Scenes like these have turned Houellebecq, 43, into the most talked-about literary sensation France has seen in 30 years. By turns furiously cynical, bitterly hopeless and, at times, surprisingly idealistic, Houellebecq’s provocateur style has seized millions of readers. After the publication of his second novel, “The Elementary Particles,” in 1998, Houellebecq was labeled a fascist and a misogynist–or simply a bad writer–by some French critics, a visionary by others. A tale of sexual misery, cloning and family tragedy, “Particles” was a searing condemnation of Western consumer society. It was a hit. “Particles” sold 350,000 copies in France and was translated into 25 languages. “Plateforme,” his third novel, appeared in French bookstores last week, and the uncomfortable questions Houellebecq raises are already causing a stir.
The world in “Plateforme” is indeed grim–a gloomy marketplace where sex and steel are bought and sold with equal amounts of sang-froid. Houellebecq’s penchant for ranting against the modern world is undiminished. Raised by his communist grandmother, the writer was apparently influenced by some of her politics. As Thailand’s steel industry falls apart, unable to compete in the world market, millions of women turn to prostitution. It’s Europe’s multinational tour companies that cash in. If thousands of eligible Western men come to Thailand to find pleasure–or often partners–writes Houellebecq, it’s because they feel inadequate in their own societies. Love has disappeared from the West, replaced by an overwhelming consumerism that emphasizes, above all else, the return on your investment. Globalization has spread that ethos to the farthest corners of the earth, writes Houellebecq, destroying our capacity to enjoy meaningful sex, or even each other. The resulting world, filled with desperate and emotionally vapid sexual tourists, couldn’t be a scarier place. Thai prostitutes want nothing more than to settle into a comfortable relationship with a “boring” Westerner, Houellebecq writes: “It’s a perfect exchange.”
Houellebecq has already been taken to task by over-reaching critics who claim that he’s advocating sexual slavery. Philippe Gloaguen, founder of the well-known Routard guidebooks that Houellebecq virulently attacks in “Plateforme” for “Protestant” moralizing, denounced the book as “degrading.” “[I] am proud to be against prostitution in Thailand,” said Gloaguen. But Houellebecq doesn’t seem to be for it. Loveless men who spend their free time playing solitaire and going to peep shows are the emotional victims of modern existence, he writes.
More criticism is sure to follow in the coming weeks as the author hits the European talk-show circuit to promote his book. Besides capitalists, Houellebecq takes to task Muslims for terrorism, ecologists for promoting eco-tourism and hippies for being just plain irresponsible (Houellebecq’s hippie parents divorced when he was little). But it’s his repeated attacks on unbridled capitalism that may explain why his books have found an audience. Despite his one-sided ravings and dubious economics–Houellebecq has admitted the economy is a “mystery”–there are kernels of truth to the world he creates. And his drolly mocking style can be bitingly funny. His rendering of the psychology of tourist groups is something any French person can relate to. When one Frenchwoman on the group tour in Thailand berates her dinner companion for wanting to drink French wine instead of the “local” drink, the absurdity is acute. But for all of Houellebecq’s cynicism, “Plateforme” has revealed him to be a hopeless romantic, too. When Michel meets Valerie, a sensual and intelligent young Frenchwoman who works for a leading tour company, the book’s early despair is replaced, at last, by love. But not for long. After the couple hatches a plan to create a global network of sex clubs, fundamentalist Muslims bomb their pilot resort in Thailand, killing 177. The love affair and the business plan unravel.
It’s tough to pull off a novel about the supposed evils of multinational companies without sounding quaint or naive. But Houellebecq is neither. The world his narrator inhabits is recognizable. Peering into the boardroom meetings of business leaders, Houellebecq watches as they cynically divide up the world and share it among themselves with stock options. But, even for Houellebecq, globalization can’t be all bad. After all, it’s helped him sell his arguments against it to the world.
