KAYFABE

An aging wrestler guides his young sister through the ups and downs of the dangerous sport.

“Man is meat.” So begins the saga of 26-year-old over-the-hill wrestler Domingo Contreras and his sister, Pilar, soon to be 18 and already eager to don the spandex and lace-ups. Koslowski gives equal attention to the bonds of their relationship and the culture of the industry. Pilar is ready to prove herself and commits her body and soul to the profession, enduring unspeakable punishment in so doing. “There was pain, and she didn’t care. She transformed it into adrenaline, focus, the drive to take on more.” Speaking to the novel’s esoteric title—“kayfabe [was] the closely guarded secret that wrestling was theater”—Koslowski’s story is not bashful about depicting the staged theatrics of professional wrestling. While it’s largely performance-based and dedicated to maintaining an illusion, it’s still a sport requiring great skill and athleticism, and a risky one at that: “A boxing ring could kill a wrestler, and the give of a wrestling canvas could snap untrained ligaments.” The pathos is aplenty, but never maudlin, as Dom reckons with his own physical deterioration while mentoring his young sister to take his place. “As if his oil tank had burned dry, Dom’s muscles seized, and he ground to a halt.” Though the novel could have been much shorter, there is a visceral, evocative energy to the descriptions that help it along: “The contortion was as elegant as ballet, as repugnant as torture porn.” Koslowski does a capable job of developing a convincing milieu and puts his characters through their paces with pitiless yet compassionate precision. This is a love letter to showmanship with enough high stakes, insider trivia, and personal struggle to make it enormously readable.

An unexpectedly tender ode to passing one’s prime while also finding new joys in fostering next-generation talent.