‘The Unworthy’ Review: You’ve Never Seen Catholicism Like This

In 2020, Argentinian author Agustina Bazterrica made waves in the splatterpunk scene with the English-language translation of “Tender Is the Flesh,” a book about a future where humans are raised as livestock. This year, she returns with the novel “The Unworthy,” published in Spanish in 2023 and translated into English by Sarah Moses. At fewer than 200 pages long, the book is an impressive work in a small package, blending religious horror with post-apocalyptic fiction to create a story that is completely unique.

“The Unworthy” follows an unnamed novice of the Sacred Sisterhood, a religious community secluded from an environmentally devastated, post-apocalyptic world. Believing themselves to be protected from the outside world’s rampant diseases by an unseen deity, the women of the Sisterhood mutilate themselves in order to maintain favor with their God and ultimately become one of the chosen Enlightened.

The novel is written in a diary format, presented as its protagonist’s secret chronicle of her life in the Sisterhood and its rupture when a new, mysterious woman joins their order. With the new member’s arrival, the writer begins to remember her own past before joining the Sisterhood — a story of childhood, found family, and survival in a hostile world.

“Tender Is the Flesh” found fame for its graphic depictions of violence, and “The Unworthy” does much of the same. This book includes scenes of torture, flagellation, and bloody sacrifice that could turn even the most seasoned horror reader’s stomach. While this novel has not been labeled as splatterpunk or extreme horror, its intent to provoke and disturb through portrayals of violence is unmistakable. This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but those who enjoy this type of horror will surely be satisfied.

That’s not to say the book is nothing but a gore-fest. Behind the splatter — or perhaps enhanced by it — is a compelling meditation on faith, doubt, and disillusionment. “The Unworthy” is not subtle in its message against religious extremism and church abuse. The Sisterhood is infused with Catholic imagery, as they have made their home in the ruins of a monastery. It’s also, by all definitions, a cult: It demands absolute submission to authority, isolates members from the outside world, and controls them through fear. But just as intriguing as the novel’s societal commentary is the protagonist’s personal relationship with faith, and her evolving mindset as her beliefs are challenged by memories, discovery, and — somewhat surprisingly — love.

Religious horror is nothing new. It takes a skilled writer to make such a story seem fresh, and Bazterrica accomplishes this by inventing a religion that, while tinged with Catholic aesthetics, is full of the unexpected. The book’s best worldbuilding occurs within the walls of the Sisterhood, where the characters’ religious practices — from open-air burials to the three orders of the supernatural Chosen — are original, three-dimensional, and wholly fascinating.

In comparison to the Sisterhood’s creativity and depth of concept, Bazterrica’s construction of the outside world seems less inspired: The novel describes a society fallen into chaos after a series of natural disasters, with many of the hallmarks of a post-apocalyptic world that readers have come to expect. The paragraphs detailing the narrator’s backstory don’t explore this world past the protagonist’s own limited view, which — although most likely intentional — gives the worldbuilding a certain thinness that might cause a reader not to fully buy into the story. And the story is a good one, particularly regarding the narrator’s emotional journey and deep friendships with other characters. It’s a remarkably touching aspect amid the novel’s otherwise unrelenting depictions of cruelty.

The book is also a little too ambitious for its short page count. Its second half touches on several weighty topics in quick succession — among them queer identity, sexual violence, and spiritual abuse — but doesn’t have enough time to flesh them out completely. The result is that the novel presents a lot of open-ended ideas to the reader without bringing them together for a truly resounding finish. Instead, Bazterrica opts for a twist ending that is thematically satisfying but, compared to the insanity of the rest of the book, feels slightly underwhelming.

“The Unworthy” is a novel that revels in revulsion. It’s provocative, intelligent, and deeply affecting. For horror fans, it’s well worth the read. Just make sure to carve out an afternoon to read it — you won’t want to look away.

—Staff writer Samantha H. Chung can be reached at samantha.chung@thecrimson.com. Follow her on X @samhchung.