Michel Houellebecq – Atomised
Kevin Walsh
Atomised – Michel Houellebecq
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Michel Houellebecq is one of those authors who inspire hugely conflicting reactions. Some hail him as a literary giant in the European tradition, deftly weaving philosophy, history, and science into his bleak, challenging narratives, asking those questions that other more commercially-minded authors shy away from.
Others think him hollow, pretentious, showily didactic and deeply disturbed – not to mention highly overrated.
And controversial. Very controversial. In 2001, he gave an interview to the French literary magazine, Lire, in which he said “Islam is a dangerous religion, as has been since its beginnings [...] I totally reject all monotheistic religions.” In September 2002 he appeared before a tribunal in Paris on charges of inciting religious hatred, and was asked to explain himself. “All I said is that their religion is stupid,” he said in his defence. “And that’s what you call promoting a book?” said the president of the tribunal. “Yes, that’s right,” answered Houellebecq, with his customary insouciance.
Atomised (published in the US as The Elementary Particles) is the story of two half-brothers, Michel and Bruno (Houellebecq denies that his namesake is based on himself, but the parallels are striking). Sharing the same mother, they have both been abandoned by different fathers and brought up by relatives. Michel is a scientific researcher at the CNRS in Paris, a cold, unsympathetic and unhappy character. Bruno is equally unappealing, a misfit former teacher and part-time writer, divorced and sex-obsessed.
Houellebecq has a rather disquieting habit of including large chunks of economic and social history as we plough through the decades of their childhood: the événements of 1968, the legalisation of abortion, the succès de scandale in the 70s of the film Emmanuelle and so on.
But he doesn’t stop there: we are also treated to long disquisitions on science and philosophy, not to mention particle physics and DNA. Many chapters begin with long – and sometimes mystifyingly irrelevant – quotes.
Houellebecq is undoubtedly very widely read. The trouble is, he wants us to know that he is. In an effort to demonstrate just what a polymath he is, he crosses the line into what the French call étalage– literally, a spreading out of one’s wares; figuratively, just plain showing off. And he sometimes resorts to some very clumsy mechanisms to show the extent of his knowledge: at one point, Michel and Bruno have an in-depth conversation about Aldous Huxley, displaying a highly unlikely command of historical and biographical details.
Perhaps it’s a sign of insecurity. Maybe he has more in common with his namesake than he would admit. The result of the name- and fact-dropping is a patchy story, where the narrative flow is repeatedly interrupted.
The early part of the book follows the boys through their deeply unhappy childhood. These are unexceptional, rather dull and very mundane lives, and the characters fail to engage any real emotion on the reader’s part. The book swings wildly from lofty philosophical thoughts to very basic instincts.
Later, large tracts of the book are taken up with Bruno’s sexual adventures. At a holiday camp – one of whose main activities seems to be cruising for casual sex – he encounters Christiane, a libertine who introduces him to the joys of the orgy circuit. And this points up a key distinction between the uptight Anglo-Saxon and relaxed French views towards sex (at the last count, there were over 400 sex clubs in France, catering for both échangistes – wife swappers – and the more adventurous mélangistes – orgy-goers).
Sex sells, of course, which is why the UK version of Atomised features a naked woman on the cover, together with the promise from The Independent that it is “very moving, gloriously, extravagantly filthy, and very funny.”
Tellingly, the French edition features a sepia photograph of a bored-looking Houellebecq smoking a roll-up held between his third an fourth fingers (a trademark eccentricity) and a carrier bag draped over his left arm.
In the end, though, the book fails to weave a compelling story. There are too many undigested chunks of science and politics, too many swerves from highbrow philosophy to lowbrow oral sex. And far too much étalage.
But perhaps one of the most unnerving things about Houellebecq’s books is his propensity to kill off his female characters. And Atomised has a high body count: the brothers’ mother (of natural causes), and both their girlfriends (suicides). Which has, inevitably, led to accusations of misogyny – to add to the anti-Muslim, anti-Semite and anti-black charges that Houellebecq has clocked up during his turbulent career.
Perhaps it’s no surprise, then, that Houellebecq has chosen to retreat to an island off the coast of West Cork, from which he rarely emerges. He did venture forth to Dublin earlier this year, when Atomised won the Impac Literary Prize, the latest in a string of awards he’s bagged. And to Paris, to run rings round the tribunal.
But then he’s very good a running rings round people. Perhaps too good.
Finally a honest review of this book, Ive just finished reading this so called masterpiece and I’m astounded not so much at how bland and depressing it is, but at how many people seem to love it. It by no mens measures up to its hype, however Houellebecq does has a great writing style.
I suggest it is more likely that Kevin Walsh is missing the connections between the narrative and the philosophical points than that there aren’t any.
I agree with John above.
Kevin missed entirely the point.
The book is hugely provoking and shouldn’t be read as a plain story of two brothers. There is a lot of metaphor in and a deep labyrinth of philosophical ideas are been expressed. I’m extremely surprised to read such a simplistic view!
Oh the irony.
The line between nihilism or distaste for the earthly world and another Columbine shooting rampage is tellingly blurry. That’s my sentiment after finishing Atomnised.
I have just finished reading this. I have to say that it was given by a French friend who loved it-I’m perplexed…while I did laugh out loud at a couple of early paragraphs, there is nothing that would make you say “very funny” like The Independent deemed it. Likewise “gloriously, extravagantly filthy”?…if anything Kevin nails it with his quote about it having too many swerves. It touches on depth briefly then becomes base, sordid and depressing for a long while before any breath of positivity gives the reader a break. The scientific side to the story was very interesting at times but was otherwise as the reviewer says – showing off….you can feel yourself torn between not wanting to waste your own time by skim reading the heavier going terminology and wanting to concentrate on understanding it even though you’re tired/stood on the underground…. Which brings me back to the shallowness. The depth is not explored enough, so you’re left hoping no-one is idly reading over your shoulder, all the kinky bits which you feel were thrilling the writer more than yourself. What with his presumed ‘research’ and then writing. Sadly, you can see why people may say “misogynist” but Houellebecq makes the female characters special. They are the most likeable, live the most interesting situations, and are envied and admired by the shallow, vain, confused and hollow main characters. Their demise are the only moments that snag your attention other than Bruno’s constant sexual obsession and consequent actions, because you feel the men’s philosophy finally gets tested in a physical realm. And how they are crushing disappointments to themselves. Most noticeably when they even distract themselves with their tediousness.
The writing style and story is schizophrenic and leaves you with nothing at all: no abiding memories of much learning, emotions or even, real respect for Hoellebecq.