Louise Wardle On Michel Houellebecq Essay Research free essay sample

Louise Wardle On Michel Houellebecq Essay, Research Paper The outsiderMichel Houellebecq is a best seller and a trouble maker. He is attacked as a porn merchant and adored as a prescient mastermind. A amazed broad constitution has no thought how to take him. # 8220 ; Possibly he should be dead, # 8221 ; says his friend, the novelist Fr # 233 ; vitamin D # 233 ; ric Beigbeder. # 8220 ; If I had had a childhood like him I would hold killed myself. He is a living dead back from the dead and stating us what it is like. # 8221 ; How could I do a movie about a novelist who does sex scenes where adult females are crippled by barbarian sex, in whose novels the female characters all end up dead or damaged, who propositions every female journalist sent to make a piece on him, whose heavy imbibing and depression, by all histories, cut down him to near-coma for hebdomads at a clip? Why would I want to do a movie about a adult male in whose first novel ( Whatever ) the cardinal character urges his friend to indulge in the pleasances of sexual slay ing, and whose 2nd ( Atomised ) proposes that the freedoms of the sixties brought us nil but wretchedness and that the solution to our wretchedness is to clone a new species that lives in lasting climax. We will write a custom essay sample on Louise Wardle On Michel Houellebecq Essay Research or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page I suppose I started to recognize that the female characters in his books are the most emotionally whole ; the lone 1s able to love are the adult females. July 2001: # 8220 ; Don # 8217 ; t book into the hotel. You must remain at my house, # 8221 ; Houellebecq says down the phone. I book into the hotel. When I arrive at his stray house, on an island off the west seashore of Ireland, at approximately 3pm, Houellebecq emerges dishevelled. He is little and thin and appareled wholly in orange. He has thin, flaxen hair that sticks up. As he turns off I realise that it is an expensive implant ; the tussocks are formed in small consecutive lines across the dorsum of his caput, like a doll # 8217 ; s. # 8220 ; I # 8217 ; ve been asleep, # 8221 ; he says. # 8220 ; Would you like something to imbibe? # 8221 ; He has a unusual sideways walking gesture. He holds his coffin nail between his 3rd and 4th nicotine-stained fingers. I follow as he drifts into a darkened room. It # 8217 ; s h is sleeping room ; I back out. He smiles at me as he retrieves coffin nails and a whisky glass and moves next door to a room with a skin-coloured leather couch. We drink and talk # 8211 ; about faith, and scientific discipline, and what he calls # 8220 ; the self-destruction of the West # 8221 ; , and the movie I want to do, until 3am. I # 8217 ; m non certain how I get back to the hotel. We meet once more the following afternoon and agree that the movie will travel in front. I will return to Ireland in the summer to movie him at place and so travel to the Canary Islands to movie him looking for locations for the film of his following book, which is about sex touristry. # 8220 ; Gran Canaria is where the English go for sex ; we will happen swingers. My friend told me of the nine we must remain at. # 8221 ; I leave with a sense of failure. He has non passed out in a bibulous coma, nor propositioned me. He has been intriguing and brutally amusing. He has giggled and played with his Canis familiaris. His married woman has been beautiful and sort. He did demo me a film he had merely made # 8211 ; commissioned by the Gallic media company Canal Plus # 8211 ; on the topic of pornography. It seemed more like soft eroticas, and starred his married woman. # 8220 ; I don # 8217 ; t happen it adult at all, # 8221 ; he said. I think he was serious. September 4: # 8220 ; We must call off everything ; no book sign languages, no public parties, no interviews, # 8221 ; says Houellebecq # 8217 ; s imperativeness officer. # 8220 ; For his safety he must remain in his hotel room. You should travel place ; there will be nil to film. # 8221 ; I have merely walked into the offices of Flammarion, Houellebecq # 8217 ; s publishing houses, before a hebdomad # 8217 ; s cinematography in Paris following the launch of his latest book, Platforme. His books ever cause indignation. They are loved and hated in equal step. But his endowment for doing problem has backfired sev erely on him this clip. Platforme is a narrative of love between two people who set up a sex-tourism resort. The cardinal character, as of all time called Michel, loses his lover in an Islamic terrorist onslaught. France # 8217 ; s taking literary critic has put an unexpected boot in: # 8220 ; Houellebecq # 8217 ; s new book may win the Prix Goncourt # 8230 ; but is a choice worth a fatwa? # 8221 ; In July, Houellebecq gave an interview to the literary magazine Lire, and the journalist picked up on the cardinal character # 8217 ; s h atred for Islam. It seemed that the author agreed with his character, or was he just winding us up? September 5: In the corridor of a TV studio, Houellebecq’s press officer chain-smokes and pops the anxiety-relieving drug Xanax. Her author, incapable of compromise and incapable of protecting himself or us from how he sees the truth, may be about to go too far again. The Arab League has issued a press statement condemning Houellebecq. â€Å"Let’s hope it stops here,† she says with a tight smile. Houellebecq emerges from make-up look ing uncomfortable. He is tiny and alone in the crowd of 30 press photographers, each yelling for his attention. As he signs autographs, another small man appears at his shoulder and urges quietly in his ear: â€Å"You absolutely must keep writing. Don’t give up. It’s important for all of us.† â€Å"I will try,† murmurs Houellebecq as he hands a signed book back to a statuesque blonde woman. The TV show goe s fairly well, or badly, depending on who you are: Houellebecq doesn’t say anything appalling; he drinks, but only water; he doesn’t get angry or walk out. He seems almost timid. The various experts around the table are thrown by his lucidity, his calm defence of what his characters say and their right to express themselves. He is brighter than all of them and has seen the way we are more clearly than them. The crazier the hysteria around him, the more his ideas seem deadly correct. In the green room I find myself standing beside Will Self, on tour with his own book. He didn’t want to do an interview about Houellebecq: â€Å"He’s just a little guy who can’t get enough sex. That’s it, isn’t it?† September 6: France’s national Arabic newspaper leads with the headline â€Å"This man hates you† next to a large photo of Houellebecq looking characteristically wrecked. I must film Houellebecq’s reaction. We unload the camera equipment in the street. Maybe I can get him to read the article and say what he thinks in a cafe. As I try to persuade him, out of the corner of my eye I see the sound recordist being confronted by an Arab. â€Å"Are you working with that bastard Houellebecq?† â€Å"No, no†¦ who? Houellebecq?† â€Å"Well he’s standing right there!† â€Å"Oh†¦ is that Houellebecq? Oh no, he’s nothing to do with us.† We do a quick interview in the crew car. â€Å"It’s OK; they say everyone has to pray for my soul, so I’m saved,† he says, deadpan. â€Å"I’m a bit worried about the photo, though; it’s not very†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He trails away. The police have advised caution; there will be no more appearances in public. Houellebecq will leave Paris as soon as possible for his own safety. Fnac, a major French book chain, hosts its annual bestseller awards. Houellebecq is top of the list, but the Islam questio n has weakened his chances despite the fact that he has beaten every other book of the season by miles. And he’s not allowed to leave his hotel room. We must do an interview this evening before he leaves Paris. The press officer can’t find Houellebecq. There’s no answer when I call his room. Will I knock on his door? He is dishevelled, nervously twisting bits of hair implant. He wraps his shirt tightly round him, retreats back on to his bed, and motions me to follow. â€Å"Will you call the police for me in Ireland – my wife has disappeared.† I spend the next hours on the phone to Ireland issuing a missing-person description. He cannot remember the registration of his car. We phone all the hotels in Dublin, all the hospitals. The crew waits in the bar. How can I do an interview in this situation? â€Å"Will you buy me a bottle of whisky? Jack Daniels.† I dash to the nearest off-licence, telling the crew what’s happening and asking the m to wait just in case he will do an interview. We’re sitting on his bed now. â€Å"Louise, you can film me if you like,† he says. â€Å"But I don’t want to spend the night alone.† I’m saved by the ringing of the phone. I make an excuse and go to get the crew. The phone rings again. It’s his wife. â€Å"She’s alive, she’s alive,† he shouts, and bursts into tears. Houellebecq says he will never do another interview, and that – although he’ll continue to write – he won’t publish another book again. It’s too much trouble.  · The Trouble With Michel is on BBC4 at 9pm tonight.