Michel Houellebecq

"'They…' I was dumbstruck. 'They're acting as if nothing's going on.'" (pg. 51)

I decided to read this book not only because there was some buzz about it a while ago (I'm late to the zeitgeist party, as ever…) but because it seemed appropriate in light of the French presidential election results just a few days ago, a significant part of which revolved around the threat of Islam and immigration to the values of the Republic.

It is often noted how eerie it was that Submission was first show more published on the very day that Charlie Hebdo was attacked by Islamic terrorists in 2015, a coincidence made even more intriguing by the fact that Michel Houellebecq, Submission's author, was mentioned on that magazine's front page the same day. Reading the book now in May 2017, days after the election, the eeriness is only heightened by realizing how much Houellebecq has gotten right so far…

Set in 2022, the book tells us how, in 2017, the National Front makes it into the run-offs before the left is voted back in (pg. 26). Everyone in politics backs this leftist president, from across the political spectrum, just because they are against the National Front (pg. 123). Either Houellebecq is prescient, or he's just being cynical and the real 2017 election happened to contain everything of which a political cynic might conceive. The only thing Houellebecq doesn't predict in his book is a prominent member of the unpopular outgoing socialist administration – a corporate banker, left-winger and career bureaucrat – running as an 'outsider' and a 'centrist' and winning on that platform. But maybe that would have been too absurd even for Houellebecq's satire.

From then on, we progress to 2022 and the insidious plan by Islamic parties to seize power. It sounds absurd before you read it, but the subtle ways Houellebecq unpacks it makes you realize it is all frighteningly conceivable. And it's not a violent overthrow through terrorism. Contributors include the undermining of the classic Western patriarchy (pg. 31), the dimming of the natural star of women through aggressive feminism (pp14-15), concerns about the education system (pg. 68), Saudi and Qatari funding, the "widening gap… between the people and those who claimed to speak for them, the politicians and journalists" (pg. 94) and, perhaps most scarily and damagingly, the 'moderate' Muslims who just seem so reasonable in establishing a two-tier society where Muslims abide by sharia and the rest abide by secular law. Houellebecq is never excitable or alarmist, which makes the 'power grab' all the more disturbing, for it is not so much a grab as a docile handover.

You see, the book is not really about the threat of Islam but the weakness of the West. It is the death of the West and the shunting of the sickly corpse aside by an aggressive, vibrant and wealthy alternative. How easily and believably the Muslim government of Submission takes over has less to do with the cunning of the Islamists and more to do with the moribund, virtueless French, evidenced through our protagonist and narrator. "Europe had reached a point of such putrid decomposition that it could no longer save itself, any more than fifth-century Rome could have done" (pp230-1).

By the end of the novel, one almost (almost) feels like the Muslims of Submission are the ones in the right (and were it not for their treatment of women, they might well be). A society and culture and civilization that is not only unwilling to defend itself from overthrow but actively encourages elements that contribute to its own weakness (in Houellebecq's view, these include feminism, Western apologetics and mass immigration) is not one you feel inclined to weep for. And it's not just about France. France, perhaps, is an easy target given the terrorist attacks they have endured and the joke presidents they elect and the immigration they encourage in deference to Frau Merkel and the EU – after all, they are the culture that tried to turn cuckoldry into an art form – but the problems and weaknesses evident in Submission could apply to just about any Western country. It is important to stress that the book is not a Lament for France, but a Lament for the West.

Elsewhere, the book remains resolutely French – there's a gratuitous expenditure of words on things like food, leisure, pretentious literary criticism and anal sex – and it is heartening that there are still many that consider themselves so. But something's on the march in France, and I don't think it's Macron's bland and asinine En Marche. show less

The Good:
Beginning with his strengths, Houellebecq can write good prose even in translation. I noticed a pattern by which he produces the impression of succinctness/completion by placing the second descriptive sentence of a paragraph at its end: What would have been the second introductory detail closes the following paragraph,

“...Sometimes he cycles cross-country, pedaling as hard as he can, filling his lungs with a taste of the infinite. He does not know it yet, but the infinity of

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childhood is a brief one. The countryside flashes past.”

H. employs this twist many times, and I wouldn't call it a cheap trick.

The Bad:
Houellebecq doesn't write bad science fiction. He uses bad science to write bad fiction. Perhaps standards were different in the early aughts, but a modern reader can tell H. has no specialization or interest in science beyond its service in supporting his ideology. It is impossible to believe H.'s affected scientific tone with its repetitions and buzzwords, especially after having read the late work of DFW. (Compare this work with DFW's Mister Squishy, which allows the science to speak for itself and provide the negative space in which the story exists.)

The response to accusations of misogyny (and worse) remains that the author has somehow maintained a subtle form of ironic distance. We simply are too offended to provide an objective literary critique. Yet we all know that which is said half in jest is already more than truthful. It's incredibly naive to imagine that Houellebecq’s fans aren't enjoying precisely the 'misogynistic' aspects of the work they disavow in public. H.'s misogyny is well-tailored to the STEM youth of today, who appreciate any excuse to use 'science' to justify the social perspective they already possess. (Note: One finds a similar pattern within certain branches of ‘evo-psych’, which continues to gain popularity among reactionaries.)

Of course, it is possible to read work one disagrees with (and to enjoy it too!). Unfortunately that is not possible in this case, because such trappings as ‘prose’ and ‘style’ are more or less completely dissipated after the exposition. From then on it's a prolonged, unpleasant coitus until the epilogue. There, the pseudo-science makes a triumphant return, and we are made to believe that the ‘love’ portrayed in the novel, too archetypal and reactionary to be real, was something other than pure illusion. show less

Houellebecq does a good job here of avoiding all the things that make for good novels, like characters, language, plot, structure, verisimilitude etc..., and yet still writing something entertaining and, above all, interesting. In other words: this is good satire and a bad novel. One out of two is enough, but the astonishing badness of much of the book means I can't, in good conscience, rate it too highly. The conceit, however, is wonderful, and Houellebecq develops it flawlessly. The most show more interesting thing about it as a work of art is Houellebecq's ability to write a book that looks like it's an attack on all the things that conservatives are supposed to despise (mainly Islam, but also secularization and feminism and a few others), but really an attack on the hypocrisy of conservative and liberal men. I hesitate to say more, because the book is only enjoyable if you don't know what's going to happen. show less

Fight ClubDespite being 30 years old it feels like it's got a thumb on the pulse of contemporary society. The protagonist reads like a realistic Bateman, stuck not in a flashy highrise and top dollar job, but a reasonably paid tech job bullshitting people - all sex and violence solidly relegated to fantasies he's too chickenshit or cynical to go through with. The central thesis of a society where sexual liberation has just created another marketplace of inequalities seems cut from the show more headlines in a time of Tinder, but it's in the long self loathing rants you can really taste the toxic swill brewing in online communities, sometimes nearly word for word, despite this book and the author languishing in anonymity from the very same forums.

Alternatives: American Psycho seems like the natural companion and is fittingly the more successful one people will recognize at parties.
Fight Club was definitely fighting for the same market as this one does, but in a more humorous way.

Interestingly both of them rely on a parallel narrative and unreliable narrators to inject more action and mystery into the proceedings, reading Houellebecq is more like staring what he wants to say straight in the eye with no genre fiction tropes to hold your hand. show less