Michel Houellebecq: Island
From The Times' piece on the new Michel Houellebecq novel Island:
Detractors cannot fathom the success of a racist, sexist writer who hates modern life, seems obsessed with fellatio and affects a style of utter banality. Houellebecq said recently: “Storytelling bores the s*** out of me. I am absolutely not a storyteller.”
Houellebecq’s admirers say that the dreary banality is the whole point: it is the deadpan satire of a genius.
Fuck me, this is what passes for criticism these days? A complete confusion of the writing with the writer, a profound prudery that always equates the presence of sex with the absence of intelligence, and sneering at a writing style that's thankfully free of the overwraught bullshit that passes for most literature these days.
Atomised and Platform are easily the best two novels I've read in the last two years and I'll be buying Island as soon as the translation comes out. There is nothing banal about either book. They are disgusting and shocking in part, but so's life. They are also extremely funny, filthy and very very tender. Most of all, they have Truth with a capital T running through them. People may not like reading the Truth, but that's not Houellebecq's problem. That, to my mind, makes these two books literature. (Although, despite having an MA in it, I don't actually know what literature is - "usually whatever Steve says it is" tends to be my standard response).
I haven't got the energy for a concerted rail at the tastes of the quality press' book reviewers, but I'd say that most of their choices of what constitutes "literature" or "good reading" bore me to death - Sebastian Faulks, Julian Barnes, Ian fucking McEwan etc etc - all of this stuff has a dreadful smugness, an overwraught emotive sensibility to it that pretends to be profound and learned but is just vacuous. When it gets topped off with such vague and vapid "criticism" of people like Houellebecq as the above, it reminds me why I stopped reading the broadsheets' book coverage and haven't missed it once since.
I'm off to look up "literature" in the dictionary...
[There's more on the run-up to the publication of Island at the redoubtable Literary Saloon. Thanks chaps for making my blood pressure go up...]
More on Michel Houellebecq:
Spike | Google | Amazon UK | Amazon US | Wikipedia
Isn’t it called “The Possibility of an Island”? Anyway, I haven’t read him yet. A friend who has told me “When you have Thomas Bernhard, who needs this?” He thought it overrated. But why not send me a review copy? heh.
Did you ever read that copy of ‘Extinction’ Chris? -stern look-
I’ve not read his novels but Houellebec’s examination of H.P. Lovecraft in “Against Life” (which you sent me Steve thankee muchly guvnor) was outstanding.
That was me by the way.
>> They are also extremely funny, filthy and very very tender
Oh fuck off Chris, you sound like a Booker Prize judge. Barfbeck is interesting – quite interesting – but he’s also just some dick like the rest of us. That’s his point. He’s not Salman Cunt Rushdie or Irvine Pointless Welsh so why build him up like he’s some dahling mf?
The last poster isn’t me BTW.
My my, “Other Steve” is a bit of a Grumpy-Boots isn’t he?
A grumpy-boots…and a slightly tipsy teenager, judging by the tone of his post. Clearly a McEwan fan.
Yes, real Steve, I noticed it’s called Possibility of an Island too, but everyone seems to be calling it Island so I followed the herd. Extinction is, er, still awaiting my tender mercies. I am at my parents at the moment so I’ll dig it out and take it back with me.
It’s an interesting thing to wonder if Houellebecq stands up against “the greats” – I’d imagine not in your eyes Steve, but he might suffer a fairly honourable defeat.
‘you sound like a Booker Prize judge. ‘
Most of the time you all sound like Booker Prize judges. Any how I’ve alway had this feeling that Houellebecq is nothing more the a Bret Easton Ellis wanna be – that’s if any one would want to be Ellis – reveiw copies of Lunar Park points to the fact the old Ellis has been reading to much Kafka. When will the novel move on from this overbearing ennui…?
“When will the novel move on from this overbearing ennui…?”
Um, ‘the novel’ can’t move because it’s just a bit of journalistic sleight-of-hand?
“I’d say that most of their choices of what constitutes “literature” or “good reading” bore me to death – Sebastian Faulks, Julian Barnes, Ian fucking McEwan etc etc – all of this stuff has a dreadful smugness, an overwraught emotive sensibility to it that pretends to be profound and learned but is just vacuous.”
Chris, I may be firmly attached to someone. Perhaps so are you (I don’t know, quite simply). But marry me. Please.
Clearly I need to lose my temper more often on Splinters. Especially if elicits offers like Karie’s. To which the answer can only be: Of course. Is there a free bar?
To the anonymous poster before Ismo’s comment: you are Nick from Plymouth Blog and I claim my five pounds.
No need to get snappy now. But you may claim your fiver. Congrats on your forth comming union with Karie. Spring wedding may be.