Anéantir

“This would be a catharsis if Anéantir reflected the times, but it clings instead to the most ordinary, mediocre and ephemeral aspects of current events. If it at least gave us back something of the spirit of the age — but no. (…) What is it about? Chinese solar panels, an election campaign, boomer psychology, technology transfers, Breivik, urban solitude, fertility rates, eco-fascism, nihilism, strokes, inheritance law, the selfish gene, sexual misery, the Rassemblement national, Zemmour, the Beijing–Washington trade war, dreams, chaos, Islam, biotechnology, Sephardic dentists, Le Lambeau, euthanasia, more dreams, an election campaign, a deficit of notoriety, dreams again… (a non-exhaustive inventory). And then love, always, which he repeats is his main subject. But do we turn to literature to find the menu of the France 2 evening news? An atmosphere sometimes reminiscent of Baron noir, a hope quickly disappointed since it is far less cruel.” (Pierre Assouline).

Anéantir is not a novel of plot twists or suspense. Assouline is right: “it wants to be a thriller, but on that score Grangé, Chattam, Minier and Thilliez have nothing to worry about.” Nor is Anéantir a compartmentalized novel, or even, probably, a symbolic one: its main character understands little of what surrounds him, and barely more of what happens to him and to those close to him. His father is now mute — and things worsen over the last hundred pages, perhaps the most interesting in the novel. Here one finds again the unsettling threat that Houellebecq casts over our society, once more revealing him as a writer of speculative fiction: his vision is clear — our civilization has embarked on a generalized decay, and it will need no one’s help to achieve it.

Straight into a wall, with no other possible outcome.

This brings us back to the interpretation that Louise Bescond may have intended to give it. In this respect, the copy becomes truly perfect.