We have the same pale
Comb, clipped yellow beak and white or auburn
Feathers, but as the door opens and you
Hear above the electric fan a kind of
One-word wail, I am the one
Who sounds loudest in my head.
(Unknown poet)
Because of all the hype around Michel Houellebecq, Sérotonine in particular, I found myself obliged to read this author of whom I had no enough patience, endurance to read his former novel, Submission.
Houellebecq in my opinion, is a radical chic of literature and to be honest, I had to force myself to read Sérotonine. And yet I finally had to give up. Sérotonine made me nervous, and tortured me. In the end I gave up in an act of salvation. It was too much to bear.
He has no style. He writes in a boring and banal way, without any change of pace.
For pages and pages, there is no dialogue, but he is not Henry Miller, he does not have the stylistic ability of Henry Miller nor his capacity to switch the rhythm.
Page after page proceeds harmlessly and boringly harmless. Banal. But you know, this is the society of mediocrity, where the perfect mediocrity wins. And certainly, Houellebecq is a brilliant, winning mediocre.
A passage without meaning to me: "Comme tous les pays d'Europe Western, l'Espagne, engagée dans a processus mortel d'augmentation de la productivité, avait peu à peu supprimé tous les emplois non qualifiés qui contributant jadis à rendre la vie un peu moins desgréable, condamnant du même coup la majeure partie de sa population au chômage de masse De tels bagages, qu'ils soient siglés Zadig et Voltaire ou bien Pascal et Blaise, n'avaient de sens que dans une société ou existait encore la fonction de porteur "
Is this a criticism of consumerism? Of capitalism? Is it bullshit? I do not know, because I do not understand the meaning. Incomprehensible.
Sometimes there are examples of pop culture turned into high culture "Tout va bien ..." dis-je le plus doucement que je pus, avec the intonation onctueuse of a serial killer civilisé, Anthony Hopkins était pour moi un modèle, enthousiasmant et presque indépassable , enfin le genre d'hommes qu'on a besoin de rencontrer, is a certain stade de sa vie. Je répétai encore plus doucement, subliminalement presque: «Tout va bien ...»
In today's writing, I must confess/admit we need to be mediocre (and Houellebecq confirms it), homologous, equalized, harmless, and maybe radical chic (like him). Criticize if you want, say that the world is all shit, but be brilliantly mediocre in saying it. Fuck people off if you like it, but truly stay to the surface, do not go under, and do not say the things you have to say because your words might hurt the system that acclaims you and by doing this they will acclaim you, they will let you win all the prizes they esteem you deserve ... be a perfect mediocre, then. But be the best mediocre! They will reward you!
If I have to judge Houellebecq with reference to Submission and Sérotonine, he is certainly a mediocre writer, but one of the best mediocrity, that kind of mediocrity that pleases and is rewarded. And in this case, Flammarion is a great publisher. A really good one. As Gallimard.
Flammarion and Gallimard, both in fact, can turn deadly boring writers into genuine literary geniuses and worldwide literary stars. Who remembers Les Bienveillantes by Jonathan Littel? One of the most deadly boring books that has ever been published (by Gallimard).
No one for sure remembers this book, because it has justly been forgotten.
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