Michel Houellebecq: The Map and the Territory

The last few years have been turbulent ones for Michel Houellebecq, although true to form he has not been far away from the headlines. He has inspired music by Iggy Pop and Carla Bruni, won the Prix Goncourt (while being publicly slammed by one of the judges), directed a terribly-received film and been the subject of a virulent literary attack by his own mother. All this in addition to the regular controversies over the treatment of women and immigrants in his work, the rap album and the death threats.

A translation of his follow up to 2005’s The Possibility of an Island has been long-delayed, but was finally released in the UK two weeks ago. On first glance, the novel appears to follow a more conventional narrative structure than its predecessor, and early on Houllebecq gives the appearance that he is returning to familiar themes. In fact, everything you might hate about Houellebecq is present in the opening chapters; the first female character to be discussed is an ‘escort’, we are presented with urban decay resulting from an influx of immigrants. Houellebecq seems to be lapsing into his Lovecraft-ian worldview, as the wealthy create bunker-like defences for their living space, surrounded by the chaos of the modern city.

As the novel develops though, the reader realises that more of the narrative is internalised than it has been in Houellebecq’s previous work; familiar tropes (dogs, immortality) crop up, but as minor concerns of the characters, rather than authorial obsessions. The Map and The Territory contrasts elegiac reflections on ageing with a subtly worked critique of the Spectacular society of the modern West.

The narrative centres around an artist, Jed, who achieves massive popularity despite his disconnection from the art world. Rather than chasing fame and fortune, in the manner of Damien Hirst (who features in the text), he is mainly preoccupied with a broken boiler, and the awkward relationship he has with his ageing father. Houellebecq himself features as a character, contacted by Jed to write the text for an exhibition catalogue. Houellebecq’s self-portrait captures the myth of the author rather than the reality, a path also taken by Bret Easton Ellis in Lunar Park. This Houellebecq is a dissolute loner (‘It was rare for him even to say a word to his dog’).

This suggests Houellebecq is tiring of his notoriety, whilst also capturing the disconnect between narrative and reality which permeates consumer society (a phrase he returns to throughout the novel). This is the main theme of The Map and the Territory. Jed and his father (an architect) both create temporary, idealised realities, and the chasm between commercialised ideals and banal experience is highlighted again and again, most comically through the high-flown, ridiculous prose of the Michelin guides which inspire the early phase of Jed’s artistic career.

By focussing on this contradiction between experience and aspiration, Houellebecq presents his criticism of the Spectacular society, in which the map is always more fascinating than the territory it describes. The novel’s worldview is weary and pessimistic, summed up best by Jed’s father who idealises William Morris. Morris’ socialist worldview, he argues, would not be utopian if all men were like Morris; however, theories are let down by the reality of human nature. Jed’s father himself attempted to restore concepts of beauty to public space through his work as an architect, but failed, and was restricted to creating gaudy holiday resorts for the wealthy. Later, we see a jaded policeman, hoping to find evidence of a unique crime, but worn down by the reality that criminals, like the rest of society, are motivated exclusively by material gain.

The Map and the Territory may lack the explosiveness which bought Houellebecq to prominence, but in many ways it is his most satisfying work to date, presenting a cogent worldview tempered by mordant humour. He may focus on the gloomier side of life, but his characters are more than just means of progressing an argument, and his dialogue feels more genuine than in the past. You suspect the author cares rather more than usual for his creations (aside from the portrayal of Houellebecq himself). The novel is only let down by a somewhat sensationalist epilogue, which feels like the work of an author feeling the obligation to shock or disgust; but this should not distract from a mature, sophisticated, intriguing and affecting work.