Under the Skin

Michel Faber’s novel Under the Skin offers an immersive literary experience that invites readers deep into the protagonist’s mind and the intricacies of her alien perspective. The book delves far more into character development, providing rich psychological insight and nuance that the minimalist film adaption deliberately omits. Through Faber’s prose, themes of identity, morality, humanity, and societal norms are explored with depth and complexity, making the novel a rewarding and thought-provoking read. Readers will discover a nuanced critique of contemporary society, as seen through the eyes of someone who is totally other, forcing us to confront uncomfortable truths about our own world. The novel’s slower pace and introspective narration allow for a greater understanding of Isserley’s motives and the internal conflicts she faces. The story becomes less about horror and more about empathy, inviting the reader to question what it truly means to be human. By choosing the novel over the film, you engage with powerful inner dialogues, social commentary, and philosophical undertones that simply can’t be conveyed visually. Faber’s Under the Skin offers a memorable, cerebral journey—one that lingers long after the last page, providing more layers than a visually striking, but sparse, film adaptation ever could.

One of the most striking differences between Michel Faber’s Under the Skin and Jonathan Glazer’s film adaptation is the protagonist’s characterization and backstory. In the novel, we learn that Isserley is an alien surgically altered to appear human, and her perspective is suffused with physical discomfort and alienation, shaping her relationship with the world and the men she encounters. The film, conversely, provides little background, treating the alien character, played by Scarlett Johansson, as more of an enigma with minimal dialogue and almost no exploration of her inner thoughts or history. The book explicitly presents its science-fiction conceit and the alien’s mission: harvesting human males for meat destined for her own species. Faber guides us through the farm-like process, exploring moral and ethical questions around factory farming—using humans as the livestock. Glazer’s film strips away these details almost entirely, offering a more abstract and ambiguous narrative; the viewer is left to piece together Isserley’s motives and origins from subtext and imagery, reinforcing the film’s art-house approach. The novel features a wealth of supporting characters who provide context and tension to Isserley’s life—her alien colleagues, her superiors, and the individuals she interacts with all contribute to a richly developed world. The film adaptation largely sidelines these interactions, isolating the main character and emphasizing her alien nature through visual and auditory cues, rather than through dialogue or relationships. This results in a more solitary and introspective experience for the viewer, in contrast to the book’s broader societal critique. Lastly, the endings differ significantly. Faber’s conclusion is tragic but resonates with Isserley’s accumulated sense of self-awareness and rebelliousness. The film, on the other hand, opts for an ambiguous, visually symbolic denouement, trading resolution for mood and atmosphere. Readers will find the novel’s ending more grounded in the protagonist’s psychology and plight, providing deeper closure and emotional resonance than the film’s artful yet opaque finale.