Whatever

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 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. show more

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

Ah, sì, avere dei valori!...
(106)

Per quanto paradossale possa apparire,
c'è un cammino da percorrere e bisogna
percorrerlo, ma non c'è viandante.
Azioni vengono compiute, ma non c'è
chi le agisca.
(Sattipathana-Sutta, xlii, 16)
(149)

Io sono un viandante e uno scalatore di montagne, diss'egli al suo cuore, non amo le pianure e sembra che non sappia star fermo a lungo.
E qualunque cosa mi capiti ancora, come destino o come esperienza, in essa ci sarà un peregrinare e un ascender monti: si vive alla fine solo ciò che si ha in sé.
(Il viandante, Zarathustra, Nietzsche)

Sebbene Estensione del dominio della lotta venga collegato a Lo straniero di Camus, ritengo che, invece, La caduta di Camus sia più attinente: il monologo esternato quasi show more come un vomito, a partire da Le memorie del sottosuolo di Dostoevskij, ci conduce a quel cammino verso il recupero del masso da riportare in cima (ancora Camus). Specifico solo quella parte del cammino in discesa: e si pone la domanda: riuscirà stavolta a raggiungere e sollevare il masso? lo vuole veramente? o preferisce restare sul sentiero in perenne cammino? show less

Houellebecq's first novel (1994), possibly somewhat over-praised at the time, might be sub-titled 'depression and nihilism under late liberal capitalism' and it is not nearly as twisted and nasty as some critics would like us to believe. They should get out more.

In fact, it is rather sad because our thirty year old hero is having a mental breakdown and the nastiness and bitterness derive from not wholly false (intellectual) assessments of the place of the person, the individual, in society.

The intellectual or 'philosophical' passages may be what is expected in the French novel but are rather boring (there are mercifully few of them). The novel redeems itself wholly with the initially quite witty observations of the 'hero' about his show more world and his depressed reflections on himself.

The reader may find it a confusing experience because the depression unfolds very slowly and in stages as a philosophical nihilism that most reviewers seem to have seen in rather superficial and grandiloquent terms, missing the very personal nature of the experience.

Perhaps there is a dash of a replaying of Camus' 'The Stranger' at one point. Certainly there are many French cultural references. But this is actually about one relatively young man stuck in a society whose rhetoric is one of freedom but which is enslaved by nature.

There are two grand themes about this world which is now, two decades later, beginning to break apart at the seams. One is about the intrinsic unfairness that lies in the human condition and the other is about our entrapment within it.

Let us take our entrapment first. The author gives us a rather neat tale of a chimpanzee smashing himself against the bars of his small cage and with a high chance of committing suicide in his despair. Suddenly one wall falls away and he is faced with a bottomless abyss.

Does he leap into the abyss to remove his pain? No he does not. The offer of freedom from pain is sufficient although conditions have not changed one jot. Our society is like that. We are all caged by its demands but it is so structured that there is always an illusion of freedom to choose escape.

The book presents us with two parallel systems that govern all our lives - the economic and the sexual. These will intersect but both are characterised by an inbuilt inequity which can never be decisively resolved although some radical socialists may dream otherwise.

The economic one - exemplified by the corporate world in which our computer programmer lives - is the one that we are all aware of and struggle over politically. This where some have access to resources and some do not and, in fact, our 'hero' really has nothing to complain about.

The sexual one is as driven by nature as the economic one is by the market, the first imposed on us by evolution and our status as animals and the second emerging out of the struggle for resources that has emerged out of our struggle for genetic survival.

I say that the economic one is the one that we struggle over politically and not the sexual one but that has changed since the book was published. We have been accepting economic inequity as normal for quite some time and the new cultural politics has moved us into sexual territory.

I would like to think that our cultural politics might deal with some of the inequities of the sexual system but it is doing the opposite, closing off more and more paths for the unattractive and vulnerable and opening up more and more opportunities for the young and beautiful.

It is the sexual system, a system of nature, that depresses and darkens the life of our 'hero'. He is just average and he sees above and below him in the pecking order the nubile and the beautiful who have life choices he has not and the ugly who have not even his choices.

Far from being nasty and nauseating, our hero's analysis of 'bitterness' (the necessary lot of the unattractive) is based on a form of love, not just as aspiration for himself but of the aspirations of the unattractive, sympathy for those who will never get what the above average will get.

This may be one of the most 'moral' books I have ever read albeit it is the perverse evisceration of what passes for morality in our society in the manner of De Sade.

His sexual philosophy neatly parallels the anger and bitterness that fuels anarchist and socialist 'ressentiment' of the wealthy. It raises awkward questions about God and society (left somewhat elliptically to us to unravel although clearly beyond the mental capacity of literary reviewers).

To some extent he is responding to Nietzsche's question of what happens when 'God is dead' and perhaps what happens to those who cannot be joyful happy pagan warriors and prophets. After all God is dead and we are left with the facts of nature and markets.

God is covered by a rather predictable and conventional friendship with a priest, a running trope in French literature that goes back beyond De Sade, so the critique of the social is what is interesting, especially as no one can question anything because no one can change anything.

The relationship with the priest does, however, give us a disturbing story of loneliness in old age, the clinging to faith (and who would deny this as salve who is not inherently cruel) and a callous euthanasia by those who are calculating within the economic system.

A conservative nihilism and bitterness about life exhibits itself as a desperate nastiness which emerges in the frustrations of the ugly (just as we see them in the bloody resentments of the poor) and derives ultimately from disappointment, perhaps in God and certainly in our animal society.

I suspect reviewers, if not quite always the beautiful, do not have trouble getting laid in general so perhaps may not want to deal with this head on and would prefer to think in terms of the French cultural overlay rather than the core of the book. I decided to sweep them aside.

And that leads us to what is so sad about this book? That there is nothing to be done but withdraw from the world and wait for death if you are not one of the blessed (no, I don't think that myself but, then, it turns out that, relatively speaking, I am one of the blessed so I would not, would I?)

I have some sympathy with Houellebecq's character, not with the bitterness and nastiness and murderous impulses (because I simply do not need them) but with his view of the unfairness of the world and the lack of any reasonable means of rectifying it.

The socialists have at least a theory of correcting the market even if it results in perhaps other equal harms in the long run but what do we have to correct nature ... maybe genetics nowadays but don't tell me that it won't be the rich that get the benefits of that long before the rest of us.

A sexual 'socialism' cannot solve the problem of relative attraction and erotic capital through 'free love'. On the contrary, the fairest past solution to equity was probably the tyranny of catholic traditionalism which blocked the free flow of the sexual market through rules of repression.

Houellebecq captures this nicely at one point: "In an economic system where unfair dismissal is prohibited, every person more or less manages to find their place. In a sexual system where adultery is prohibited, every person more or less manages to find their bed mate."

Social stability and fairness in other words is necessarily based on a degree of manufactured sclerosis and repression and this is not presented as quite the bad thing we may all have been trained to believe it is if we are at all egalitarian.

Perhaps we can see the angry roots of a justifiable demotic national populism in this philosophy and Macronism as a devastating liberal politics that will speed up the process of placing blind market and blind nature ahead of the survival of the weakest and most vulnerable.

Beneath the depression, sneering, detachment and nastiness of the young computer programmer lie affecting stories that demand the sort of compassion that catholicism once insisted upon in its flawed and clumsy way.

You can tell that the author is deeply troubled by the story of the very fat, unattractive, excluded school girl from the hero's youth or the impossibility of his ugly 28 year old friend, struggling to his very brutal end, never ceasing to be a virgin unless he enters into the market and buys sex.

His friend, Tisserand, is taken out of the gene pool unable to take out someone beautiful and attractive from that same gene pool in an unwitting revenge for his lot orchestrated by our post-Sadeian philosopher. It is the story of our species unless war is partly our way of culling the strong.

Tisserand will not give up until the end. He struggles remorselessly although there is really no hope for him (at least not as a very ugly 28 year old in the clubs) and fights not to give up nature and have to rely on the advantage he has in the economic system (his decent pay).

For Houllebecq, we are all just blind sperm, relying on chance and necessity to fertilise the egg and, if someone gets there before us who is 'fitter', no matter, we just struggle on regardless. Struggle and waste and so cruelty. The natural order.

Now that the old order had passed with its repressions and even spread of misery, one comes to realise just how cruel elite liberalism has become in trying to destroy the market-driven sex industry which is the only hope for many at the bottom of the sexual pile.

And how callous our educational system has become in not demanding codes of conduct that emphasise inclusion and kindness alongside 'achievement' and 'skills'. And how callous we can all be in treating the lonely as things to ignore and then have others process.

This is not a masterpiece. It is a first novel. But it is a usefully troubling book. I too have often been angered at a non-existent God for his cruelty and the book lays bare that cruelty in a way I have not seen done so directly elsewhere.

Humans may take moral responsibility for the market but only God can take responsibility for nature. And nature, pace the cuddly David Attenborough and the eco-loons, is a cess-pit of waste and cruelty as well as an aesthetic glory and balm for the individual soul.

In retrospect, I can see that much of my 'moral life' has been spent dealing with the same conundrum of fairness that our hero tries to deal with and that clearly Houellebecq was also trying to master conceptually.

My cold analysis is pretty well his but I am aware that I never had to go down the route of his hero because 'nature' and even to a lesser extent the market had stacked a lot of cards in my favour. I have no cause for bitterness and so nastiness but I still feel great cause for anger at our condition.

To me, any advantaged person should not have to pauperise themselves or slash their faces for the sake of equality (I would say that would I not) but, without being patronising, they should make every effort to recognise the pain and misery of those who are not genetic winners.

This means, for me, an attitude of kindness, a thinking-ness about making things easier and not worse, a refusal to flaunt advantage, generosity without giving false hope, support for solutions that show awareness of the conditions of others and demanding an egalitarian science.

Our culture is not kind. Although a quarter of a century old, I am not sure much has improved since this thought-provoking and potentially depressing novel. Maybe it is much the same and will always be the same. Maybe it is worse. But it has not got better. show less

The unnamed narrator of 'Whatever', lives in Paris, has a well paid job working in computers and is currently single. He is lonely, utterly alone, has no friends and no family that we know of. Conversely this means that he is also completely free. Free from financial worries,attachment, guilt or emotions; free to do whatever he wants.

The original French title of the book “Extension of the domain of struggle” and in this novel Houellebecq looks at the struggle for free love in a modern liberal society. A society where sexual experimentation has engendered a society of winners and losers, where self-worth is governed by the numbers of sexual partners you can amass. “Sexuality is a system of social hierarchy”.

When the narrator and show more Tisserand, an ugly and lacking in charm colleague, are sent by their company to set up a training programme for a new computer system around some provincial towns they also embark on a tour of the local bars and clubs looking for sexual liaisons. Despite having steady jobs, a decent expenses account and good wages in this society they are still losers and abject failures.

“Just like unrestrained economic liberalism, and for similar reasons, sexual liberalism produces phenomena of absolute pauperization”

In this novel Houellebecq argues that the lack of love in society is a direct outcome of sexual liberalism and someone like Tisserand is powerless to fight it, he will know neither love nor sexual fulfillment. Conversely the elite of the hierarchy of sexuality are little better off, "In reality, the successive sexual experiences accumulated during adolescence undermine and rapidly destroy all possibility of projection of an emotional and romantic sort." Houellebecq argues that in a society where sexual images abound in the media, pop music etc is a society that is built on easy lies and sensual pleasure is a bankrupt one.

For Houellebecq questions of sex, desire are central. In this book religion, love, family and psychiatry are given short shrift. There is very little dialogue and none of the characters' backgrounds are expanded upon meaning that no easy remedies are offered up.This is a struggle we have to overcome ourselves.

There are some interesting ideas within this book but for me at least not a particularly memorable one. Houellebecq points out that there is a very fine line between love and hatred, in particular self-hatred, making this a pretty bleak but thankfully also a relatively quick read. show less

Hogy „jóval derűsebb”-e, mint a többi Houellebecq-regény, arról nem nyilatkoznék mondjuk tény, hogy a végén nem pusztul ki az emberiség. Az viszont biztos, hogy itt még a metsző kritikai szarkazmust (a pengét, melyet H. oly páratlanul forgat) enyhíti kissé az önirónia. A későbbi könyvekben ez aztán visszaszorul, az összkép így sötétebbre vált – úgy fest, H. esetében az elégedettség és az írói elismertség fordítottan arányos egymással. Ettől függetlenül ez a könyv a „szerzőt teljes fegyverzetében mutatja meg” (íme egy újabb klisé a fülszövegből), mi több: betűről betűre megkapjuk az író irodalmi programját, amit azóta is konzekvensen követ*. Elbeszélőnk a tipikus show more houellebecq-i főhős: középkorú fickó társas kapcsolatokra való képtelenséggel és sziporkázó intellektussal, aki sosem szűnik meg ostorozni a fogyasztói társadalom és a szabadpiaci kapitalizmus vétkeit, melyek értelmezésében ellehetetlenítik az életet. (Megjegyz.: szerintem speciel az ő életét a saját társas kapcsolatokra való képtelensége lehetetleníti el, de hát ki vagyok én – pszichológus? –, hogy belepofázzak.) No most az ilyen magának való pacák általában véve nem túl szerencsés választás regényszereplőnek, egész egyszerűen azért, mert nem nagyon csinál semmit – ennek fényében pedig külön lenyűgöz az a gördülékeny elegancia, amivel H. szöveget sző ebből a tulajdonképpeni semmiből. Ez az, amit H. a lehető legmagasabb szinten művel, és amiért (minden neheztelésem ellenére) nem tudom nem bámulni őt. Arról a diszkrét bájról már nem is beszélve, amit az okoz, hogy egy zsigerileg antiszociális egyént hallhatunk panaszkodni az emberi kapcsolatok fokozatos leépüléséről. Na ja, kérem. Akkor tessék venni egy kutyát. Állítólag segít. Mondjuk Houellebecq-et ismerve – a kutyán nem.

* Pl.: "Az emberi kapcsolatok fokozatos leépülése óhatatlanul is felvet néhány kérdést, ami a regényírást illeti. Mert mégis, miért vágnánk bele azoknak a heves, sok éven át tomboló érzéseknek a leírásába, amelyek több generációra is kifejthetik a hatásukat? Igencsak messze kerültünk az Üvöltő szelektől, ez a legkevesebb, amit mondhatok. A regényforma nem arra született, hogy a közömbösséget vagy a semmit írja le. Egy laposabb, tömörebb, komorabb regénynyelvezetet kellene kifejleszteni." (48. oldal) show less

The title fits the theme of the story perfectly. The narrator suffers from manic depression, and in turn has a completely apathetic and cynical world view. This was my first Houellebecq novel, so I won't be too quick to judge his storytelling capabilities. He has done a great job capturing the mindset and internal dialogue of a depressed man. The narrator depicts women in an obvious objectified male-gaze, and even reveals tendencies of racism. But such is the behavior of a man who undergoes daily bouts of incessant negativity. I did not like the narrator, and disagreed with everything he said and believed, but in order to truly simulate manic depression, Houellebecq had to delve so deep into pessimism that a glimmer of hope would surely show more be absurd. show less

Very obviously a first novel, even though it shows signs of Houellebecq's later skill in analyzing what truly connects us to our fellow man. There's not nearly so much sex in this one, and the protagonist comes off as more overtly misogynistic than provocative, though to be fair he hates everyone. There's plenty of that classic Houellebecq-ian anomie and detachment from the world, but without a good plot to drive it along or any interesting conundrums to make you think much beyond "Gee, this guy really doesn't like his job", you just kind of watch the protagonist stagger along until the book ends. The non-ending in particular doesn't offer any sort of narrative or intellectual closure - it's all very well to observe that the world is show more full of dull and stupid people doing boring and meaningless things, but why bother to write about that unless you have something interesting to say about it? There's no science fiction, no art criticism, no social commentary, just chain-smoking, unpleasant bar-hopping, and being bad at your job. Overall this is basically a less funny and thoughtful, more pessimistic and nihilistic Office Space. I'm glad this wasn't my first Houellebecq. show less