as fully realised and complex as Irina herself. But of course, the spotlight shines on Irina, so we only see subtle hints of their depths. Over the course of a couple of nights out with these two, we see Irina’s disdain for their feelings and penchant for extinguishing her cigarettes in their weak spots. And then, there’s Irina’s relationship with Eddie from Tesco. 

Eddie is initially portrayed as a mostly likeable (if not irritatingly pathetic) character. Like a young boy who can’t swim but is pushed into the pool before his friends, every interaction with Irina leaves him gasping for breath; clearly panicked, but laughing along, trying not to show how scared he truly was. He is a soft, geeky boy, and Irina’s favourite new toy. But even he has ugly parts which get exposed. He also has one of my favourite quotes from the book. In a message to Irina, he writes “I don't know if you realise how you speak to people sometimes, the way you feed people table scraps. I know that's that what I get from you, table scraps, but because it's scraps from your table, it's better than a 3 course meal with someone else. And you've given me glimpses into your life, your real life, and I wonder if it's your fault. I wonder if you've got anything but scraps to give.” 

So, finally, the prose of this book is wonderful. The two quotes I included might give you a small taste, but it’s written in a way that feels incredibly modern, making use of references that don’t make you cringe, and with a sharp, devilish tongue which teases and endears you, before clobbering you with some truly disturbing sights. 

I cannot recommend this book enough.