The Birdcage Archives

Thursday 12 May 2011

The Possibility of An Island

Hello Gentle Reader

Michel Houellebecq is a name that most French people, are both intrigued about and shudder at the sound of. He is a controversial and vicious French author. Not afraid to say what is on his mind – though one certainly does not doubt that he says what is on many people’s minds, but are too polite to admit it. Often times Michel Houellebecq is referred to as a: racist, sexist, misogynist, anti-islamic, among other less than flattering titles. But in all if Michel Houellebecq is anything he is misanthropic. This is a lot farther than just some mere racist or skinhead, or some chauvinistic man. Houellebecq is a man who looks at people around him, and sees nothing more than saggy sacks of meat, and he makes no apologies for saying the observations that he has observed.

The author (Michel Houellebecq) does not beautify what his observations and his ideas either. There is no real sense of poetic lyricism or aphorism in his work – though there are memorable lines. Houellebecq’s distinct characters speak in the plainest of forms, and in the bluntest of ways. They make no qualms about their sexual frustrations, or their intellectual thoughts. Their philosophical musings are written not with distinct flower like language or holier than though and wiser than one could possibly be pretentious language that is common in some works that deal with the same philosophical thoughts. Michel Houellebecq’s characters speak in the plainest of terms, in this most vicious of ways, and make no apologies for saying anything.

With such fictional shows titled: “Munch on my Gaza Strip,” and, “We Prefer the Palestinian Orgy Sluts,” someone is bound to be offended. And someone certainly was offended. In 2002 (I think) Michel Houellebecq was taken to court by civil rights groups on the basis of trying to spread racial hatred after calling “Islam the stupidest of all religions.” However Houellebecq was acquitted on the grounds of freedom of expression. Which further leads to some people seeing him as a champion of freedom of expression, and freedom of voice, and opinion – and others (usually civil rights groups who are more interested in picking a fight on the grounds of political correctness then to do anything about ‘civil rights,’) see him as a celebrity of vulgarity and pornography. Yet in a twist of irony perhaps it should be the accused author of inciting racism, who should be suing the muslims for a proposed death threat. According to the news a Moroccan news paper titled Liberation – or something like that; had published an article about the French author and had apparently stated that he was looking for a “fatwa,” – or in a civilized worlds terms a “Death Threat,” – a threat that was issued against the British author Salman Rushdie for his novel “The Satanic Verses.”

Knowing all this about the author – reading and watching interviews, and online biographies; it is hard to distinguish the author (Michel Houellebecq) from his character in this particular novel (The Possibility of An Island) “Daniel1,” – “I had found myself cast in the role of a hero of free speech,” – it all sounds quite familiar to Michel Houellebecq. With of course the exception that part of the novel is set in the distant future – a future that on further reconsideration and recollection could not be too far away. Yet this does not damper the thoughts of where is the lines between the author and the characters; or where is the line between the fictional characters biography and the main characters autobiography, which can sometimes make the work appear selfish and even self-indulgent.

Yet, writing – like most aspects in life; are all done in the self-interest of the person. In this case the novel “The Possibility of An Island,” by Michel Houellebecq is just as self-indulgent and follows his own self-interest just like everyone else in the world does. The only difference really is that it would appear that the author does not make any qualm or attempt at trying to discourage any thought, or notion that he is only interested in his own work, and that the characters themselves may be he himself, and are in fact puppets, speaking his idea’s and his thoughts and opinions on such matters, as sex and youth.

With that being said, it is hard to really review such a book. A book written in the first person, which shows the observations, of human nature in a consumerism world. A world obsessed with perfection, and a desire for immortality or youth. It is a world full of mass produced soulless and meaningless items. Where advertisements are borderline soft pornography and erotic. It is a world that the author and his characters see and look about, and are disgusted with. Yet there is very little that the author or the characters can do about it.

They realize the world they live in is beyond imperfection, and beyond help for perfection. They realize that no matter of terrorism or violent acts of destruction, or transgressive acts or attempts to cleanse the world, will do any good. They see the world. They are disgusted by the world. They do nothing about their disgust. They do nothing about the world around them. However they do not accept the world for it is, they just accept the fact that trying to do anything about it, whether or not violent in action or just legal groaning of civil rights demands, is all but useless and a waste of time. In fact the entire world is nothing more than a mass produced meaningless heartless place, full of meat sacks, and erotic advertisements that demand that only beauty is youth – even if that means pre-pubescent. Soon youth turns to erotic desires. Erotic desires turn to a need of erotic fetishes. As if having sex with the youth would somehow, in some way or another slow down the process, of aging. As if the world just stops spinning ever so slightly just so for a few moments, the beholder can have a few moments of youthful rejuvenation. That is before the world all of a sudden picks up speed once again, and the reality sinks in, that age is like cancer, it never goes away. It is just part of existence. It’s part of life. And yet if it is part of life, then why is life worth living?

Isn’t that one of the most fundamental questions of history? A question indeed: “what is the point of living if one has the knowledge of death?” – it is with such paradoxical questions that one asks themselves, that the novel of Michel Houellebecq is trying not to answer the answerless questions, but to merely point out that such thoughts or such idea’s are just as they are: answerless and confusing. The author the character makes no attempt at trying to be a guru of some sorts or some self-help author or new age thinker, they just state that the word is a piece of shit, and that the only option of it is to deal with it. The end. That’s it. Finished.

It is hard book to talk about. Michel Houellebecq is an offensive writer plain and simple. He offends because he can. But his shock and vulgarity goes beyond just simple filth or trash. Hidden under all the grime, is a real sense or a purpose. As if something in some way or another, is actually really lying just underneath the surface with some meaning – then the real contradiction comes up. The fact is that Michel Houellebecq’s almost meaningful answer or philosophical quote is nothing more than an unpopular truth. That one should just give up because their life is meaningless. Their youthful arrogance will one day start to fade. Their skin will wrinkle, their tits will sag, their dicks will become impotent, and the glory day of their sexual and physical prime will be nothing more than just a memory. A faint recollection. A desire and a dream that will never be obtained again. Which then fuels the quest for eternal youth or the quest for immortality. This leads to “Daniel1,” to become “Daniel24,” and “Daniel25,” by cloning. But immorality is all what it appears to be. Or at least cloning is not what it is all set up to be. The clones become less and less human. Just merely shells who can only sit back and watch the world in front of them, change and be slowly destroyed. The loose the ability to laugh. The ability to love. The ability to cry. All that makes them human makes them nothing more than just simple shells of meat, and organs. They become what they themselves look down upon. Yet in some way or another they cease to really realize that they are just mindless meat puppets. Nothing of individual value at all. Yet their lack of emotions make them emotionless to these problems, and they just drift away in a social isolated hermetic existence that they live in.

The novel is a difficult novel. There is no real concrete way of saying: this is the plot. These are the characters. This is what the story is about. This is the writing style. Blah blah blah, the authorial voice in the novel makes it difficult to distinguish the author from the characters, as I had stated above. The fact that the entire novel is written in first person further makes this difficult. However, it is a frank and funny novel. It states what should not be said – which then becomes said anyway (!) which becomes a paradox or just really confusing and then just a pain in the ass; and makes fun of what should not be said. It shows no compassion in its unrelentless humour and wit – which is above all else inappropriate; but its observations are what make it such a great read. He sees a world around him. Full of meaningless dribble dripping from every corner. Every leaf that falls. Every bird chirp. Every speck of dust. Every droplet of rain. It is all painfully meaningless, and yet the author or the character of this book state that it is all meaningless and that one can only live their life in an hedonistic fashion. Which then after a while also becomes meaningless. Everything is destined become meaningless because it is meaningless. It certainly is no wonder to me that Michel Houellebecq is considered one of the greatest treats of French Literature since Albert Camus Nobel Prize in Literature Laureate of 1957. However the two I would say are greatly different but share some very key interests of importance.

An author who can offend and make one laugh is a rare treat – depending on one’s definition of the word “humour,” with its mixture of “offensive content.” Then again the film industry has been making quite a pretty penny off of such basic and even vulgar comedic ideas. It is no wonder that Michel Houellebecq would realize the potential of transgressive humour, and then satirize the idea of transgressive humour with a fictional transgressive humorous movie star.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary

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