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Submission: A Novel (englische Ausgabe) Taschenbuch – 25. Oktober 2016
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Michel Houellebecq is a French novelist, poet, and literary critic. His novels include the international bestseller The Elementary Particles and The Map and the Territory , which won the 2010 Prix Goncourt. He lives in France.
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Picador; Translation Edition (25. Oktober 2016) Sprache
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Englisch Taschenbuch
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256 Seiten ISBN-10
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1250097347 ISBN-13
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978-1250097347 Artikelgewicht
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227 g Abmessungen
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13.72 x 2.54 x 20.83 cm
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The string of terrorist attacks in European cities in recent years has produced, in addition to a significant number of casualties, no shortage of prophets counseling us on where the present crisis of Islamic immigration into the Old Continent will end. Those predicting that it is but a passing moment which will dissolve into a peaceful and harmonious future face off against doomsayers, yours truly included, who fear that many European countries are at risk of becoming Balkanized and collapsing into political turmoil or even civil war. One detailed outlook on what Europe's near future might be like is presented in 'Submission', Michel Houellebecq's bestselling 2015 novel. In it, we follow François, the Parisian protagonist who, in the year 2022, sees a Muslim Brotherhood party gain political power in his country after the conventional parties back it in the run-off presidential election in a bid to prevent the National Front from coming out on top. A charismatic chap by the name of Mohammed Ben-Abbes becomes the nation's new president and sets in motion a series of sweeping reforms. After an initial period of deadly street violence between the native "identitaires" and jihadists, the new government swiftly pacifies the country. It privatizes the universities, which are henceforth funded by Saudi petrodollars. François, a literature professor at Paris III, loses his job as a result, though he receives a generous retirement package -- hush money for the infidel, if you will -- on the way out. François' Jewish girlfriend sees the writing on the wall and emigrates to Israel. Before long, women are forced to wear the veil and pushed out of the workplace, causing the unemployment numbers to plummet. On the foreign front, Ben-Abbes starts an immediate lobby to expand the European Union into North Africa. Houellebecq's is an odd sort of protagonist: François is not a family man who ends up overcoming his fears and putting his heroism on full display in an effort to protect his offspring from this creeping Islamic tyranny. A scholar of the 19th-century French novelist Joris-Karl Huysmans, he is a forty-something bachelor whose love life can at best be described as a cocktail of serial monogamy and prostitutes. He lives on a steady diet of cigarettes, microwave meals and take-out dinners, and spends many a night drinking alone on his couch or in the presence of call girls. This lifestyle has left him too lethargic to pay much attention to politics, and the Islamic takeover of his country takes him more or less by surprise. If François' hedonism and utter lack of a desire to mature into a bourgeois life are emblematic of his time, he has a negative thing or two to say about the obsession with money and material pleasures among his fellow countrymen. "[M]ost students," he remarks, are "hypnotized by the desire for money or, if they’re more primitive, by the desire for consumer goods... Above all they’re hypnotized by the desire to make their mark, to carve out an enviable social position in a world that they believe and indeed hope will be competitive, galvanized as they are by the worship of fleeting icons: athletes, fashion or Web designers, movie stars, and models." And Western women, he comments, "spent their days dressed up and looking sexy to maintain their social status, then collapsed in exhaustion once they got home, abandoning all hope of seduction in favor of clothes that were loose and shapeless." Though bored with his literary hero at the outset of the novel, François attempts to make sense of what's happening in his country by revisiting Huysmans. After his girlfriend leaves for Israel, he takes off from Paris on a whim and lands, at first, in the medieval village of Martel, not coincidentally named after a Charles with that same last name who fought off the Muslim invasion of France in the eighth century. He spends a few weeks in the commune of Rocamadour, where he makes frequent visits to its sanctuary of the Blessed Virgin Mary. On his final visit to that shrine François has an intimation of a religious epiphany, but, when push comes to shove, he finds himself unable to make the leap into Catholicism like Huysmans had done over a century earlier. He shrugs off his experience: "[M]aybe I was just hungry." When, a few months later, he spends some nights at the Ligugé Abbey, "where Huysmans had taken his monastic vows," François is utterly annoyed with both the fact that he can't smoke in his dormitory and the continuous chanting of the monks -- "full of sweetness, hope, and expectation." "That old queer Nietzsche had it right," he quips. "Christianity was, at the end of the day, a feminine religion." The novel concludes with its protagonist returning to Paris and falling under the spell of a successful politician named Robert Rediger, who convinces François to convert to Islam, so that he may be reinstated to his former job. Unable to find redemption in Christianity, François finally submits to the Muslim faith. Even now, however, his motive is not the aim of finding personal salvation in a religion of self-denial, but the prospect of an academic position and, most importantly, the possibility of a polygamous life. "In your case," Rediger assures him, "I think you could have three wives without too much trouble—not that anyone would force you to, of course." François' material and bodily desires, not his head or his heart, lead him into submission. The release of 'Submission', or any Houellebecq novel for that matter, has not been without controversy. A caricature drawing of the author's face was on the cover of the issue of Charlie Hebdo on the morning of January 7, 2015, the day that satirical French magazine's office was shot up by Muslim extremists. While Houellebecq was shocked to the core after losing a good friend or two in the event, some were quick to point fingers in his direction after the attack. "France is not Michel Houellebecq," the country's heroic socialist prime minister, Manuel Valls, said shortly afterwards. "[I]t is not intolerance, hatred and fear." Submission had not even made it to the bookstores at that point, but the French had just suffered 17 casualties in a terrorist attack that was emblematic of the problem against which Houellebecq has been warning us for the past few decades now. Pick your priorities, prime minister. In the latter's defense, Houellebecq never shies away from an entertaining jab at the cultural and political establishment in France. "For years now, probably decades," he writes in Submission, "Le Monde and all the other center-left newspapers, which is to say every newspaper, had been denouncing the 'Cassandras' who predicted civil war between Muslim immigrants and the indigenous populations of Western Europe." He proceeds to make the obvious point that the Cassandra of ancient Greek mythology made predictions that actually came true, but nobody believed her. The (correct) implication, of course, is that our elites today have never read anything written before last Wednesday. Reading the novel presently under review, however, it quickly becomes clear that the author has deviated from his earlier criticism of Islam to offer instead a stinging rebuke of the hedonism which has permeated Western culture over the past century. Sometimes Houellebecq makes his case explicitly, but for the most part his critique is lurking just below the surface in the form of his anti-hero protagonist. In one example, François says about his girlfriend: "She could contract her pu##y at will (sometimes softly, with a slow, irresistible pressure; sometimes in sharp, rebellious little tugs); when she gave me her little a##, she swiveled it around with infinite grace." If remarks like these are a little too much for your reviewer's good senses, they leave the usual suspects steaming with outrage. In other words, when Houellebecq isn't being accused of Islamophobia, he's being charged with misogyny or one of the other cardinal sins of our era. But his detractors are too busy dismissing his stylistic choices to grasp that these harbor the author's lamentations on the lack of spirit among twenty-first-century Western Europeans. If François' thoughts about the female sex are, to put it mildly, less than desirable in the age of #MeToo, is his attitude really all that different from how many European men approach the topic, cruising through life as they are without giving it any true meaning by committing themselves before the eyes of God to a spouse and later to their offspring, and willingly accepting the heavy burden to protect both at all costs? Does François pay less attention to the ancient national and Christian culture he inherited than many of his compatriots, and is he less willing to fight for it? Research demonstrates that a mere quarter of Europeans are willing to go to war in defense of their countries. Had the Brits felt the same way in 1940, they would have all spoken German today. Monsieur Valls' moral posturing notwithstanding, it is perfectly clear that the French, as well as every other Western European nation, have devolved into the myopic nihilists Houellebecq makes them out to be. The author deserves credit for holding up his mirror in front of them. 'Submission' does not show us a pretty picture, and for that reason it is not enjoyable to look at, but it is one which had to be painted.
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If I had to sum it up in one sentence: Francois, a cynical, intellectual bachelor, meanders alone through the self-indulgent, humanist suicide of Western Civilization, finally stumbling into a reason to go on living. Some interesting quotations: On the secular religion of democracy: "I've always loved election night. I'd go so far as to say it's my favorite TV show." (p58) On the despair of post-modern civilization: "...The life of every Western woman. In the morning she probably blow-dried her hair, then she thought about what to wear, as befitted her professional status, whether 'stylish' or 'sexy,' most likely 'stylish' in her case. Either way, it was a complex calculation, and it must have taken her a while to get ready before dropping the kids off at daycare, then she spent the day e-mailing, on the phone, in various meetings, and once she got home, around nine, exhausted,... she'd collapse, get into a sweatshirt and yoga pants, and that's how she would greet her lord and master, and some part of him must have known--had to have known--that he was f*****, and some part of her must have known that she was f*****, and that things wouldn't get better over the years." (p74) On loneliness and aging: "What would it be like when I was fifty, sixty, older? I'd be no more than a jumble of organs in slow decomposition, my life an unending torment, grim, joyless, and mean." (p78) On companionship: "A couple is a world, autonomous and enclosed, that moves through the larger world essentially untouched." (p107) On the impotent, empty, neo-marxist media: "Those progressive mummified corpses--extinct in the wider world--who managed to hang on in the citadels of the media, still cursing the evil of the times and the toxic atmosphere of the country... the left, paralyzed by (Ben Abbes's) multicultural background, had never been able to fight him, or so much as mention his name." (p124) On the insular nature Western Civilization: "All intellectual debate of the twentieth century can be summed up as a battle between communism--that is 'hard' humanism--and liberal democracy, the soft version. But what a reductive debate." (p207) On death of civilizations: "I subscribed more and more to Toynbee's idea that civilizations die not by murder but by suicide." (p208) On the scourge of the nation-state model: "Nations were a murderous absurdity, and after 1870 anyone paying attention had probably figured this out. That's when nihilism, anarchism, and all that crap started." (p210) On the fatal flaw of classical liberalism: "Liberal individualism triumphed as long as it undermined intermediate structures such as nations, corporations, castes, but when it attacked that ultimate social structure, the family, and thus the birthrate, it signed its own death warrant." (p221) On Islamo-Marxism: "Islamo-leftism, he wrote, was a desperate attempt by moldering, putrefying, brain-dead Marxists to hoist themselves out of the dustbin of history by latching onto the coattails of Islam." (p224) On the collapse of Europa and Rome: "The facts were plain: 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." (p225) On atheists: "The only true atheists I've ever met were people in revolt. It wasn't enough for them to coldly deny the existence of God--they had to refuse it..." (p204) The novel can obviously be interpreted many ways. I read it as a scathing indictment of secular-humanism and its attempt to replace family a
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